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When it comes to men, the only knowledge I have is what I take in from books or movies. In real life, I’ve got nothing to base all these feelings I’m currently experiencing.
My father never let them near, thanks to his trust issues with people. In the fortress where we lived, no one was ever allowed in. Thanks to my homeschooled days, I hardly got the chance to even have friends in general.
The internet not only helped build a few relationships, but it also offered more of an introduction to the romantic side of what I’ve been lacking in my life. Right now, it’s more obvious than ever.
Even with little knowledge on the subject, I know my body is feeling something for Idris. Yesterday, I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to grab his shirt and yank him right down so I could finally give away that first.
Being told that he’s been watching me kind of lit a match under my skin. In my head, I’m playing it out as more than a babysitter would.
Everything feels so new, feels sohot. Even after running away from him, I stayed flushed and achy. It was like my body knew what I wanted, but my fear of asking held me back.
Getting through the night felt miserable with all the tingling between my thighs. I tried to relieve myself but only made it worse. The hunger spiraling in my guts has now grown from my toes to the roots of my hair. I can’t keep ignoring myself.
I want Idris to touch me.
Now in the middle of the afternoon, the sun lights up every corner of the room. If I close my eyes, sleep won’t come. Not without my dreams being plagued by all the different outcomes I wanted out of yesterday.
I groan against my mattress at the revelation and shake my head. I’m too old to be acting this way. Too young to want Idris. He doesn’t deserve some brat. I bet he’s just waiting for the right woman to come his way.
Ugh.
The summer heat doesn’t help my state either. I’m all clammy and my stomach feels full of tingles. Pinching my shirt, I peel it away from my chest in disgust.
I shouldn’t have skipped breakfast. The thought of looking Idris in the eyes again made me want to shrink up and die. Dramatic on my end and another proven point on why the man won’t want me.
Sitting up, I wipe away the sweat from my forehead and groan. What sounds pretty good right now is a nice cold bath. Or, better yet, that pool I still haven’t taken advantage of.
Idrisdidlet me pick out a swimsuit a few days ago when I let a little complaint slip out about the summer heat. At the time, I was reluctant to let him get me even more stuff. Now I’m happy to finally dig into the packaging.
Just a small dip in the pool to cool down the inside and outside of my body, and then I’ll talk to the person who runs the kitchen, practice my knowledge, and ask for food. All while avoiding the owner of this home. Easy.
The plan sounds genius and unproblematic in my head.
By the time I’ve taken a towel from my bathroom and wrapped it around my body, I’m ready to go.
Passing by two maids, I offer them a soft greeting and keep moving, smiling to myself when they return the same words. It feels good to kind of understand what they’re saying.
Throwing myself into learning, I’ve put away hours and hours in learning. Idris says I’ll be speaking fluently by the end of the month. He’s a bit optimistic. I’ve only remembered a few phrases. I give it a year before I have any sort of confidence.
I think Idris asked them to talk slowly with me too, so that helps.
When I reach the door to his gym and tug it open, I stiffen up when I hear the clank of weights. Before I can even think about making a run for it without being noticed, I catch a look at the man and I can’t think of anything else.
My stomach clenches up and my toes curl. The same awful heat that radiated between my legs is coming back tenfold.
He’s so focused on what he’s doing, that I don’t think he’s noticed me. He’s busy lifting and lowering a bar with headphones on his ears. Shouldn’t he have someone in here to help in case something goes wrong?
I can’t help him. Not because I know I’m not physically strong enough to help, but because I don’t trust my legs enough to carry me in his direction. I’m a goner.
There’s the smell of sweat and the sound of grunts. It’s a combination that can only lead to disaster. Still, I linger and watch this man exercise. I watch each time his triceps flex whenever he lowers the bar and exhale with him when he shoves it back up.
If I want to get to the pool, I have to cross his path and ruin this opportunity.
When else can I take in his toned calves or glistening skin? The man is even without a shirt.
Last night, I pictured him like this. Though, with my imagination, I didn’t even come close to the real thing.
Listening to another grunt leave his lips, the throbbing between my legs grows worse. I need that pool to numb everything. Otherwise, I’m not sure what I’m going to do with myself. Going another day with this ache is impossible.
