|It is unveiled!
||[Jan. 6th, 2006|11:34 pm]
This is the new story I've told you about. I'm sorry if either of you are offended by the intense description of the female character. It serves a purpose later in the storyline (as i may have told one of you...) that I could not possibly do without. I'm not trying to be offensive to women, not that I worry about any feminist bullshit from either of you all that much.
This is just the first few pages, an introduction to the hero and the heroine. (and just so you know, the female character is somewhat beyond my control). I may not have as much time to work on this as I'd like, so updates will be scarce. In any case, I'm trying to make myself more present in my writing, and this is the first of those attempts. Don't worry about any of that though. Just see if you like it, and by all means COMMENT!
Rational people live within certain bounds. There are things they know can happen, and little room for anything else. Schools, from Oak Staff Elementary to Harvard Law, all try to force students to become rational people. They preach analysis and “awareness,” and most people listen because, for the most part, these schools are right. The world follows somewhat predictable patterns, but every now and again the chains snap and chaos shows its ugly face. This is a story about one such event. My story. The story of Kotcha.
“Where are you going Jerry? You can’t leave now! The party’s just started, man!” My friend Joe was screaming over the music blasting from his parent’s stereo. Luckily he had the house to himself for the weekend, and he did what most self-aware and irresponsible teens would do. He threw one hell of a party on Friday, and intended to clean for the rest of the weekend to make the house presentable again. I had planned on helping him out, things where going pretty rough at home and I intended to de-stress, but changed my plans at the last minute. I saw something on his porch that held intoxicating power beyond all drug or drink, a beautiful young woman.
“You see that hot ass standing out there!?” Honestly, I hated talking about her like that. She carried something in her figure (a very nice one at that) that commanded respect from any man with half a brain. Being a few percent short of fifty, Joe could never understand. I had no other choice but to make myself sound like a moron. “By the end of the night I’m going to read that girl between the lines, if you know what I’m saying,” more sleazy talk. At that moment I was never happier for loud music. If the girl out there heard anything I said in the past five minutes, I would never get more than a half-hearted hello out of her.
“Way to go man,” Joe said, patting me on the shoulder trying to pep me up, “Now if you don’t mind there are some hotties in the living room I want to score on tonight. Good luck man, she looks like a tough sea to part.” And off Joe went, pretending to know what he was doing. Joe could be that way, and it was and will forever remain his only salvation. You see, Joe is kind of like that little puppy that pisses on the carpet and digs up the flower bed in that, it would be so easy to shoot him if he were not so damn stupid.
I stepped out on the porch trying to keep my cool, which proved to be more effort than I thought it would be. That dark-haired beauty looked even better from out here on the dimly lit porch than she did through the window. My eyes gave her a quick ‘elevator look’, that is: Look at the face, glance over the chest and torso as your eyes fall, pause at the butt, scan down the legs, start going back up, pause again at the butt and then scan the torso again before finally returning to the face. She looked to be in her twenties, when a woman’s real beauty starts to show through, but still held herself like an (and I should find a better way to describe it than this) overconfident girl. The way her jeans fit her legs hinted at an athletic build. Her arms were toned and strong looking, while maintaining an elegant and feminine subtlety about them. The tank top covering the places in between hung loosely around the stomach, and a little tighter around the chest. Her features caused me to stare for quite some time, mouth open and head tilted to the side, mesmerized by this magnificent creature in front of me.
She must have known I was there staring because after a few moments she turned to face me. Her movement progressed smoothly, like a cats walk, and ultimately I became even more entranced. Walking slowly to where I stood, she held her shoulders slightly back, unconsciously emphasizing her (as we of the male race so aptly name them) tits. My eyes drifted downward steadily, despite my best efforts, and I could not keep them focused on her face.
“So,” she said in a taunting, seductive voice, “are you going to read me between the lines tonight?” Then she looked at me, arching her back even more and seeming to take pleasure in the way my eyes bounced between her breasts and her face. Even worse than her gesture were here eyes, bearing a knowing (and haunting) look that could melt my very soul if I beheld it too long. And throughout the whole ordeal she never seemed angry or offended. If anything she appeared to be enjoying the pseudo-torture she put me through.
I paused (Oh shit she heard me!), trying to think of something witty to say next, “No, I thought I’d turn a few pages first, you know, really get a feel for the ‘reading.’”
She smiled a little, a totally crushing move, a real jaw-dropper. “Well, you’re pretty good at talking dirty, you know, for somebody who’s not really a perv.” Again I just stood there stunned. Stunned at the you know she threw in just to mock me, stunned at the brutal honesty coming from a girl I assumed to be a quiet wallflower. What made matters worse is she knew I wasn’t being serious, and that, when it came to being a whore, I was all talk.
“…But since you’re the first decent guy I’ve met tonight,” she said, ignoring my shock and all the while giving me that head-cocked, sweet-eyed look that gets me every time, “You can walk me home.” That last statement slid out of her mouth with such satisfied ease it sent a chill down my spine.
“Didn’t your daddy ever tell you about going home with strangers?” Even after she had took my macho facade and walked all over it I still insisted on serving my male ego, I insisted on mocking my mocker and trying to turn the tides. I also noted that if we were a little younger, I would have been pulling her pigtails while she dumped sand on my head.
“Right,” she spat out sarcastically, “and what’re you going to do, tough guy? Drag me behind a bush and rape me!?” And again that knowing look flashed across her face before she continued, “Because you and I both know you don’t have it in you, no matter how bad you want to get into me.”
As she finished talking she walked down the steps behind me and turned back around. I barely noticed her moving, I was so stunned by her odd mixture of almost artful word choice, and even more so because she spoke her mind (even with her beauty she actually had one). As she stood there watching me, now looking like any girl who’s doubting a guy’s next move, I knew I had only one possible option. I stepped off the porch and nodded for her to lead the way.