To be a beautiful girl, might just be an issue. It is an issue. I am 23 and to make matters worse, I needed a husband. I knew that I needed to grow, marriage seemed
To be a beautiful girl, might just be an issue. It is an issue. I am 23 and to make matters worse, I needed a husband. I knew that I needed to grow, marriage seemed like growth to me. I could not understand what the problem was, if I was too beautiful or not, yet I visited the mirror often and was convinced that I am beautiful. I could not think about him or place my mind to find him in the space. Another person that talked to me in a man-to-woman way was Carl, second year. We had done the relationship and also done the break up. No one came again, I was not surprised. After all, it took long before Carl came and then, he was gone. Boom! I am a Georgian girl and I felt that I wasn’t giving up and the man would appear. I needed that physical attraction kind of love together with our restless souls yearning for each other endlessly. I needed telepathy more than the chemistry. I would squeeze myself so much in bed yet wake up the next day pretending like I am alright. School could not aid it; everyone looked at everyone but didn’t know what problems abound. My hair is often well stretched, worn straight with a centre path, my eyes glaring up and down, left to right.
Oh! I had forgotten. Thompson lived two buildings away from mine in Atlanta then and he was full of feelings for me but he was a nerd, worst still, more quiet than an introvert. I still remember his cute face although an outstanding ugly nose. He greeted through my window even more than ten times a day. I knew he felt me, I felt him too. And one night in a slumber party, his hands crept greedily inside my clothes. He was the first to have felt me, the first to give me that love-rugged feeling. The butterflies in my stomach, it was him. I found out later that I loved men who act than say and maybe that was why I fancied Thompson. The past few years got me unconsciously needing someone as him or him, just him. I was the one who talked and disturbed his excess-quiet especially among our friends. My years in the study of Psychology explained exactly why we collided. That unlike poles attract. I was the life of fun and Thompson complemented me with his silence. Space separated us and fate as malicious as ever contradicted our affairs before I found myself living with my father in Georgia.
The following weeks were same and on that day, I opened the door in a sweatshirt, my hair a mess from a previous silly work-out. Thompson stood there, at my door. A delivery man?
‘Hi, ……I took the…. a little…… burden off the delivery guy…guy to deliver this wonderful parcel from your Grandma in Atlanta that hopefully contains enough cash so that I can spend it with you and….I don’t know….and whatever that comes. It’s been years Cassie.’
He almost blinked out tears, standing right there, in front of me and had said something directly to me.
He finally spoke. I needed to act in return, this time; it was my turn to act. I lavishly took his lips in mine. Then, we spent the whole day without sweatshirts.
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