"Humbert, oh, Humbert! Where are you, babe?" she sings in an opera-esque falsetto voice as she twirls around the corner of the living room door frame. Her sandy blonde locks are tugged, lazily into a makeshift ponytail, several strands falling loose from the object, and her ever pink, chapped lips are formed in a playful grin as she dances around the house in search for her dearest stepfather.
"I surely hope you aren't hiding from a little girl now, Humbert! Silly old man!" she giggles and flails into the kitchen, quickly grabbing a banana and peeling back the yellow skin of it, licking her lips as she delves the lucky fruit into her mouth.
A man, Mr. Humbert Humbert himself, is watching the scene go down with a cautious countenance mixed with an ear-to-ear grin splayed over his lower face. His lanky form is hidden behind the loveseat as he continues his pseudo-stalking of the dear nymphette in front of him.
Her lithe form swings from side to side as she throws her shoulders about, almost like she's dancing while she's eating. Her movements are unrehearsed and raw and Humbert is entranced by them. Kneeling now behind the cushioned sofa, his fingers grip against the soft cloth of the furniture item.
Lolita, to him, is so simple yet so intoxicating. Her childish notions and peculiar stances always reign him back in whenever he shows any signs of straying. Her eyes, a gorgeous, rutilent-shaded brown are like a naughty caramel mixed with a dash of innocent honey. She's no girly-girl and she's no frilly little princess yet she's nothing of a boy. She is simply Lolita, always was, is, and will be.
And now, in the dim lighting of the room lit only by the white light of the outside sun, her body is bathed in the dusty, soft light as she chews on the saliva-soaked fruit, sloppily. Her long legs join at the knees as she calms a bit before biting the last of the banana down and tossing it in the trash. She waltzes into the living room where our hidden Humbert resides and hums a quick tune, swaying from side to side with her dirty hands on her hips. Suddenly, before the poor bastard can react, she's right in front of him, giving his forehead a smooch and smirking down at his shocked expression. She chuckles and stands back up in a blur, shaking her head in mock disappointment. Sticking out her index finger at him, she speaks.
"Hiding now, are we? I'm not gonna bite ya, you know! Don't turn into a peeping tom now, you old pervert!" she accuses, laughter in those big chocolate eyes of hers. She turns on her heel and with one last glance at Humbert, sprints upstairs to her room.
Humbert, speechless and wary, sighs as he hears a knock on the front door.
Mother Haze is home to spoil his nymphette-oriented fun. What a pain.