Journal: 9/30/07

Journal: 9/30/07

A Story by Querida

My mood is slightly bleak this day.  I didn't even return home until 2 AM, much to my parents dissaproval.  I slept fitfully, tossing and turning for what seemed like hours.  He haunted my mind.  Who is he?  Just a boy, just a thing of the male species, just the ex boyfriend of two of my best friends, just a boy.  Yet I couldn't get him out of my head last night!  After all was said and done, he lodged in my head.  Like the typical female, I felt the unreasonable need to overanalyze every word he spoke, every place he put his hands, and every smile he gave me. 

Shall I give you a bit of background?  Just a small tidbit, seeing as my teenage views no doubt grate on the nerves of the adults who bother to ponder over my writings.  He is a nice boy, I must admit.  He is tall, skinny, with curly brown hair.  He is, like so many of my mentioned crushes, a temptation that I have no intention of allowing myself to give in to. 

Last night was the homecoming dance.  A meaningless social gathering, if you asked my opinon beforehand.  Then again, I have a reputation for ending nights on a sour note, whether with a break up or a smack down, it's all the same.  Last night, however, was differant.  Of course, there was the regular drama.  My friend trying to hook me up with a certain guy.  A girl fainting while in the middle of the crowd because she was dehydrated.  A friend grinding with someone throughout the entire night, when previously you would have had to stalk them to see them exchange even a single word a week.

My drama, well, was quite a bit less dramatic.  My male friend and I have a simple, aggressive, flirtatious relationship.  I wear a sweatshirt, he puts up the hood from behind.  He wears a hat, I steal it.  I randomly shove him from behind, he randomly tickled me from behind.  We have a loose friendship, it shifts with the days, and we find it simpler to repeat the same actions than to search for new ones.  Our conversations are short, flighty, the typical between two flirtatious beings of differant grades and social circles.

We acted as was typical last night.  He poked me, I kicked him.  He came up later saying how much it hurt, I gave him a hug and promised him a dance.  I say A dance.  Singular.  So, slow song comes around, we hunt eachother out (no easy task) and sway with the music.  He's light on his feet, an energetic boy.  I've always been stiff, uptight, scared.  We loosen together, I should think, making it easier.  But the slow dance ends, and instead of just splitting up, he just stands there and looks at me.

So what do I do?  Beg and flirt my way into getting him to dance with me for a fast song.  We both suck at dancing, but nothing matters when the rhythm's there and sweaty bodies make us just want to move.  Front to front, back to front, his hands either on my waist (or a bit lower) or on my stomach.  He taps my stomach, mimicing the music, and its pretty damn hard not to laugh.  We're both disgustingly hot and sweaty, rubbing against eachother in a way that, I'm sure, would give my parents heart attacks.  Our friends don't even notice, because such grinding is commonplace.  Girl on girl, girl on guy, two girls and a guy, and even occasionally two joking guys, it's no new thing.

We danced together, roughly, for about an hour.  I say roughly because he had, of course, promised dances to other people, as had I.  Lucky me, he kept coming back, and now I'm forced to consider what was meant by his movements, the hands that slowly travelled downward, the eyes staring into mine.

Now, don't get me wrong.  I don't want a relationship.  If you know me, you know I'm not that sort of girl.  They require innate talents I don't seem to have, and it doesn't bother me a bit.  Leave me to my hook ups, and I will be content.  But I worry now that my hopes have been driven too high, my desire too desperate, for me to back away without saying goodbye.


© 2008 Querida



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Added on February 7, 2008

Author

Querida
Querida

MN



About
Let's start anew, without the prejudices and pains of the past to haunt the beginning of an era. Querida is not my real name, but it has become me, in my years online. more..

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