A Story by Lucille

These are memories. Don't abuse them.

The first day I met him I was young. 
I was still a brat. 
I was a lair. 
He was something I was not. I have very few memories of that day, all I remember is the sunlight and the classroom. 
The classroom was big, it had a digital clock in the back, a huge white board in the front, and tables that were assembled into groups of four. There was a desk area for the teacher in the way back left corner. It had posters of the Giants, there were baseballs and calendars, magazines of all kind about them-all of those were my fault, my grandfather worked and still works, for the Giants and he used to make me bring my teacher a lot of magazines about them, I think he did that because she was a woman, my grandfather and grandmother are divorced-my group was in the way back, right hand corner, near the sink. I loved that area, there would be books of all kind laid against the wall in this long shelf. It was made of wood. Above that would be this long huge window, it would be the source of our light. 
Well as we baked in the sun in this huge classroom we were on a mission, we had to make a farm, name it, design its ground and all that. All in an hour. Then we had to write a essay about it. 
I remember trying to be sexy, leaning myself over him so it could give him a good view at my "breasts", he was hard at work, trying to draw a sheep-I'm going to change their names-while Celia was in daydreaming in another chair. Celia was a bulky tan girl, she was huge-both length and width-and loved to play football. She loved everything about football. She was not a girly-girl. She was the tom-boy of the school-besides my best friend-Oliver on the other hand was very sporty, he was kind and smart, tan and handsome. He had some anger issues but I didn't mind. But that day I knew nothing about him, only that he would be another victim to my stupid "breasts". I remember telling him to hurry up. He pounded the pencil into the paper and glared at me, "I am trying!" he growled. Then he spun his head back and started again on that sheep. "Fine." I said, shocked. 
There is no memory after that, except parts where I was yelling "Come on!" or "Hurry Up!" in the end we got a good grade. And after that we never noticed each other, then came next year.  

© 2017 Lucille

My Review

Would you like to review this Story?
Login | Register

Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Added on November 10, 2017
Last Updated on November 10, 2017




When I was little, I was told that I was someone that could draw anything. My heart warms with that comment. But I now see I am a writer. I have changed. No more sex on the street, no more sex in th.. more..


A Story by Lucille

I'm Back I'm Back

A Poem by Lucille