Friday, May 8, 2009

A man with hands, a woman with a scar, Part IV

This is the final part of a 4-part mini-series of posts.  You should start with Part I here.  Please don't link to any post in this mini-series.  Don't email your friends a link to it either.

I smile at her little game.  "I'm not kidding." I stand up and walk to her bookshelf where her DVDs are organized in seemingly complete random order.  "They're not organized randomly."  I know.  You sorted them by times in your life when you watched them a lot.  "Holy shit."  The kettle overflows with water.  She pours some out as I select the movie The Bourne Supremacy.

I walk to one of three drawer stands in the room, the one further from the couch and the TV.  I open the drawer and grab the remote.  I turn to see her watching me.  "How the hell did you know the remote is there?"  You keep it far from the couch and the TV so you don't watch too much too easily.  "You know THAT?"  You have a scar that runs deep into your psyche.  "That's, that's just..." It's not incredible.  It's what I do.  "Do you scare people?"  Every day.  "I'm not scared."  You know me.  "I don't know a thing about you!"  Yes you do.  She looks at me and smiles.

She turns the kettle on and starts to grab a few boxes of tea.  I ask for the mint green, not being able to see her selection since the cabinet door is facing me.  "How did you know I had mint green?"  I smelled it from earlier.  "Now that's scary."  Not really.  "What else do you know from smell?  Can you scare me more?"  Ralph was here within the past 48 hours.  "How did you know that?"  He smokes menthol.  "He tried to but I told him to put it out.  I told him to leave."  It's OK.  "He surprised me, too.  He left though, and I doubt he'll come back again.

She grabs the tea and she grabs herself chamomile, which is especially pungeant.  She sits next to me and we turn the movie on.  "Do you like this movie?"  I don't remember.  Maybe.  "You forgot seeing it?"  Yes.  "That's terrible."  It lets me focus on today and tomorrow rather than yesterday.

"You are always smiling.  Are you always happy?"  I am.  "Ever sad?"  No.  "How is that possible?"  I explain to her my my mental disability.  She doesn't believe me, so I tell her to get her notebook and look it up on wikipedia.  She does.  She's shocker.  Her mouth is open, but no words come out.  She looks at me, she looks at the notebook, then nods her head.  I watch Matt Damon looking much heavier than any manmade spy machine would be.  I remember this part.

"That explains it all."  Yes.  "The whole thing.  It's not a game."  No.  "What do you want from me?"  I want to watch the movie and drink tea.  "That's all?"  No.   "What else?"  I'd like to fuck.  She looks at me while I watch the movie, getting up to get the tea ready.  She puts the kettle down after opening one teabag.  The movie is interesting so I almost miss not smelling the scent of green mint or chamomile or both combined.  She puts the teabag down into a cup and puts the cups away, as well as her tea boxes.

"Let's go."  Where?  "To bed."  Just like that?  "Yes.  But to talk more."  I follow her into her bedroom.

Her bed is messy.  There's no sign or scent of sex in the air.  I always know if a woman has had other lovers between cleaning the sheets.  She hasn't.  There's enough body hair of hers on the pillow and enough wrinkles in the sheets that she hasn't had anyone in that bed in a long time.  It makes me sad.  She's lovely, but she hurts still over the tragedy of her non-visible scar.  I sit on the bed and take my shoes off.  "Forward, aren't we?" she jokes as she removes her shoes, too.  I laugh back.  She sits next to me on the bed but falls onto her back, plays with my hair.  I turn to look at her.

We talk for half an hour about things that make us laugh, that might make me sad, people we loved, people we hated.  Her laugh is addictive.  I smile, thinking about kissing her.  She reads my mind again.  "Not yet."  She unbuttons her dress from behind while sitting, then stands up and pulls it off.  "You've seen me naked through my words.  Can you see me naked while we talk somemore?"  Absolutely.  "Is there a difference between the two?"  None at all.  "Do you want to see me this way?"  I shake my head yes, one of the most significant gestures I can make.  She sees it right away and smiles in understanding.

Her bra comes off as do her panties.  She trimmed today.  Her legs are shaven smooth.  She was thinking of sleeping with me already.  The entire time I realized this, I was only looking at her face.  I tell her she's beautiful.  "Just my face?"  I look at her body.  Her boobs are nice, fairly small.  She's in great shape, but there's an obvious side effect of when she was overweight.  I like it.  I look at her pubic hair, which is glistening from the street lamp coming into the window.  "I shaved today."   I know.  "I know you know, I wanted to see if I could read you."  Anyone can.  "I'm wet, too."  She runs her hand down her flat belly, down her pubic hair, and then sits down next to me.

We talk, me focusing on her eyes.  Licking my lips to talk as I always do but restraining myself.  We shares funny bed stories, noticing when I gesture a reply of familiarity.  She keeps talking about how few women I've slept with and says she understands why that is.  "You really do keep things where people need them to be."  I do.  "It's not because you're shy."  I'm not.  "You're confident you can do anything, anyone."  Yes.  "Will you be my fourth?"  Fourth?  "Lover?  Fuck?  One night stand or whatever you think I need?"  I'm silent.  I look at her face, at her eyes.  She sits back up to kiss me.  I can smell her pussy very strongly.

"Will you take your clothes off for me?"  I stand up, remove my shirt and my pants, slowly but at a decent speed.  I take off my Emporio Armani black undershirt and shorts.  My cock is hard, and it's soaking in precum.  She grabs my hand, spreads her legs, and pulls me closer.   We both shuffle up to the bed, kissing deeply.  Only 10 minutes pass.  "I don't have protection.  Have you been tested lately?"  This year.  Every 6 months.  "But you don't fuck around?"  I've been with people who have problems.  You never know.  "Do you always use protection?"  Yes.  "Even tonight?"  If it's available, otherwise we can do other things.  "Do you have condoms?"  In the car.  "Go get one."  I pull my jeans on only, and run outside barefoot.  I return from the car in moments.  She has her vibrator out and she's already using it.

I lay down next to her and take it away.  "I need that to finish."  I tell her she's beautiful, and that an orgasm isn't why I'm here.  Not for me, not for her.  She grabs my hard cock and asks if I want a blowjob.  I don't.  "Why not?"  It's not necessary.  I don't tell her this, but I know she doesn't like giving them.  Fat girls give a lot of blowjobs in high schoool.  If they get skinny, it becomes a negative idea.  "You know."  I do.

We kiss some more, and her vibrator falls to the floor.  "I'll need that later."  I'll get it if you do.  Her moans are amazing.  I don't turn her on her front because I know she is conscious of her back.  I skip it, even though it is generally my favorite part.  I focus on her shoulders, her muscular arms, her hips and flat belly with obvious abs under a very thin layer of skin, not fat.  She's magnificent, just as women are.  "I'm nervous."  I'm not.  I won't push beyond your limit.

"I'm nervous that you're going to be amazing and that this will be all we'll share."  You're not looking for a boyfriend.  "Right."  You're not looking for a friend with benefits.  "Exactly." So what's the problem?  "I don't want to lose someone this amazing."  We can skip the sex.  "I need it.  I thought you were playing a game.  You're not.  I need you inside of me."

I roll over to the nightstand to get my box of condoms.  I put one on while she watches.  "No foreplay?"  All night was foreplay.   "Yes, it was."  I roll her onto her side, away from me as in a spooning position.  I kiss her cheek and run my hand down her side.  She shudders.  "I need my vibrator."  Don't worry, I'll last awhile.  We'll get it later.  "I trust you" she tells me as I enter her.

She moans.  "Oh, god you're thick."  She's tight, but not too tight.  I slowly drive into her.  "Oh, yes, right there."  I'm barely doing anything, but I figured her position out right.  I'm pumping into her, slowly.  "Oh, that's so good."  Only 15 minutes pass.  I put her in 3 different positions, not wanting to wear her out.  Finally I put her on top of me, reverse cowgirl.  

Her legs are powerful and she balances just fine.  "Oh, god that's so good."  She's bouncing on my cock, pulling up slowly but forcing herself down hard.  "Oh, fuck, I need it deep in me."  She's getting it as deep as I can give her.  After a minute or so of her pounding on me, I start to slightly lift my hips to meet her at her lowest point.  "Oh, Chicago, damn it, fuck me."  I do.  She gets a little wobbly, so I hold her hips.  She's thrusting faster now, up and down, so I meet her with as much force as I can on her down swing.  "Oh, fuck fuck."  Do it, Stace.  "Fuck yes, fuck me, yes."  You can come if you're ready.  "Yes, god, fuck fuck, I'm there don't stop, Chicago, don't stop."  She's pounding so hard into me that she's hurting my hips.  One hand reaches around and claws my arm with her nails.  Fuck me, Stace,  Fuck me.  "Oh I'm, I'm coming.  Oh god I'm coming.  Don't stop."  I keep pounding her as she loses control.  She starts to topple over to her side, so I grasp her hips and roll her onto her belly, still inside of her.

As soon as her stomach is on the bed, I ram into her some more.  "Oh, I'm still coming, oh god please don't stop."  I don't.  She's still shuddering as I pound into her.  This is the hardest I've fucked a woman in probably 4 years.  I'm fearful I'll fall out as this position isn't good for my cock length.  I'm hard as a rock, pushing her shoulders down hard so her ass comes up enough for me to slide in.

"Oh, more more moremoremore." I oblige.  "Uhhh, oh god." I come, but I'm so hot for her to come again that I stay hard.  "Uhhh, yes more harder fuck me fuck me."  She's loud, so loud.  I keep pounding and her ass comes up to meet me finally.  "ohh I'm coming. what the fuck, uhhhhh." She does.

I stop after her 2 minute long orgasm #2.  It takes her nearly 5 minutes to say anyting.  I've long since popped out of her, still hard but my condom is too full to go further.  She turns over.  "Oh my god.  Oh my god."  She holds my small hand in both of hers.  "Oh my god.  That was, oh god."  I'm Chicago.  ChicagoSane.  She laughs. "That's your last name?"  Another thing people made fun of in high school.  "It suits you."  She laughs, and then her face shows torment when she sees my hard cock.  "Oh my god, you didn't finish!"  I did.  She looks at the condom, filled with my come.

"You're still hard."  I'm finished.  Don't worry.  "I can't believe it."  She reaches down and pulls off the condom.  Come falls all over her hands and my cock.  "When did you come?"  Before you did the second time.  "And you kept fucking me?"  You needed it.

She ties off the condom, just as I would, and licks the come from her fingers.  "Mmm."  That's not necessary.  "No, but I like it."  She finishes.  Then she kisses me.  "You're not grossed out?"  Nothing grosses me out.  We lay down and talk some more.  "Threesomes?"  No problem.  "Two guys and a girl?"  Sure.  "Touch a guy's dick?"  No, but not because it's gross.  It's just not my thing.  "Fucked a girl in the ass?"  A few.   "Like it?"  They did, so I did.  "Anything you like to do in bed?"  Continue our story.

"Nothing that you like for yourself?"  Two things.  "What are they?"  It's not important, it doesn't make the sex better or worse.  "Will you tell me?"  Think about tonight and then guess.  She lays down with her head in my arms.  It's almost exactly 1am.  We fucked for less than an hour or so.  This women is going to break me.

"You like to take photos."  Yes.  "Of every woman?"  No.  "How do you choose?"  I don't.  "Women actually ask you to take their photos?" Yes.  "Do you always?"  Yes.  "Where are the photos?" Printed and stuck in a locked journal and deleted.  "That's how you remember them.  Us."  Yes.  And the written word.  "That's amazing.  I've never done it before.  Guys have asked."  It's ok.  I'm not asking.  She pauses.

"You can."  Not if you're uncomfortable.  "Would you show me some?"  No.  "No one, ever?"  Never.  "Then I want you to."  Ok.  "What's the other thing?"  Think some more.  "Does it have to do with remembering?"  Yes.  She thinks about it.  She's at a loss.  "I have no idea."  Then it isn't important.  "Would it make tonight better?"  No.  "More memorable?" Yes.  "So why won't you tell me?"  It something the woman has to ask for.

"Butt sex?"  No.  "Something I should do to you?"  No.  "Something you would do to me?"  Yes.  I notice her toes are still curled up.  "My feet?  Do you want to come on my feet?"  No.  I just noticed your toes were curled still.  It's cute.  We kiss.  We kiss for another few minutes, her stroking my cock which is getting hard again after going limp from the talking.  She's moaning, but I can tell she's done for the night.

She pulls my face away from hers.  "Do you want to come on my face?"  Yes.  "Is that it?"  Yes.  "And take a picture?"  Yes.  "And no one will see it?" Not until I'm dead.  "Will you be careful?"  Yes.  "Not in the eye or anything, right?"  Yes.  "Guys have asked before, I always said no."  I don't care about what you've done before.  "Just what I do now?"  Yes.

She takes my cock into her mouth.  I try to pull it out.  "No.  I want this.  Really, really bad."  I let her continue.  She's good, which makes me sad.  "Don't be sad."  She sees my expression.  She's reading my mind now.  She's not deep throating me, but she's focusing on the right areas.  She tries to put her hand by my ass.  Definitely a pro at this.  I push her hand away.  She pops off of me.  "Do you want to do it hard or have me do it?"  Either way.  "What do you prefer?"  I want you comfortable.  She holds my cock in her hand and gets off the bed, onto her carpeted floor.

I step off the bed and put my cock back in her mouth, letting her use her spit and her head movements.  It doesn't take long and she can tell.  She pulls off and spits on my head and her hand and slides her hand almost perfectly.  "You can finish if you want."  Where?  "On my face.  use your hand if you want."  Where do you want it?  "Please come on my face."  I'm close.  "Come on my face and take a photo."  

I let loose, bare minutes after she started.  She closes her eyes and barely moves as each shot lands on her.  The first one went over her head, into her hair and dribbles down her forehead.  Each shot lands lower, until the final shot just barely hits her chin.  I miss her eyes entirely, but some dribbles down her right eyebrown and slides down the side of her face.  She opens her eyes slowly.  My cock is still hard in her hands.

"Can you do it again?"  Yes.  "What's your limit?"  I don't know.  "Does it go empty?"  Yes.  She's stroking my cock.  "Do you want to fuck me again?"  I do.  "What if we don't?"  It's ok.  "What if I go online and tell everyone who you are?"  It's fine.  She puts her mouth on my cock again, my come all over her face.  Her mouth is getting dry, though.  She stops, tells me to sit and goes to the kitchen.  She drinks about 16oz of water in 5 seconds flat.  "Lay down."

I do, and she works it again, this time with more spit.  My come on her face is slowly drying, but the view is amazing.  She's beautiful and she wants this.  I can tell.  She's smiling.  I'm getting close again.  She pulls off and uses her hand and her tongue on me.  "Do you like it when I talk dirty?"  Yes.  "Do you want to come on my face again?"  I do.  "Do you want to fuck me?"  Yes.  "In the ass?"  If you want it.  "Will you rape me?"  If you want me to.  "Please come on my face again."  

I do.  This time my load isn't as strong, but 2 out of 4 shots hit her face.  She opens her mouth to catch some and then lets it dribble down her chin.  Beautiful.

She licks up what is on my belly and on my cock.  "Do you have a camera?"  On my cell phone.  She turns all the lights on in her room and grabs my phone from my jacket pocket.  "Take my picture."  She lays on her bed.  I snap one shot.  "How did it turn out?"  I don't know.  "Take more."  One is enough.

"Do you want anything more tonight?"  No.  "Can you go again?"  If you want me to.  She laughs.  "You've been happy since the moment you picked me up."  I say nothing.  "Except for ten seconds in the car."  She noticed.  "I thought you were going to cry."  I did, but I don't tell her.  She starts to wipe my come off her face.  "Should I keep it here?"  If you want, it's not necessary.  I can get you a towel.  "I'll take care of it."  She gets up and comes back in moments.  She's still beautiful.

"Why do you like that?"  It's nothing specific.  Just a fun way to really remind me that we were together like this.  "If they ask for a photo, do you take a picture of just their face?"  Yes.  "Nothing else?"  Not unless they ask me to.  "How many ask?"  Maybe half.  "Do you ever tell anyone about liking it?"  Only when they ask.  And online now, I guess.  "Are you sleeping with anyone from your website?"  No.  "Will you?" No idea.  Maybe.  "Do you want me to read it?"  If you want.  "Will I get sad or jealous?"  Some people do.  "I don't know.  I'm not good at retaining words, but others can make me mad or sad.   I don't want to know.  "That's OK."

She snuggles up against me, reverse spooning.  "Will we do this again?"  I'm not sure.  "Do you want to?"  Of course.   "Do you always want to with everyone you sleep with?"  Yes.  "I don't want a boyfriend.  Or a friend with benefits."  I know.  "Would you be sad if it didn't happen again?"  I don't get sad.  "What if it doesn't happen for awhile?"  Same thing.  "Are you glad we did it all?"  Yes.  More than you realize.

"I can get emotional really quickly.  If you spend the night, fall asleep with me, it'll complicate things."  I know.  "So you understand?"  Yes.  I can leave whenever you want to.  She grabs my cock and strokes it.  It starts to get hard.  "My god, I love that thing."  I'm glad.  "Did you plan on sleeping with me tonight?"  Just the opposite.  "Why?"  I knew you had a scar.

Then I dressed.  She kissed me, very passionately.  "I don't want to want you."  I know.   "You're no good for me."  How can I be?"  "You can't.  At least you understand."  Of course.  "You won't be alone."  I don't get lonely.  "I know.  I just can't believe you're not taken, but I also can't see who could handle you.  You really forget things?"  Too many things to list.  "It bothers women."  Yes it does.  "Has anyone been unbothered by it?"  None.  "Do you fall in love?"  Every time.   "Only with sex?"  No.  "Does it hurt you when it's over?"  No.  "Is that mean?"  No.

"You're still smiling.  It's sexy.  You're happy."  I am.  "Ok.  Get out here before you change your mind.  Feel free to write about it all.  I trust you not to tell anything that would tell people who I am."  I won't.  She kisses me.  "I love you, too"  I know.  "But not like a boyfriend or a lover or a friend."  I know.  "That's how you feel, right?"  Yes.  "About everyone?"  Yes.

I leave her place, Jason Bourne kicking someone's ass on the television.  I'm driving home much earlier than I had expected once we had started.  My face was soaked with my own tears one I turned the corner form her block.  Not sad tears.  Not happy tears.  Just tears that needed to flow.

I deleted her photo from my cell phone.  Yes, Stace, I love you.  I love everyone.  It's not a good thing.  It's a horrible thing to love and to forget against your will.  It's my cross to bear.  It's why I listen.  It's why I fuck.  It's why I live the life that I do.  Not alone.  Not solitary.  Not sad.  Not bored.  I don't need conquests.  I don't like making friends and then losing them over a forgotten birthday.  I don't want to forget anniversaries or special things that happened on this very day 1 year ago or 10 years ago.  I don't get sad about it, but I wish it could change.

It's a fucking curse, not being able to be sad.  I try to.  I see sad movies.  I go to funerals of people I have loved.  I lose pets.  I lose friends over pettiness.  The tears I shed in the car on my way home are real tears, but they're not sad tears.  What are they?

No one knows.  Not even me.  This girl broke me, but I am not sad.  It was unexpected.  No one understands the curse that keeps you happy, satisfied, amazed, interested, desiring, forgetting, ignoring, losing touch.  She doesn't get it either, but she got enough.

I am amazed.

Spoiler alert below (highlight to read)
The man with hands is me.  Not physical hands, but just an ability to grasp things.  Like all hands, you eventually have to let go of what you grasp.  I do it automatically.  If you put something down, you  sometimes forget where.  I forget every day.

The woman with a scar was Stace, not her real name.  Her scar wasn't just that she was fat, but that she clinged to the idea that it had an effect on her.  I tricked Stace tonight.  I never do this.  I don't play games, but I played one with her: I helped her navigate through the pain of feeling useless.  I gave her sledgehammer, prompted her with just enough information about me, and I let her break me down.  Why her?  She's harmless.  But a few things she did or said were completely spot on.

She figured me out.  No one does.  I was left amazed.  Her focus on herself let me leave my own body.  She knew I was there, I didn't.  Her stories didn't sadden me, but I understood the hole that existed in her.  It is an easy hole to fill.

Stace will not call me.  I won't call her.  I think we both know what we offered each other: a breakdown by another that was needed.  It wasn't about sex.  It wasn't about having a woman figure out my deepest desires.  Most don't and I still love sex.  I needed sex today.  It could have been anyone, but she was obviously more attached to figuring me out through her own inquiries that I didn't answer directly.

I'm not a mystery.  I'm not some scary guy.  I don't read mind.  I don't pretend to know the answers to everything.  I inquire so I can learn, and so those who answer can learn, too.  I don't penetrate the soul or rob any essence.  I've never pushed anyone to do anything with me, but I show them the most comfortable place they can be, and use my own verbal tactics to produce a conversation that brings out what they need.

Sometimes it's a friend.  Sometimes it's a lover.  For Stace, it was neither.  She needed to feel skinny.  There's no way to do that.  Instead, she tore me up, and when she did, she knew she wasn't fat anymore.

End of spoilers.

I seriously thought I would kill ChicagoSane, a sort of blogger suicide.  But I won't.  I'm glad to have shed those tears that someone came so close to seeing that what pains me is nothing that eats at me or destroys me or brings me down.  I will soon forget it happened, except for this blog entry.

But that's the curse: imagine if someone was coming into your home every day and doing the most vile and violent act on you possible, and you forgot.  Imagine if you won the lottery every day, but tomorrow you had no idea and the ticket was destroyed in the wash.  That's the curse.

This isn't due to some childhood trauma or abuse.  It isn't due to an imbalance in me.  It's a problem that some people are subjected to due to their own genetic structure, their chemical structure, their mental structure.  I am very fast as seeing details, but I lose them quickly.  Like a blind person with great hearing, I am fast at "reading minds," but faster at losing what I read.  There's a term for my mental condition.  Email me privately for more information.

It's only 2:30am and already I'm happy again.  Already I'm horny again.  If I had the opportunity, I would jump on a plane now and ravage the first woman who propositioned me.

Instead I am going to smoke another pack of cigarettes and read my own writings.

The smile is real.  It never goes away.  When you're down on yourself, when you hate life, when you hate reality, give me 5 seconds of that sadness, so I can live it too.  You can remember being sad.  If for one moment I could have it, I would give up all I have and all I can have.

Feel free to leave a comment, or send me an email (see my sidebar).  Add me as a follower (you can do it anonymously and no one will know, not even me).  If you think I should stop writing after this night and event, let me know.  I'm not going to, but I wonder if anyone would have agreed with the idea.

More to come.  Smokes, and reading, until I need sleep.


Anonymous said...

Wow. I feel addicted. That's all I can say in a public comment. Not because I care (for me) who reads my words but just because my words aren't for me. Or for anyone else. They're for you.


Amy said...



That was amazingly hot. All of it, the emotional and physical aspects.


ChicagoSane said...

Emmy, addiction isn't the right word. Maybe you just want to dig deeper and be surprised? Sometimes what revolts us or surprises us shows us a little bit more about ourselves. Thank you for what you share.

Amy, I wasn't expecting any of it until she started to dig into me and worked against all I was trying to avoid. I'm not a closed off person, I don't hide myself or my feelings, I just don't wear them on my sleeve. For someone I don't even know to figure it all out so quickly surprised me.

Sadly, there won't be a second part to the mini-series. We both had this great need to be understood. We were. The sex isn't the part I remember most, but driving home with these tears of non-joy non-sadness. It just doesn't happen.

Celine de Chicago said...

Hi B. I feel like you wrote this for me, but I know you didn't. I read it all twice. I can't keep my fingers off myself when I read it. The emotional breakdown is so beautiful and I can picture you doing it although I would never have said it was possible. Do you have any idea what a mess I am today? I can't stop thinking about it all. Come out tonight! Bring Liz!

ChicagoSane said...

Celine, I am surprised at that response. My vulnerability doesn't sound very attractive. It sounds pretty pansy to me, but there it is.

Sorry you can't keep your hands off yourself (which, by the way, is way hotter than anything I can write). Save it up for after tonight, your boy will probably be amazed.

I'm thinking about coming out, but not sure. I fear I've broken the floodgates and won't be a very good gentleman. I also don't want to hookup with some random barskeaze. I think I need to travel somewhere and find a weekend lover :)

Andy said...

I must also admit I read the whole thing twice. First time, I had left the computer on last night, and I saw I had 4 unread items on my Google reader. I must've spent at least 30 minutes on it. I was late and all, but you know what? It was worth it.

Then, I started a while ago to read it again, more carefully. And to pick up the details. (And the hidden inner jokes).

And, well. I think I find myself in the same position as far as details go. I mean, I put attention to every single detail. I know how to understand, I know what they're thinking, and even what they're not. But I'm a cluster inside. I mean, I'm disorganized. And my memory? Awful.

And I know it's sad. You just feel impotent. I know I could have this stock of amazing memories of little details that'd make me happier, but I simply can't.

In some sense, I also seem to be like Stace on the sense that I have a scar like hers. I was never fat, but I've always been teased. I've always been made to believe I'm just a nerdy ugly girl. Discovering I can be pretty was a new, different thing.

A guy once called me stunning. At the moment, I didn't know what to do, how to react. I wasn't used to be called such things. Still now, I have my doubts about it.

*sigh* Sorry if this ended up being so long. I guess I needed to vent about this for some time now and I found here the perfect spot.