lister_
21-03-2017, 09:11 PM
http://i.imgur.com/BJqI7YA.jpg
A picture, because I know you guys are visual :)
Her name was Charmaine, and we had the same group of friends in university; a mix-and-match of people from one hall, and some girl who knew a couple of guys from his JC CCA, whatever. She definitely wouldn’t be classified as someone I was close to, nor was she the kind of girl who kept me away at arm’s length. The only interactions we had were just the casual “hey, how’s it going” when too many people went to the toilet or too many people came late and our options for conversation became limited.
Now, I was as horny as any other 22 year old guy in Singapore, but it’s easy to see how one could place Charmaine in the realm of the ‘do-not-fuck’ zone. She’s homely, studious, goes to church, and has an air of aloofness about her past schooling and appeared to carry that with her as she sneered at strangers or PRCs walking down the halls. I mean, she never said it out loud, but the narrowing of her eyes and that slight tilt of her head told us all. Still, as a guy, I must admit that I’ve allowed my eyes to rove down the smoothness of her thighs more than once.
“We should hang out sometime-“
It must’ve been part of the lyrics to whatever shit was playing on Spotify. I read the question in my econometrics tutorial again, but there it was again; her faint voice wafted through the chords of a Metallica guitar solo and somehow reached my eardrums.
I removed my earphones.
“What?”
“You and me, we should hang out sometime.”
I looked to my left; Celine and John had abandoned their seats in the library, presumably to go make out between the VAC and WUX bookshelves; you know, the shelves no one goes to.
My gaze dipped down to her hands, fidgeting with that Stabilo pencil she had chewed to oblivion. Beneath the shitty fluorescent lighting, I could make out her lips trembling.
“You want us to hang out, like, together?”
I looked into her eyes, black irises stained with the tiniest specks of brown, like a teasponn of milo in a cup of kopi-O. I had never noticed it until then, but for some reason, the brownness in her eyes made my heart clench. The arctic library aircon passed over us both, blowing tendrils of her ponytail along the back of her shirt, emblazoned with the word “RAFFLES”. Faint streaks of burgundy adorned the otherwise raven-black ponytail, remnants of a school-holiday of acting out against authority? The thought sent my heart into a flutter.
“Yea, like, together. Y’know - without the others.”
I feigned reaching into my bag for something; really, just to hide the sight of my hands quivering. When I came up again, she was biting on her lower lip, and I nearly fainted at that sight.
“Sure, why not?” I muttered, throwing a lazy glance at the clock, which had moved a grand total of ten seconds since her first question. I could’ve swore she tucked a wisp of her fringe behind her ear, but at that moment my sight was already going from the pulsating thump of my own pulse behind my eyelids to notice. Before either of us could follow up on that noticeable flush creeping over our faces, Celine and John returned. The edge of her shirt had come untucked, and his hair was unkempt, but neither of us raised any questions.
Probably as a result of this interruption, the question didn’t come up again, and my next 3 days devolved into the usual routine of studying, DOTA, and soccer. Still, lodged deep into the crevice of my subconscious was the knowledge that Charmaine had asked me out and I had responded in the most nonchalant and flippant manner possible. My skin crawled with the thought that she had dismissed me based on this, and the fear was enough to keep my eyes wide open at night.
It was on one such night that she messaged me.
“So, when are we going to hang out?”
My first instinct was to hurl my phone at the wall. Every lesson and experience I learned about girls growing up was that guys always made the first move, and any girl who hit on you was either a hooker or out to get something from you (not mutually exclusive items). Still, the Whatsapp profile picture of an ordinary girl clutching a puppy made me think otherwise. What harm could such an innocent-looking girl do? Honest to god, I even enlarged it, just needing to make sure that was Charmaine on the other end, and not some Vixen out to take my soul.
“You’re so freaking beautiful sometimes I’m afraid you’ll take my breath away and not give it back.”
No, no, backspace, backspace.
“Friday?”
“Sure”
And that was it. I mean, that was the end of the conversation. No “Great, I’ll see you” or “where do you want to go?” or god forbid, “who else is going to be there?”. Just a simple <Last seen online, 11:29pm> and the glow of an iphone threatening to bash my face in.
I saw her at the foot of Marina Bay Sands, outside the ArtScience Museum. She was leaning against the railings, the posture lending a slight curve to her butt, accentuated by the black denim shorts she was wearing. The evening breeze caught in her hair, sending it fluttering as she looked out over the bay.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like that before.
“Didn’t think you were going to come,” she whispered as she looked down at her Black Steiger ballet flats. Rich Cunt.
“I wouldn’t miss hanging out with you for all the DOTA in the world.”
She smiled, her pearly teeth only served as an ornament to the browns in her eyes, now made even more prominent by the glare of the setting sun. Every detail of her dressing, from the white forever 21 tank top to the maroon uniqlo plaid blouse she wore over it, screamed basic, yet fit her curves like a glove. My pulse began to race as she brushed past me, and even with the breeze blowing, I caught a breath of her scent, that nivea moisturiser she used after gym. I searched her face for the faintest sign of makeup, and found none.
It was like she’s trying desperately to show she wasn’t trying to look good, yet trying at the same time.
“We should eat.”
From some kind of warped instinct, I brushed the heel of my palm against the small of her back.. My skin burned with excitement as I felt the fabric of her blouse caressing against me, the excitement heightened by the fact that she didn’t brush me off. I watched the smoothness of her thighs shifting with each step of her gait, and my brain clenched with an unquenchable thought.
You should try to fuck her, tonight.
That thought tossed in my head as we had a light dinner. She declined my offer of wine, opting for water to wash down whatever thin-crust vegetarian pizza she was eating. Instead, we spent the better half of the evening strolling along the bay. The conversation flowed like a buttery stream. We regaled each other with tales of our travels, and before long that icy stare which I had known her by, began to melt into something else.
“...and I don’t think about it that much anymore.”
I stared back into her eyes, now dark like the night which had settled over Marina Bay. Really though, I was focusing more on the edge of her neckline, just barely concealing the slightest hint of her cleavage. My heart squeezed as she inhaled sharply, raising her bosom by an inch.
“Neither do I,” I muttered.
“What do you think about?” She pondered aloud, “You’re always so quiet around the others.”
Not you, for sure. Not until tonight. And now I have enough thoughts about you to last two lifetimes.
“Do you ever think about me?” she asked, looking down at the boardwalk.
“Just once,” I answered, “It was the first time we met, and I’ve never stopped thinking about you ever since.”
Even in the dimness, I could tell she was looking at me. Without looking, I heard her breathing accelerate, and imagined her heart fluttering at my words. I gripped the bench as she moved closer.
“You’re so sweet.”
Again, my hand found its way to the small of her back. She curled toward me.
“It’s nothing, I just think you’re incredible, that’s all.”
Charmaine took smiling to another level. In the dimness, I could still see the spark of life dancing about in her eyes as she flashed me a beautiful set of teeth. It was quiet, and I swore she could feel my heart racing as she shifted her svelte figure into the crook of my arm. Emboldened by her response, I slipped my fingertips beneath the hem of her top. At once, I could feel her entire body seething with excitement as she curled against my touch. I ran my fingers along her tailbone, enjoying the way her pulse raced beneath her skin.
“Let’s go,” she muttered, without saying where or when. It wasn’t necessary; the searing heat radiating from her face told me.
We found ourselves at the foot of PGPR an hour later. The moon had risen high in the inky sky, but between us we felt like we had the whole night ahead. She leant on that pillar on the first floor as we talked some more, illuminated by the glow of the staircase lamps. Almost unwilling to end the evening.
“You wanna come upstairs for awhile?” I asked.
I couldn’t tell read her reaction, but she looked away and sighed.
“We probably shouldn’t, right?”
“We’ll be quiet-”
It took a few minutes of scampering down hallways and looking around corners, but finally - the door shut behind us with a click. I contemplated switching on the air-conditioning, but didn’t, and was rewarded with the sight of her taking off her plaid shirt. Instead, I found a beer for her from the fridge, and at once we sat on the bed to watch scrubs.
It took two episodes for her to lay down on my bed, chin propped against her palms. Two more episodes in, and I mustered enough balls to run a palm along her back.
“Could I use your shower?”
I swallowed, but it couldn’t stop my heart from spilling into my mouth.
“Sure.”
I handed her a towel, and she got into the bathroom, shutting the door such that it bounced off the latch, leaving it barely an inch ajar.
She didn’t lock the door.
A picture, because I know you guys are visual :)
Her name was Charmaine, and we had the same group of friends in university; a mix-and-match of people from one hall, and some girl who knew a couple of guys from his JC CCA, whatever. She definitely wouldn’t be classified as someone I was close to, nor was she the kind of girl who kept me away at arm’s length. The only interactions we had were just the casual “hey, how’s it going” when too many people went to the toilet or too many people came late and our options for conversation became limited.
Now, I was as horny as any other 22 year old guy in Singapore, but it’s easy to see how one could place Charmaine in the realm of the ‘do-not-fuck’ zone. She’s homely, studious, goes to church, and has an air of aloofness about her past schooling and appeared to carry that with her as she sneered at strangers or PRCs walking down the halls. I mean, she never said it out loud, but the narrowing of her eyes and that slight tilt of her head told us all. Still, as a guy, I must admit that I’ve allowed my eyes to rove down the smoothness of her thighs more than once.
“We should hang out sometime-“
It must’ve been part of the lyrics to whatever shit was playing on Spotify. I read the question in my econometrics tutorial again, but there it was again; her faint voice wafted through the chords of a Metallica guitar solo and somehow reached my eardrums.
I removed my earphones.
“What?”
“You and me, we should hang out sometime.”
I looked to my left; Celine and John had abandoned their seats in the library, presumably to go make out between the VAC and WUX bookshelves; you know, the shelves no one goes to.
My gaze dipped down to her hands, fidgeting with that Stabilo pencil she had chewed to oblivion. Beneath the shitty fluorescent lighting, I could make out her lips trembling.
“You want us to hang out, like, together?”
I looked into her eyes, black irises stained with the tiniest specks of brown, like a teasponn of milo in a cup of kopi-O. I had never noticed it until then, but for some reason, the brownness in her eyes made my heart clench. The arctic library aircon passed over us both, blowing tendrils of her ponytail along the back of her shirt, emblazoned with the word “RAFFLES”. Faint streaks of burgundy adorned the otherwise raven-black ponytail, remnants of a school-holiday of acting out against authority? The thought sent my heart into a flutter.
“Yea, like, together. Y’know - without the others.”
I feigned reaching into my bag for something; really, just to hide the sight of my hands quivering. When I came up again, she was biting on her lower lip, and I nearly fainted at that sight.
“Sure, why not?” I muttered, throwing a lazy glance at the clock, which had moved a grand total of ten seconds since her first question. I could’ve swore she tucked a wisp of her fringe behind her ear, but at that moment my sight was already going from the pulsating thump of my own pulse behind my eyelids to notice. Before either of us could follow up on that noticeable flush creeping over our faces, Celine and John returned. The edge of her shirt had come untucked, and his hair was unkempt, but neither of us raised any questions.
Probably as a result of this interruption, the question didn’t come up again, and my next 3 days devolved into the usual routine of studying, DOTA, and soccer. Still, lodged deep into the crevice of my subconscious was the knowledge that Charmaine had asked me out and I had responded in the most nonchalant and flippant manner possible. My skin crawled with the thought that she had dismissed me based on this, and the fear was enough to keep my eyes wide open at night.
It was on one such night that she messaged me.
“So, when are we going to hang out?”
My first instinct was to hurl my phone at the wall. Every lesson and experience I learned about girls growing up was that guys always made the first move, and any girl who hit on you was either a hooker or out to get something from you (not mutually exclusive items). Still, the Whatsapp profile picture of an ordinary girl clutching a puppy made me think otherwise. What harm could such an innocent-looking girl do? Honest to god, I even enlarged it, just needing to make sure that was Charmaine on the other end, and not some Vixen out to take my soul.
“You’re so freaking beautiful sometimes I’m afraid you’ll take my breath away and not give it back.”
No, no, backspace, backspace.
“Friday?”
“Sure”
And that was it. I mean, that was the end of the conversation. No “Great, I’ll see you” or “where do you want to go?” or god forbid, “who else is going to be there?”. Just a simple <Last seen online, 11:29pm> and the glow of an iphone threatening to bash my face in.
I saw her at the foot of Marina Bay Sands, outside the ArtScience Museum. She was leaning against the railings, the posture lending a slight curve to her butt, accentuated by the black denim shorts she was wearing. The evening breeze caught in her hair, sending it fluttering as she looked out over the bay.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like that before.
“Didn’t think you were going to come,” she whispered as she looked down at her Black Steiger ballet flats. Rich Cunt.
“I wouldn’t miss hanging out with you for all the DOTA in the world.”
She smiled, her pearly teeth only served as an ornament to the browns in her eyes, now made even more prominent by the glare of the setting sun. Every detail of her dressing, from the white forever 21 tank top to the maroon uniqlo plaid blouse she wore over it, screamed basic, yet fit her curves like a glove. My pulse began to race as she brushed past me, and even with the breeze blowing, I caught a breath of her scent, that nivea moisturiser she used after gym. I searched her face for the faintest sign of makeup, and found none.
It was like she’s trying desperately to show she wasn’t trying to look good, yet trying at the same time.
“We should eat.”
From some kind of warped instinct, I brushed the heel of my palm against the small of her back.. My skin burned with excitement as I felt the fabric of her blouse caressing against me, the excitement heightened by the fact that she didn’t brush me off. I watched the smoothness of her thighs shifting with each step of her gait, and my brain clenched with an unquenchable thought.
You should try to fuck her, tonight.
That thought tossed in my head as we had a light dinner. She declined my offer of wine, opting for water to wash down whatever thin-crust vegetarian pizza she was eating. Instead, we spent the better half of the evening strolling along the bay. The conversation flowed like a buttery stream. We regaled each other with tales of our travels, and before long that icy stare which I had known her by, began to melt into something else.
“...and I don’t think about it that much anymore.”
I stared back into her eyes, now dark like the night which had settled over Marina Bay. Really though, I was focusing more on the edge of her neckline, just barely concealing the slightest hint of her cleavage. My heart squeezed as she inhaled sharply, raising her bosom by an inch.
“Neither do I,” I muttered.
“What do you think about?” She pondered aloud, “You’re always so quiet around the others.”
Not you, for sure. Not until tonight. And now I have enough thoughts about you to last two lifetimes.
“Do you ever think about me?” she asked, looking down at the boardwalk.
“Just once,” I answered, “It was the first time we met, and I’ve never stopped thinking about you ever since.”
Even in the dimness, I could tell she was looking at me. Without looking, I heard her breathing accelerate, and imagined her heart fluttering at my words. I gripped the bench as she moved closer.
“You’re so sweet.”
Again, my hand found its way to the small of her back. She curled toward me.
“It’s nothing, I just think you’re incredible, that’s all.”
Charmaine took smiling to another level. In the dimness, I could still see the spark of life dancing about in her eyes as she flashed me a beautiful set of teeth. It was quiet, and I swore she could feel my heart racing as she shifted her svelte figure into the crook of my arm. Emboldened by her response, I slipped my fingertips beneath the hem of her top. At once, I could feel her entire body seething with excitement as she curled against my touch. I ran my fingers along her tailbone, enjoying the way her pulse raced beneath her skin.
“Let’s go,” she muttered, without saying where or when. It wasn’t necessary; the searing heat radiating from her face told me.
We found ourselves at the foot of PGPR an hour later. The moon had risen high in the inky sky, but between us we felt like we had the whole night ahead. She leant on that pillar on the first floor as we talked some more, illuminated by the glow of the staircase lamps. Almost unwilling to end the evening.
“You wanna come upstairs for awhile?” I asked.
I couldn’t tell read her reaction, but she looked away and sighed.
“We probably shouldn’t, right?”
“We’ll be quiet-”
It took a few minutes of scampering down hallways and looking around corners, but finally - the door shut behind us with a click. I contemplated switching on the air-conditioning, but didn’t, and was rewarded with the sight of her taking off her plaid shirt. Instead, I found a beer for her from the fridge, and at once we sat on the bed to watch scrubs.
It took two episodes for her to lay down on my bed, chin propped against her palms. Two more episodes in, and I mustered enough balls to run a palm along her back.
“Could I use your shower?”
I swallowed, but it couldn’t stop my heart from spilling into my mouth.
“Sure.”
I handed her a towel, and she got into the bathroom, shutting the door such that it bounced off the latch, leaving it barely an inch ajar.
She didn’t lock the door.