We used to be best friends, >>> and I. I didn’t think anything of us being together, until I was about fifteen. I had just started a new year in high school and decided that I was going to “up” my appearance a bit. I got a new hair do, upgraded my clothing, and tried my best to be a bit more “outgoing.” He decided to do the same. He bulked up a bit after playing football at his high school and decided to start shaving more and wearing more form-fitting clothes. Continue reading →
I didn’t want to believe that he got that bruised eye in a fight. His face was too sweet for that. His downy soft baby blues were those that could only belong to the gentlest of God’s creatures. Maybe he got in an accident…a rousing game of football maybe? His six-year-old niece or nephew accidentally hit him with an elbow. He was a bit miffed at the time, but held back his anger toward the paid to not scare the kid. Or maybe his cute but clumsy girlfriend mistakenly punched a bit too hard while they pretended to fight in their cozy one bedroom apartment. His clothes alone made him seem like a seemingly pacifistic person: grey wool jacket, colorful plaid shirt, coifed hair kept disheveled by the headphones over his head. Anyone that peaceful looking couldn’t get a bruise like that in a heated rage filled fight.
His knuckles showed no sign of bruising…except for a cut on the knuckle of the index finger of his right hand. No one carefully shooting through his MP3 player looking for a train ride selection could’ve gotten that bruise on his eye in a fight. No one with a big brown satchel, possibly filled with books, music, an old sweaty gym shirt and towel could’ve gotten that eye bruised in any way that wasn’t purely by mistake.
She came over to my apartment, and I couldn’t help but feel a little anxious. We’d been dating for some weeks and I have to admit that I really like her. I’ve always liked her really. I’d known her for a while, but just never really had the nerve to ask her on a date. When I did, we hit things off so well that it only made sense to keep dating. When she kissed me, I knew that I didn’t want to stop kissing her. And the way she looked at me – some kind of twinkle in her eye, biting her bottom lips and a blush on her cheeks – just only reassured me that I was right to ask her out again. Continue reading →
“I want to make him mine. For forever and a day or two. I want to be able to wake up in the mornings with my ruffled hair tucked away under his chin. I want to feel that heat generated on my right shoulder from the left hand that held it all night long. I want to be the one who rubs his legs with my thighs every morning. The one receiving kisses on the forehead when he’s about to say ‘Good Morning,’ and the one whispering soft ‘I Love You’s in his ear. I want him to love me. The way he loved all those girls before with that passion that burns so bright, it drives the inner darkness away.”
“I want him to love me so much, that it hurts just a smidge to say goodbye; love me so much in the same way that I love him. From the lashes on his eyes, the stud in his ear, the shape of his lips, and the hairs on his chin. From the build of his chest, the look of his belly button and the length of his legs. I bet you were thinking I was going to say something else. But you see I love him past the usual physical things that people associate with love. And that’s how I want him to love me.”
“I want him to love me no matter what- Spring, Summer, Winter and Fall. Through it all. I want him to not only love me, but to be in love with me. So in love that when he writes the word, his name is in the middle of it. So in love with me, that no matter how I look, no matter how many of his babies I have, I will always remain eternally glowing. And I will be ever-flowing with love for him.”
It was actually the internet. I was bored and wanted to make new friends, however, my not-so-apparent self-loathing kept me from just walking up to people, or stalking cute guys like the girls I hung out with. So, I rummaged through social networking sites and found him. We had gone to the same high school and his face looked vaguely familiar. I figured, “why not?” and messaged him.
“First, I don’t make love. I fuck…hard.” – Christian Grey
Christian Grey said this to Anastasia Steele after she came to his place with intentions of making love for the first time. I couldn’t believe it, as I’d been told something similar when I too was a virgin, seeking a companion.
“I really want to fuck you,” he said to me. He was the guy that I thought I was in love with in high school. I was a slave to his somewhat coolness, sleek hair and intoxicating scent. We were off to the side in our lunchroom cafeteria, talking in hushed voices. Continue reading →