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“Tell me a story,” she said, randomly. She was wearing small black cotton panties, a snug, white tank, and nothing else. Even though I generally preferred seeing her in black, the white tank tops showed off her contours better.
“What?” I was a little confused.
“Tell me a story,” she repeated, never looking up from her inspection of my wound that was on its way to healing.
I was laying on the bed in my black boxer briefs, and she was sitting with her legs bent underneath her torso, on either sides of my shin. She was holding my underwear leg pushed up with one hand and delicately running a finger along the short line of the still-sensitive scab.
The mix of pleasure with a hint of pain, plus the sight of her in that position, excited me a little.
“What kind of story?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
I thought for a moment. I was actually pretty good at making up a decent story, off-the-cuff, but I always needed an established foundation.
“I need some criteria. Preferably three.”
She traced circles around the small wound, continuing to stare at it as she thought.
“It’s Good To Be In Love, by Frou Frou. The most beautiful woman in the world. Mud.”
“Hmm.” I pondered the song a moment in order to recall the lyrics, and then thought about the rest of the criteria. About thirty seconds later, I had something in mind.
“A man and a woman lived in a secluded cabin in the woods, but it was a very nice cabin; not a rustic one. One rainy night, the two were laying in bed, talking about nothing of great importance, when they heard a sound from outside. It was the crash of the metal garbage can near their back door.”
She rubbed the scab with the tip of her nose a few times.
“Both of them got out of bed to go look, suspecting an animal, but they wanted to be sure, since the nearest neighbor was over a mile away. The man looked out the window, but saw nothing. He opened the back door and carefully stepped outside.”
She repeatedly, slowly brushed along it with her lower lip.
“Suddenly the man was struck in the head by a wooden baseball bat and flew to the wet dirt near the doorway. The woman gasped at this surprise, but did not scream, as it was not in her nature to do so. She saw a trespasser in a raincoat step into view and quickly begin to repeatedly strike her fallen man.”
She followed the rough line with the tip of her tongue.
“Without a thought, the woman rushed towards the attacker and slammed her shoulder into him as hard as she could, sending the both of them further out into the much muddier yard. They both hit the ground with a splat, but she quickly grabbed the dropped bat. Unfortunately the attacker knocked it from her hand and sent it flying away from both of them.”
She kissed the wound softly a few times.
“The attacker shoved the woman into the mud and started to turn toward her unconscious partner, but she was quick to get up to keep the attention on herself. She charged, and was knocked away, but again she rose. A flash of lightning revealed the face of the attacker. He was someone they thought they şişli eskort had left far behind. He was obsessed with her. He wanted her for himself. He had even cut her face in an attempt to make certain no man would ever want her, leaving her with a scar from scalp to chin.”
She pulled the leg of my boxer briefs into place and kissed the material. She kissed a bit further up.
“She charged him again, and again she was struck down; mud covering her even more with each fall. Because of her persistence, the attacker resorted to punching, but that did not stop her. He tried to kick, but she held his foot. The pain that wracked her meant nothing. The blood that she tasted meant nothing. She pulled backwards causing the attacker to loose balance and fall towards her.”
On her hands and knees, she turned her head and gently bit my semi-hard bulge with her teeth, moving it in various directions. It reminded me of an animal playing with something curious.
“The attacker managed to remain on one knee, but she fell fully into the mud once more. She watch the attacker begin to right himself, but then he stopped suddenly with the sound of a crack. The attacker fell unconscious, revealing her own man holding the bat, but he soon fell to the ground as well.”
She began a trail of kisses up the center of my abdomen.
“The woman rushed to her man and held his face. He was conscious. He saw her wet and covered in mud. Her face bloody and damaged. He held the back of her head and kissed her deeply. The end.”
After a moment, but still having not looked up, she asked, “How was the song in there?”
I smiled a little, then badly sang, “You’re sooo beau-ti-ful, I’m black and blue all over.”
She gave a little laugh. “Clever.” She kissed above my bellybutton. “Tell me a story.”
I waited.
“Your past girlfriend.”
I was confused, but I said nothing.
“Your prom date.”
My confusion grew.
“Your heartbreak.”
I waited a few seconds then said, “I have had none of those things.”
She kissed a bit higher. “You’ll figure something out,” she assured.
She lowered herself onto me and rested her head just below my bruised ribcage as I considered the criteria and their extra layer of challenge. It took me a minute, but I figured out the fix.
“Kara and Mika were twin sisters, and even though they looked exactly like, physically, they had very different personalities. Kara was outgoing, adventurous, fashionable, and was rarely single, while Mika was more reserved, enjoyed stability, dressed more practically, and though she had accompanied her sister on some double dates, she had never hit it off with any of the guys, so she’d never had a real boyfriend.”
She passively stroked my uninjured ribs.
“During the middle of their freshman year of high school, a new student walked into one of Mika’s classes. He was nervous, and tried not to make eye-contact with anyone, but she just stared at him, completely struck. There was nothing particularly outstanding about him, but for some reason, she just knew that he was special to çapa eskort her.”
She tucked her fingers around and under my left side and just held me.
“In time, he became her real boyfriend, and they were great together, but Kara, being rather over-protective of her sister, did not trust him, yet. One day, when Mika was away, Kara invited the boy over to study. She removed all of her makeup, left her hair down, dressed in Mika’s clothes, and adopted her mannerisms. The doorbell rang, she answered, the boy looked at her and asked, ‘Why are dressed like Mika?'”
She adjusted the position of her head to one slightly more comfortable.
“She was astounded. He did not know Mika was gone, and they had never failed to fool anyone before, yet this boy realized almost instantly that she was not Mika. She still was not sure he was good enough, but that definitely earned him favor. Although that did impress her, she still did not know what Mika saw in that boring boy, or, quite frankly, what he saw in Mika, but perhaps it was that they were two of a kind.”
She adjusted her right leg up a bit.
“During the summer of their sophomore year, Mika was hit by a car and died. This devastated Kara. She cried every day until the funeral, but never saw the boy during that time. He never came over to offer condolences or anything. Maybe he was just a jerk, after all. Would he even come to the funeral?”
She hugged a little tighter.
“On the day of the funeral, she kept a look out for him, but never saw him. She felt sad and angry, and decided to go outside for some privacy and fresh air. When she rounded the corner of the funeral home, she saw the boy sitting on the ground, leaning against the building. He was motionless, staring into nothing, with occasional tears rolling over his cheeks.”
I felt sudden wetness on the edge of where her face met my skin.
“Ashamed of herself, she ran back around the building and hid herself somewhere and cried. She knew now that his feelings were genuine. In the following months, she made a greater effort to be a friend to him. It was good to be able to talk to someone who had truly cared about her sister as much as herself. Apart from the shared loss, it was difficult for her to relate to him, since they had such different personalities, but she did not give up.”
A sniff.
“During senior year, prom was days away. Mika had never cared for parties or dancing, but Kara always looked forward to them. Unfortunately, Kara had no boyfriend at the time. She thought about it, and realized that she hadn’t had a boyfriend for months, and she was amazed by the fact. There were a number of things she didn’t do as much of anymore, actually.”
Another sniff.
“She didn’t really want to go with anyone in particular, so she thought maybe she’d go with the boy who cared so much for her sister. He had no interest in going to the prom. She told him that she had no one to go with, and insisted that maybe he needed the distraction. She promised that he would not have to wear anything special or even pick her up. She begged, and he finally etiler escort gave in.
Liquid ran along my stomach at the edge of her face.
“On the night of the prom, she put on the dress, the makeup, tied her hair up, and she was ready to leave. She opened the front door to see the boy walking up the sidewalk towards her. He was dressed up and carrying a corsage. He was not looking up, so he did not see her staring. He went up the steps to the porch, and as he approached the door, he looked up to knock, and was surprised by her presence.”
She was silent and motionless.
“The boy saw the slight confusion on her face and said, ‘I figured it wouldn’t be fair to you if I didn’t make an effort.’ She smiled and thanked him, and then they left for the prom, but she had really wanted to hug him. At the prom, they intentionally sat out the songs that were fast and the slow ones, but one bordered on slow just enough that she mindlessly put her arms on his shoulders.”
Motionless.
“When the music changed to something faster, she suddenly realized that they had been staring into each other’s eyes. A little surprised, she took her arms off of his shoulders and said, ‘I need to… freshen up.’ He smiled, said, ‘Okay,’ and let go of her waist, which she also hadn’t noticed until just then. She went to the bathroom and stared into the mirror.”
She adjusted the position of her right hand on my side.
“‘He was staring into my eyes the whole time’, she thought. ‘He never complimented my dress. Did he even notice it? Why am I wearing this makeup?’ She wet a paper towel and wiped off her lipstick and eyeshadow and the rest. She let her hair down. ‘He didn’t care about any of these things.’ Tears began streaming down her face as a hard realization hit. ‘He loved her more than I did.’ She ran out of the bathroom to find him standing near the door waiting. She paused to see the sudden look of concern on his face, but before he could say anything, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in the front of his shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry’, she managed to say before completely breaking down. He just held her tight and said nothing.”
That was the end of the story, so I just waited in silence. After a moment, she lifted herself off of me. The side of her expressionless face was wet, and a tear dropped as she repositioned herself to sit on my stomach. Her eyes moved every second or two, from one part of me to another.
She put her palms on the pillow, on either side of my head, and leaned over me. Her head blocked the ceiling light. Her hair hung messily down around her horizontal face. Her features were in shadow over me, and it was unbelievably beautiful.
She carefully moved further up me to sit on my chest. I could smell her heady scent. She up-righted herself enough to move her fingers to either side of my chin. Her weight pressed me down, slightly hindering my breathing, but I welcomed it.
She pulled down my chin, with fingertips of both hands, parting my lips. Her fingers played along them, circling, and her gazed alternated between my eyes and my mouth.
Her right hand held open my mouth as her left hand pressed the pillow again. She lifted her weight from me and moved up further. She moved her right hand out of the way.
“Tell me a story,” she said, lowering herself onto my open lips.
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