(no subject)
So I'm writing a book, I'm sure you all the story already, but I'm looking for feed back, on my style mostly, not on the plot so much. I have 2 1/2 chapters done. I'll lj cut them so you can read them if you so choose, please do.
Dedicated to those of us who live every day
constantly reminded of the one who got away,
and my own Patrick, you know who you are.
Chapter 1 - The Look -
Finally, a hot summer day. Dust rolls into my open car window, caking my sweaty face, most of my make-up melted off as soon as I put it on. My hair is still damp, my boss hates when I come in with my hair wet, he says it looks unprofessional. I honestly don’t care; Shane can suck a fat one. The idea of blowing more hot air on my face this morning was unbearable. Of course this muggy afternoon isn’t what most people would imagine when thinking of Northern Wisconsin. Nine months out of the year we’re buried in snow, but for three glorious months, we get this. Degrees in the 90’s, air thick with humidity. I love this. I meant it when I called it glorious. This summer has been unseasonably cold; we’re probably looking at a horrid winter.
My legs are in flames, fucking pantyhose. Shane makes us all wear them “company policy” he says. That may be true but it’s also company policy not to have phone sex with your mistress while your employee is in the car. That didn’t stop him the night he drove me home cause my car broke down. My suit jacket lays on the passenger seat, no fucking way I was putting that on this morning. Shane won’t like that I come in without it on, but again, he can suck a fat one.
The stoplight I’m sitting at is never ending. I don’t care that I’ll be late for work, but my AC recently crapped out and I need to get some air moving in there. My car smells of stale cigarettes, one of my many vices. I’d puff one more down before I got into work. I really shouldn’t be working at a bridal boutique. Happy women come in all day, planning the happiest day of their lives. I’ll tell you what my happiest day will be, the day I quit this fucking job.
I’m 22 years old, petite, I have a sweet look by nature, but that’s just not right, dark brown hair, (this month at least) light complexion, and, what I’m told are amazing eyes. They’re an extremely light green color; aquamarine perhaps would be a good word for it. I’ve never been with a man that didn’t comment on my “piercing eyes”. Then again I’ve also never been with a man that didn’t comment on my “supple bust” and “perfectly shaped ass.” I’m a size two. Most women would kill to be a size two! Most women also have boyfriends, fiancés, or husbands. I have a fuck buddy, who lives out of state now.
I also have Patrick. Patrick is my “friend,” who I slept with a few months ago, who I fell in love with. Also, who is in the Army, looking at deployment in a few months, who is right now in New York, he is also dating Megan. Megan was his ex girlfriend, who he had mad break up sex with two days before he walked back into my life. She is also apparently not to good with birth control, because she’s pregnant, or at least she says she is. I’m still banking on the kid coming out black, but even then I’m sure he would take responsibility for the baby, he’s got a white knight complex.
He’s always been the type to show up on a white stallion and save the damsel in distress even if she’s a bitch that cheated on him with a ren fair dork. He’ll take care of the baby. That’s just who he is, and that’s why I love him.
I meant that. I do love him. I have for ages. Back in the day we were both good little church kids. I used to dream of being a youth pastor and Patrick shared that dream with me. We were in a statewide youth group type thing. It’s hard to explain unless you’re a scripture quoting, judgmental, closed-minded crazy bitch, which I was back then.
Not many people believe me when I tell them this. I don’t blame them, as it usually comes up in conversation as I’m climbing down from the table, bar or other platform I’ve been dancing on. Needless to say I’ve changed a lot since then, but so has he. We were miles apart and didn’t stay in touch as well as I wish I could say we had, but it seems like we matured very similarly.
I still look like a good little church girl. A fact I kind of like. It’s always fun looking at someone’s face the first time they see me light up a cig or down a shot of tequila, no chaser. I like to play-up the look to make these moments more memorable. I love to wear pearls on occasion and sometimes, if I’m feeling exceptionally deceptive, ribbons. I usually do this at job interviews and such. I’m pretty sure I scared Shane my first few days on the job. I walked in, took out my tongue ring, threw on my suit jacket, cocked my head and smiled. He obviously didn’t expect me to have a tongue ring; or several tattoos; I’m sure he felt like he hit the jackpot with that one.
The first time I asked if anyone had a cig I could bum at work you could have heard a pin drop; nobody expected that. I think Patrick thinks that I’ve always been this way, that my good little church girl persona was really just an act all along and that I wanted to jump him in a confessional booth. Which is partly true, I wanted to jump him, but I never would have, because the good little church thing was the real deal back then.
They’ve become pretty used to me at work by now so, other than a raised eyebrow from Shane, when I walked in with my suit jacket thrown over my shoulder, still damp from my hair, no one so much as looked up. I went in back, unscrewed my tongue ring, stashed it in my purse, threw a piece of gum in my mouth, took a deep breath and headed out to face the day.
My first customer was a wildly overweight woman with, I’d guess, a total of 10 teeth. She’d been in a few times in the past few months, trying on the same dress, hoping that pre-wedding diet had worked after all. It was a horrible thing, corseted with netting over the bust forming a turtleneck. The skirt looked like a giant cake, with pink icing, in a word, tacky. I would have wondered if she planned on having a midget hide under there and jump out at some point of the ceremony, of course I had seen the size of the woman’s thighs and knew that not even a baby midget would have room in that skirt with those behemoths. She can get a husband I thought and I’m stuck here trying to fit her double chin into this turtle neck, what deity did I piss off to deserve this? This must be what I get for making fun of Helen Keller all the time.
I was contemplating that when the bride’s nipple popped out of the corset, I decided then it would be best to lay off the midget jokes as well.
My second customer was an older woman, onto her second marriage. Not divorced, but widowed by the first. She was in her 70’s and didn’t want anything too fancy. She had done the fancy thing the first time, she said, and decided that a small ceremony with her family would be better for the second. She had aged well and I was honestly jealous, knowing that if I kept up the drinking and smoking I wouldn’t be so lucky. I was surprised to see a tattoo of a rose on her hip when I was helping her change, she must have read my face because she laughed and exclaimed;
“Oh don’t be so shocked dear, the 60’s left their mark on everybody.” I decided I really liked this woman. “You got a special man in your life hun?”
“It’s kind of complicated…” I replied, apparently I liked her enough to tell her the truth.
“’It’s complicated’” she quoted me mockingly, “I don’t understand you kids, used to be, you met someone, they loved you, you loved them, you got married. Now there’s all this ‘complicated’ bullshit. Tell me hun, does he not love you or do you not love him?” This woman who I really liked a few moments ago was losing points fast.
“I love him, have for a long time, always will, but it’s not that easy”
“So then he doesn’t love you.” it wasn’t a question.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well you didn’t not say it, if he loves you he’d be with you.” I was getting really close to poking her with the pin I was using to adjust the hem on her dress, but given this morning’s revelation about Helen Keller and midgets I decided abusing the elderly wouldn’t bode well for me. “Well spit it out hunny, what’s so complicated about lover boy?”
“He loves me too.” I replied defiantly
“That’s not complicated at all” she laughed “If he loves you and you love him you’ve got more figured out than just about anyone else these days, how long you been together?” here we go.
“We’re not together, we can’t be.” I wanted to keep this short.
“He’s married huh? I tried that once, trust me it’s not a good road to go down.” I knew that, I had tried it too.
“He’s not married, could you lift your arm please, I need to adjust the seam here,” I mumbled through the pins in my mouth.
“Well then, obviously you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m a pushy old bitch so you might as well save yourself the trouble of dancing around it and entertain me while I’m stuck here like the statue of fucking David!” That was about the last straw, I spit out the pins and replied.
“He loves me, I love him. We want to be together but he’s got a kid on the way and it’s obviously not mine, and he doesn’t understand that this is 2009, not 1940, no offence, and just because this crazy bitch’s got a bun in the oven doesn’t mean he has to be with her! Hell, he doesn’t even like her much less love her! So I’m stuck here working at this fucking store while she’s living her fucking dream with MY man.” I blushed and regained composer “Sorry… I told you it was complicated.”
“Now I like you!” she laughed “You’ve got spirit in spades! Lover boy is damn lucky to have you,” she said.
“But he doesn’t have me, I told you. She has him”
“Oh no she doesn’t.”
“I just told you, he’s with her because she’s got his unborn kid taking up residence in her uterus.”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t have him, he loves you, not her, you have him, end of story. I told you it wasn’t complicated.” I smiled at her, any points she had lost were regained and then some. “If he loves you and you love him, you’ll end up together, you have my word, and I may be a crazy old bitch, but I don’t lie. So tell me then, how’d you two meet? John and me meet at a poker game you know, I cleaned him out! But he returned the favor later, if you know what I mean.” She said with a wink, I couldn’t even be disgusted; she was by far the coolest old lady I ever met.
I barely remember the first day I met him. What I do remember was that we were in Green Bay, at a church, and I thought he was gorgeous, I tried to talk to him but he blew me off. He insists to this day that’s not how it was and that he was just scared of me, but I know rejection and I’m pretty certain that was it. A few months later the group paid for us all to spend the weekend in Wisconsin Dells. It was shortly before New Years and we were at an indoor water park.
We spent the whole weekend together, opting out of sleep to spend the night in the conference room with a few other people. I’m not sure what brought him around to me, but I have a feeling it had something to do with my bikini. The one part of that weekend that sticks in my mind as if it was yesterday was a roller coaster water slide. The slide had jets in it that shot you up. It was a two-person ride and him and I went on it together. I can still see the look on his face when I got onto the tube in front of him, between his legs and leaned back a bit to get comfy. It was a look of pure terror, surprise and dumbfoundedness. The part that really stood out was the dumbfoundedness; he looked like he should be riding the short bus, wearing a helmet and a bib to catch his drool.
It’s weird but I love that look of his. I’ve had the pleasure of seeing it two other times, though he says that’s a dirty lie. He admits to the look the first time, but he denies the other two incidents.
The second time I saw this look was at the movies, four years later. Now I don’t want to give the impression that we fell in love at that water park and were high school sweethearts, cause that’s not how it worked. Before the aforementioned movie I hadn’t seen him for about a year and a half. I was home for winter break, as I was in college by this point. He was a year younger than me and had just finished his first semester at a university in Cleveland. We had stayed in touch and decided that we should meet up. We choose a place to meet, an hour north of him and an hour south of me, at a movie theater.
He had grown up a lot since high school. He had taken up smoking, which at the time I thought was disgusting but what was worse was that when I walked up to him I almost mistook him for a cardboard cut out of Grizzly Adams. He had this giant, and I mean giant, beard. At least it wasn’t patchy like most guys his age; it was so full it looked like a ferret had taken up residence on his chin. I was willing to over look all of that because I was in love with him, even then. I honestly don’t remember what movie we saw. We choose to share a fat person seat, for the fun of it we said, later I realized he chose it for the convenience, I would be lying if I said that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind as well. For the first 20 minutes I was trying to calm myself down, my heart was racing sitting that close to him. Then he put his arm around me, I thought I was going to be sick, in a good way. When he reached for my hand I thought I was going to pass out of euphoria.
We sat like that for another 15 minutes before he let go of my hand, raised his to the nape of my neck and pulled my face to his. We paused for a second before touching our lips together, and although it was dark in the theater, I saw the look. Then he kissed me, for the first time. As he released me and I came up for air I smiled at him and raised my eyebrow “well that took you long enough” I whispered, and raised my head to meet his lips again.
The third time I saw the look was in my bedroom, a few months ago. He was sitting on my bed helping me pick out an outfit to go out in. He had recently turned 21 and we decided we would walk downtown to visit the college bars. I was comfortable in what I was wearing but needed a good excuse for him to see me without my shirt on without me just stripping down, which I thought at the time may have been coming on a little to strong, even for me. So I asked for his opinion and led him into my room.
I laid a few options out on my bed and he helped me settle on a racer back tank top with a ripped open back. He would tell me later that I had a very sexy back and was exceedingly happy with the choice. I threw on a pair of strappy patent leather fuck me heels adorned with gold zippers that served no purpose other than to speed up the fuck me process. Then I shyly looked back at him sitting on the edge of my bed nervously and told him I was going to take off my shirt, I didn’t want to scare the poor boy, he wasn’t used to me like this.
“Why do you think I’m still here?” He said with a raised eyebrow, he had gotten cocky in the nearly two years since I had seen him at the movie theatre. I liked it. I smiled as I turned my back to him and removed my shirt; this was going to be easier than I thought.
I put on the tank top, tousled my hair a bit and turned around to see him holding the bulletin board I had yet to hang in my room. It’s full of mementos from my trip to Kenya as well the lid of a box from a pizza place in the Dells that has the same phone number as me. The focal piece of the board is a list I have of things to do before I die.
He was reading some of them asking questions when I crawled onto the bed behind him, threw my arms around him and rested my chin on his shoulder, he tried to keep up the conversation but as soon as I turned my head to glance at him I knew what was coming. He had the look. He dropped the board and we attacked each other. Before I knew what was happening I was on my back and his hands were on me. I smiled as he kissed me and ran his hands up my legs, to my waist, and my neck. He needed no encouragement to work his way up to my chest. He was forceful and I love that, but he was also gentle in a way. I wasn’t quite ready for the main event just yet as I felt that if we ended up in bed now we wouldn’t leave it for the remainder of his trip and I love him enough to actually want to talk to him.
I didn’t want our relationship to be just about sex so I told him that as long as I was looking this good we better get out to the bar so I could show off. He agreed and after pulling a brush through my then disheveled hair we set off. According to him that wasn’t the look though. I brought it up to him a few weeks later, he claims that look wasn’t the “terrified, surprised, dumbfounded” look he says that was the “god I love looking at her with her shirt off look.” He’s lying though; I know my favorite look when I see it.
Dedicated to those of us who live every day
constantly reminded of the one who got away,
and my own Patrick, you know who you are.
Chapter 1 - The Look -
Finally, a hot summer day. Dust rolls into my open car window, caking my sweaty face, most of my make-up melted off as soon as I put it on. My hair is still damp, my boss hates when I come in with my hair wet, he says it looks unprofessional. I honestly don’t care; Shane can suck a fat one. The idea of blowing more hot air on my face this morning was unbearable. Of course this muggy afternoon isn’t what most people would imagine when thinking of Northern Wisconsin. Nine months out of the year we’re buried in snow, but for three glorious months, we get this. Degrees in the 90’s, air thick with humidity. I love this. I meant it when I called it glorious. This summer has been unseasonably cold; we’re probably looking at a horrid winter.
My legs are in flames, fucking pantyhose. Shane makes us all wear them “company policy” he says. That may be true but it’s also company policy not to have phone sex with your mistress while your employee is in the car. That didn’t stop him the night he drove me home cause my car broke down. My suit jacket lays on the passenger seat, no fucking way I was putting that on this morning. Shane won’t like that I come in without it on, but again, he can suck a fat one.
The stoplight I’m sitting at is never ending. I don’t care that I’ll be late for work, but my AC recently crapped out and I need to get some air moving in there. My car smells of stale cigarettes, one of my many vices. I’d puff one more down before I got into work. I really shouldn’t be working at a bridal boutique. Happy women come in all day, planning the happiest day of their lives. I’ll tell you what my happiest day will be, the day I quit this fucking job.
I’m 22 years old, petite, I have a sweet look by nature, but that’s just not right, dark brown hair, (this month at least) light complexion, and, what I’m told are amazing eyes. They’re an extremely light green color; aquamarine perhaps would be a good word for it. I’ve never been with a man that didn’t comment on my “piercing eyes”. Then again I’ve also never been with a man that didn’t comment on my “supple bust” and “perfectly shaped ass.” I’m a size two. Most women would kill to be a size two! Most women also have boyfriends, fiancés, or husbands. I have a fuck buddy, who lives out of state now.
I also have Patrick. Patrick is my “friend,” who I slept with a few months ago, who I fell in love with. Also, who is in the Army, looking at deployment in a few months, who is right now in New York, he is also dating Megan. Megan was his ex girlfriend, who he had mad break up sex with two days before he walked back into my life. She is also apparently not to good with birth control, because she’s pregnant, or at least she says she is. I’m still banking on the kid coming out black, but even then I’m sure he would take responsibility for the baby, he’s got a white knight complex.
He’s always been the type to show up on a white stallion and save the damsel in distress even if she’s a bitch that cheated on him with a ren fair dork. He’ll take care of the baby. That’s just who he is, and that’s why I love him.
I meant that. I do love him. I have for ages. Back in the day we were both good little church kids. I used to dream of being a youth pastor and Patrick shared that dream with me. We were in a statewide youth group type thing. It’s hard to explain unless you’re a scripture quoting, judgmental, closed-minded crazy bitch, which I was back then.
Not many people believe me when I tell them this. I don’t blame them, as it usually comes up in conversation as I’m climbing down from the table, bar or other platform I’ve been dancing on. Needless to say I’ve changed a lot since then, but so has he. We were miles apart and didn’t stay in touch as well as I wish I could say we had, but it seems like we matured very similarly.
I still look like a good little church girl. A fact I kind of like. It’s always fun looking at someone’s face the first time they see me light up a cig or down a shot of tequila, no chaser. I like to play-up the look to make these moments more memorable. I love to wear pearls on occasion and sometimes, if I’m feeling exceptionally deceptive, ribbons. I usually do this at job interviews and such. I’m pretty sure I scared Shane my first few days on the job. I walked in, took out my tongue ring, threw on my suit jacket, cocked my head and smiled. He obviously didn’t expect me to have a tongue ring; or several tattoos; I’m sure he felt like he hit the jackpot with that one.
The first time I asked if anyone had a cig I could bum at work you could have heard a pin drop; nobody expected that. I think Patrick thinks that I’ve always been this way, that my good little church girl persona was really just an act all along and that I wanted to jump him in a confessional booth. Which is partly true, I wanted to jump him, but I never would have, because the good little church thing was the real deal back then.
They’ve become pretty used to me at work by now so, other than a raised eyebrow from Shane, when I walked in with my suit jacket thrown over my shoulder, still damp from my hair, no one so much as looked up. I went in back, unscrewed my tongue ring, stashed it in my purse, threw a piece of gum in my mouth, took a deep breath and headed out to face the day.
My first customer was a wildly overweight woman with, I’d guess, a total of 10 teeth. She’d been in a few times in the past few months, trying on the same dress, hoping that pre-wedding diet had worked after all. It was a horrible thing, corseted with netting over the bust forming a turtleneck. The skirt looked like a giant cake, with pink icing, in a word, tacky. I would have wondered if she planned on having a midget hide under there and jump out at some point of the ceremony, of course I had seen the size of the woman’s thighs and knew that not even a baby midget would have room in that skirt with those behemoths. She can get a husband I thought and I’m stuck here trying to fit her double chin into this turtle neck, what deity did I piss off to deserve this? This must be what I get for making fun of Helen Keller all the time.
I was contemplating that when the bride’s nipple popped out of the corset, I decided then it would be best to lay off the midget jokes as well.
My second customer was an older woman, onto her second marriage. Not divorced, but widowed by the first. She was in her 70’s and didn’t want anything too fancy. She had done the fancy thing the first time, she said, and decided that a small ceremony with her family would be better for the second. She had aged well and I was honestly jealous, knowing that if I kept up the drinking and smoking I wouldn’t be so lucky. I was surprised to see a tattoo of a rose on her hip when I was helping her change, she must have read my face because she laughed and exclaimed;
“Oh don’t be so shocked dear, the 60’s left their mark on everybody.” I decided I really liked this woman. “You got a special man in your life hun?”
“It’s kind of complicated…” I replied, apparently I liked her enough to tell her the truth.
“’It’s complicated’” she quoted me mockingly, “I don’t understand you kids, used to be, you met someone, they loved you, you loved them, you got married. Now there’s all this ‘complicated’ bullshit. Tell me hun, does he not love you or do you not love him?” This woman who I really liked a few moments ago was losing points fast.
“I love him, have for a long time, always will, but it’s not that easy”
“So then he doesn’t love you.” it wasn’t a question.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well you didn’t not say it, if he loves you he’d be with you.” I was getting really close to poking her with the pin I was using to adjust the hem on her dress, but given this morning’s revelation about Helen Keller and midgets I decided abusing the elderly wouldn’t bode well for me. “Well spit it out hunny, what’s so complicated about lover boy?”
“He loves me too.” I replied defiantly
“That’s not complicated at all” she laughed “If he loves you and you love him you’ve got more figured out than just about anyone else these days, how long you been together?” here we go.
“We’re not together, we can’t be.” I wanted to keep this short.
“He’s married huh? I tried that once, trust me it’s not a good road to go down.” I knew that, I had tried it too.
“He’s not married, could you lift your arm please, I need to adjust the seam here,” I mumbled through the pins in my mouth.
“Well then, obviously you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m a pushy old bitch so you might as well save yourself the trouble of dancing around it and entertain me while I’m stuck here like the statue of fucking David!” That was about the last straw, I spit out the pins and replied.
“He loves me, I love him. We want to be together but he’s got a kid on the way and it’s obviously not mine, and he doesn’t understand that this is 2009, not 1940, no offence, and just because this crazy bitch’s got a bun in the oven doesn’t mean he has to be with her! Hell, he doesn’t even like her much less love her! So I’m stuck here working at this fucking store while she’s living her fucking dream with MY man.” I blushed and regained composer “Sorry… I told you it was complicated.”
“Now I like you!” she laughed “You’ve got spirit in spades! Lover boy is damn lucky to have you,” she said.
“But he doesn’t have me, I told you. She has him”
“Oh no she doesn’t.”
“I just told you, he’s with her because she’s got his unborn kid taking up residence in her uterus.”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t have him, he loves you, not her, you have him, end of story. I told you it wasn’t complicated.” I smiled at her, any points she had lost were regained and then some. “If he loves you and you love him, you’ll end up together, you have my word, and I may be a crazy old bitch, but I don’t lie. So tell me then, how’d you two meet? John and me meet at a poker game you know, I cleaned him out! But he returned the favor later, if you know what I mean.” She said with a wink, I couldn’t even be disgusted; she was by far the coolest old lady I ever met.
I barely remember the first day I met him. What I do remember was that we were in Green Bay, at a church, and I thought he was gorgeous, I tried to talk to him but he blew me off. He insists to this day that’s not how it was and that he was just scared of me, but I know rejection and I’m pretty certain that was it. A few months later the group paid for us all to spend the weekend in Wisconsin Dells. It was shortly before New Years and we were at an indoor water park.
We spent the whole weekend together, opting out of sleep to spend the night in the conference room with a few other people. I’m not sure what brought him around to me, but I have a feeling it had something to do with my bikini. The one part of that weekend that sticks in my mind as if it was yesterday was a roller coaster water slide. The slide had jets in it that shot you up. It was a two-person ride and him and I went on it together. I can still see the look on his face when I got onto the tube in front of him, between his legs and leaned back a bit to get comfy. It was a look of pure terror, surprise and dumbfoundedness. The part that really stood out was the dumbfoundedness; he looked like he should be riding the short bus, wearing a helmet and a bib to catch his drool.
It’s weird but I love that look of his. I’ve had the pleasure of seeing it two other times, though he says that’s a dirty lie. He admits to the look the first time, but he denies the other two incidents.
The second time I saw this look was at the movies, four years later. Now I don’t want to give the impression that we fell in love at that water park and were high school sweethearts, cause that’s not how it worked. Before the aforementioned movie I hadn’t seen him for about a year and a half. I was home for winter break, as I was in college by this point. He was a year younger than me and had just finished his first semester at a university in Cleveland. We had stayed in touch and decided that we should meet up. We choose a place to meet, an hour north of him and an hour south of me, at a movie theater.
He had grown up a lot since high school. He had taken up smoking, which at the time I thought was disgusting but what was worse was that when I walked up to him I almost mistook him for a cardboard cut out of Grizzly Adams. He had this giant, and I mean giant, beard. At least it wasn’t patchy like most guys his age; it was so full it looked like a ferret had taken up residence on his chin. I was willing to over look all of that because I was in love with him, even then. I honestly don’t remember what movie we saw. We choose to share a fat person seat, for the fun of it we said, later I realized he chose it for the convenience, I would be lying if I said that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind as well. For the first 20 minutes I was trying to calm myself down, my heart was racing sitting that close to him. Then he put his arm around me, I thought I was going to be sick, in a good way. When he reached for my hand I thought I was going to pass out of euphoria.
We sat like that for another 15 minutes before he let go of my hand, raised his to the nape of my neck and pulled my face to his. We paused for a second before touching our lips together, and although it was dark in the theater, I saw the look. Then he kissed me, for the first time. As he released me and I came up for air I smiled at him and raised my eyebrow “well that took you long enough” I whispered, and raised my head to meet his lips again.
The third time I saw the look was in my bedroom, a few months ago. He was sitting on my bed helping me pick out an outfit to go out in. He had recently turned 21 and we decided we would walk downtown to visit the college bars. I was comfortable in what I was wearing but needed a good excuse for him to see me without my shirt on without me just stripping down, which I thought at the time may have been coming on a little to strong, even for me. So I asked for his opinion and led him into my room.
I laid a few options out on my bed and he helped me settle on a racer back tank top with a ripped open back. He would tell me later that I had a very sexy back and was exceedingly happy with the choice. I threw on a pair of strappy patent leather fuck me heels adorned with gold zippers that served no purpose other than to speed up the fuck me process. Then I shyly looked back at him sitting on the edge of my bed nervously and told him I was going to take off my shirt, I didn’t want to scare the poor boy, he wasn’t used to me like this.
“Why do you think I’m still here?” He said with a raised eyebrow, he had gotten cocky in the nearly two years since I had seen him at the movie theatre. I liked it. I smiled as I turned my back to him and removed my shirt; this was going to be easier than I thought.
I put on the tank top, tousled my hair a bit and turned around to see him holding the bulletin board I had yet to hang in my room. It’s full of mementos from my trip to Kenya as well the lid of a box from a pizza place in the Dells that has the same phone number as me. The focal piece of the board is a list I have of things to do before I die.
He was reading some of them asking questions when I crawled onto the bed behind him, threw my arms around him and rested my chin on his shoulder, he tried to keep up the conversation but as soon as I turned my head to glance at him I knew what was coming. He had the look. He dropped the board and we attacked each other. Before I knew what was happening I was on my back and his hands were on me. I smiled as he kissed me and ran his hands up my legs, to my waist, and my neck. He needed no encouragement to work his way up to my chest. He was forceful and I love that, but he was also gentle in a way. I wasn’t quite ready for the main event just yet as I felt that if we ended up in bed now we wouldn’t leave it for the remainder of his trip and I love him enough to actually want to talk to him.
I didn’t want our relationship to be just about sex so I told him that as long as I was looking this good we better get out to the bar so I could show off. He agreed and after pulling a brush through my then disheveled hair we set off. According to him that wasn’t the look though. I brought it up to him a few weeks later, he claims that look wasn’t the “terrified, surprised, dumbfounded” look he says that was the “god I love looking at her with her shirt off look.” He’s lying though; I know my favorite look when I see it.