The wretched business of my poor Lo's late mama brought she and I to a great many gregarious and gossamer gatherings. We often found ourselves surrounded by wishy-washy well-wishers, oozing their flimsy apologies and condolences all over the silent, brooding Humbert and his rude, ripe and ravishing little Lo.
One particular evening, at some dinner-party or birthday party or whatever, whenever, why ever not?-party, I was regaling a circle of portly party-goers, each nursing a generous drink, with the story of my dear, dull-witted, dumb-bunny Valeria and her secret lover, Maximovich (formerly a tale which stoked the coals of hatred within my breast, but which had turned pale and cold with time). Lolita was tucked under my arm, pressing her pointed hipbone into my leg and bumping her rosy kneecaps together as she idly chewed on her thumbnail. No doubt my dulcet darling was longing, as was I, though for decidedly different reasons, to be away from this atrocious affair. I could feel the tender heat of her slender, golden body in such close proximity to my own lewd, lumbering frame, as I was infinitely attuned to her luscious presence.
When a natural lull fell over my conversation, I endeavored to cast a content glance over the rest of the party, and behold! My eyes alighted on a right beauty! A nymphet, yet a wholly different species than that of my slim, brown Lolita; uncouth, untrained and utterly charming Lolita.
This nymphet was a miniature Snow White. Her bobbed black curls formed a dark halo around her porcelain cheeks, each of which was brightened by her sang épicé. Her tender blue-veined temples swept down into the heathen hollow of her lovely, soft jaw. Her wide, round, white forehead sloped in a divine curve toward the end of her adorable nose. Below that, her raw, red, glistening lips trembled and pouted like a rosebud in a breeze. Her eyes, however, were the most arresting of all. She gazed back at me and her eyes told of an uncanny wisdom that was beyond her years, yet betrayed the gentle naivety of her youth. They were a stormy blue, like a summer evening's inky sky, pregnant with rain and poised for thunder. They were fringed with ebony lashes, which descended slowly from time to time, momentarily sealing off her sparkling sapphire irises, only to unveil them again in a manner that was blindingly beautiful, though made slightly comedic by her slight stature. She was dressed in a blue frock to match her eyes and a diamond white ribbon cinched her lovely little waist. Her narrow, girlish hips gave way to her alabaster thighs and two perfect patellas. Though her legs were unexpectedly shapely, her coltish, bony ankles which peaked out of her lace-trimmed socks betrayed her undeniable nymphetness.
Hovering, heartbroken Humbert soon drew the attention of his own neglected nymphet, fidgeting at his side. She had said nothing, to be sure, but I could feel her eyes etching a pattern of jealousy of my pitiful profile. When I turned to face her, all memory of the ivory and ebony nymphet was obliterated and I cupped my sweet Lo's cheek in my bowl of a hand.
Having successfully won back my attentions, Lo spoke.
"Shall we leave this dreadful party, daddum?"
Humble Humbert nodded and the pretty pair, pseudo- papa and pepper-pot Lo vanished into the languid, lazy darkness.