The Long Road 1

1

Our story begins in what would appear to be a small country town. A rusty green combi van (resembling that which Scooby doo and team traveled in) pulls up, outside the town’s only pub. Sprawled messily across both sides of the van were the words “Cherry Girls!” in a retro graffiti style of writing. The sunshine was shimmering across the snow tipped mountains nearby as a short Italian man stepped out of the drivers side door. He was about 5’6 with slick black hair and equally black shades. As he put his foot to the floor he took one last drag of his black cigar and flicked it to the side of the road (if this were a movie scene the soundtrack would be “Bad to the bone” by George Thouroughgood). The tight snake skin pants he wore made it difficult for him to walk without impersonating a penguin, but he attempted his coolest moves possible. His phat gold chains swung from side to side along with his arms, giving off the impression that his shit didn’t stink.
As he walked towards the main entrance to the pub, three tall, extremely toned and buxom young women exited the back of the van and followed him in one by one. The first of which was a brunette with long straight hair hanging down to the small of her back. The second was slightly shorter and of oriental descent, she had substantially larger breasts than the first (about two thousand dollars worth) she also had a hint of surgical enhancements added to her face.
The third was by far the most beautiful and naturally stunning. She was rather more petite than the other two but undoubtedly voluptuous. She was about 6’1 with curly, golden blonde hair level with her shoulders. Her breasts were not as large or outrageous as her Asian counterparts but far more naturally breathtaking. Apart from all of these features it was her striking blue eyes that caught the attention of most of the drunken onlookers.
The Italian (who seemed to take way too much pride in being these girls “pimp”) held open the door to the establishment. The three now walked side by side through the doorway into a large room full of howling middle aged men. It was hard to mistake the girls as anything other than strippers as they each wore the same matching outfits under the brown oversized coats that now lay bunched together on the floor. They stood in their tight black hot-pants and child sized red t-shirts pulling a series of textbook stripper poses.
The short, slick Italian (lets call him Vincent although his real name is not important) whose duties now changed from holding the door to watching out for the girls safety picked up the bundle of coats. In his hand he was holding a rather old and large boom box which he activated by pressing the play button. As soon as ACDC’s “You shook me all night long” blasted out of the speakers the girls began to make their model poses more animated. The blonde haired girl seemed the most eager out of the three and was the first to reveal her breasts to the gawking onlookers. As she ripped off her t-shirt, she made her way towards a large round table in the corner that was occupied by a group of what appeared to be military personnel. ‘Excuse me?’ she asked the man with the most pins and medals on his shirt ‘Are you a Major Bernard?’
‘That’s your man baby!’ yelled an over excited Private by the bar.
‘Pipe down O’Connor!’ ordered the Major, who then turned back too the blonde bombshell and gulped ‘Yes ma’am, Major Trevor Austin Bernard!’
A roar of applause and a mass thumping of beer mugs arose from all around the table.
‘Well’ continued the half naked stripper ‘Happy Birthday Major, hope you enjoy the present from your comrades!’
‘Uh…?’ gulped the apparent army Major, completely lost for words. The beautiful blonde rolled her eyes ever so slightly and proceeded into picking up a jug half full of beer from the table. She poured a fair amount onto her ample breasts and bounced them up and down so that the amber liquid was splashing off in all directions. She left a small amount in the jug and placed it on the table as she shoved her chest into the major’s face. As she rubbed her bosom from side to side against his cheeks a thunder of laughter and cheers erupted from his fellow army personnel. Many a beer mug were slammed together and an added amount of lager flew onto Major Bernard’s face. He tried to keep a straight and serious face but was unsuccessful. A wide, cheesy grin spread across it, forcing his cheeks to burn bright red. This in turn caused the young blonde stunner to giggle, cupping her hands over her smooth seductive lips.
It was a fake laugh, one she had learnt from one of her older counterparts a long time ago and perfected to her own individual tastes.

She had had about two years experience in the field up until this point and usually seemed to be the favourite if you listened to the whispers amongst the crowds. Going by the stage name of Krystal week after week she would wow all the working class lads who would come down to the local after a hard yakka, and not to forget the old dirty bastards who hung out at those sorts of places most hours of the day.
She didn’t mind it so much, she was pretty comfortable with her body and was happy to show it off to most people as long as the money was good.
And it was.
But that’s about as far as she would go. Unlike her current partners of the business who regularly shared the most intimate parts of their bodies with anyone who would pay the not so modest price of 300 big ones (400 for the works). Krystal wasn’t prejudice towards these kinds of acts, she was just too much of a romantic for her own good.
Still.
She did enjoy her current career choice and was at the top of her game.

She planted her hands on the arms of the chair that herself and Major Bernard were sharing. She was now dressed only in a tiny red g-string that left little to the imagination. She manipulated her well proportioned body in order for her to lift up her silky smooth legs and flip them over her body so that she was standing upright again with her hands still grasping the chairs arms. While performing this feat her crotch lightly skimmed the Majors nose causing his spine to tingle in a not unpleasant fashion.
As Krystal stood there (for the most part naked apart from the underwear that resembled a piece of thin red string) the Asian girl stepped in between her and Bernard. Well, it was more like a glide across the floor rather than a step. She stood there arching her back and saluting the awestruck Army Major. She still had her top and shorts on which incited a yell from an overexcited patron at the bar nearby.
‘Take it off you fine ass bitch!’
The disgruntled Asian stripper swiftly turned her head towards the pathetic gray haired drunk snapping her fingers together and pointing towards him. Vincent saw this command and promptly headed towards the poor old bastard, knocking the mug of beer from his grip. He then grabbed the over intoxicated mans hands and twisted them behind his back and escorted him out of the premises. Miss “plastic fantastic” was no longer interested in these goings on and continued to salute Bernard.
‘Pleased to meet you Major Bernard,’ she said in a deep seductive voice ‘My name is Sammi. Perhaps you would care to accompany me to a more secluded area sir?’
Sammi was now leaning over with her hands on the Majors thighs and her perfectly sculpted face only inches away from his. The big question was written all over her tanned face and the answer (yes!) quite obviously written on his. With a nudge in the back from his colleagues and a tug of the arm from the irresistible Sammi, Major Trevor Austin Bernard was on his feet and walking out the door with stripper in hand.
As the two left the bar area and walked out onto the eerily empty street Vincent watched eagerly as Krystal and the other brunette stripper continued to entertain the drunken onlookers. Krystal worked her way around the crowd picking up a few tips that had been quite happily jammed into her remaining knickers. She eventually made her way to a corner table situated in between two windows covered by scarlet curtains. Sitting alone at the table was an ageing, significantly balding man with gray tufts in shambles around the sides of his head. Krystal had noticed the man from afar and had felt a stab of sympathy for him. The man was wearing a thick, grey jacket and spectacles that sat quite comfortably on the rim of his nose. As Krystal moved closer she felt an unhealthy aura about the strange man. She noticed red blotches on his right hand that was attached tightly to an almost empty martini glass. His skin was a sickly yellow and his face was pale and withered as if he’d not seen sunlight for years. His head was leant down and he was not paying an inkling of attention to the half naked lass moving towards him. He was solely focused upon the laptop computer screen in front of him.
Krystal was moving closer and closer to the table when the oddball man moved his pupils towards her without turning his head. The dirty browns of his eyes seemed only to flicker, like a candle flame reacting to a soft breeze. At one point towards the computer screen the next, the souls of this mans eyes were screaming down hers. A nanosecond later they were directed back at the radiating lights coming from the computer screen. In the brief moment of time that their eyes connected Krystal saw something within this mans mind.
Through his eyes she sensed a disease.
Now Krystal of the cherry girls was no psychic, or a doctor for that matter (a nurse on certain occasions but no doctor). But somehow she knew what she saw in the darkness within his pupils.
Perhaps she even recognized it?
It was death.
Of course not “death” as a physical thing or being, but death as a whole. It was a certain and specific death, a disease that was clearly not welcome to set up camp within its host.
Krystal saw all of this within a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for her to make a clumsy 90 degree turn to her left in a state of complete and utter fear. This was because she saw something else even deeper into the endless space of his soul.
It was hope.
But not quite the sort of hope one liked to see coming from a man of such pallid misfortune.
It was a distasteful hope, an insane hope. A hope that told her that this man not only wanted to regain the state of health he once had but to create something more than he could ever dream.
Something powerful.
A hope that would be the undoing of something he had once helped build.
The mans name was Dr. Steven De Stanschi.