Daydreams and Fantasies By: C.M. ____________________________
This is my attempt at writing a short story. It is not meant to help you get off. Please tell me what you think at chiemo88@yahoo.com.
Disclaimer: The author retains the rights and title to the work. Any form of reproduction of this work or any part of it without the author's permission is punishable by law. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. ____________________________
The other day I was sitting on the beach. The ice-cold pink lemonade felt like a warm blanket on a cold night as it submerged my tongue and coated my throat in sweet bliss. A light layer of sweat had formed on my bare torso and arms, but an occasional breeze would soothe my heated skin. In the distance my friends were throwing a beach ball to each other as they ran around in circles, the water splashing against their legs, their feet making temporary imprints on the saturated sand.
But a boy blocked my view momentarily as he walked by. He was beautiful. I thought that behind my dark sunglasses I was free to stare all I wanted, but he gave me a sideways glance, smiled at me, looked away and kept walking. My heart skipped a beat and then beat harder, but maybe it was just the beginnings of a heat stroke. I drank more of the pink lemonade and set the glass on the sand. The ice cubes sparkled and the dew collected and ran down the sides.
After I had calmed down a bit, I looked around to see where he was. To my surprise and delight, he was sprawled out on a beach towel just a few feet to my right, lying on his back, shirtless, enjoying the sunshine. I took note of every contour, line, shadow, crease, muscle, and hair pattern. When I reached his face, he was looking right at me, grinning knowingly. He knew my thoughts. I looked away. My heart was pounding again, beating faster than my hand ever could in loneliness and desperation.
Too afraid to look back--afraid of exposing myself to him, to them--I did what I did best. I did nothing. And I daydreamed and fantasized.
He would walk over to my spot and sit on my beach towel. He would say "Hey" with confidence and I would try my best to be nonchalant in responding "Hi" but my nervousness and excitement would betray me. "I'm Dayne" he would say and I would get lost in admiration for the beauty of his name and the charm of his smile, only to be brought back to reality at "And you are?" after a few seconds of me not saying anything and smiling dumbly. Good thing I have my sunglasses on to partially hide my eyes, betrayers of thought and emotion. I would take off my sunglasses and say "I'm Adam" and reach out to shake his hand. He would take my hand, shake it, and he would hold on. We would look at each other and get lost in thought, but I would realize it and yank my hand away and look down.
We would talk about the weather, how hot it is, and I would say how good it feels when a breeze passes by and he would agree. We would discover that we are both high school seniors, one week away from graduating. We would both be surprised and excited to find out that we'll be going to the same university. We would talk about how fun college would be and all the parties we would go to. We would agree on how cool it would be if we ended up being roommates in the dorms. And of course, all this talk would lead to his asking me if I want to catch a movie with him some time. I would say yes, trying my best to hide my giddiness. He would ask if I have a pen, and of course, I would have one in my beach bag. I would tell him my phone number and he would write it down on his palm. He would then take my hand and write down his phone number on my palm. He would close my hand, hold it, and say, "Call me. If not, I'll call you."
On our first date we would grab a late lunch at Chipotle because we both love Mexican food, even Americanized versions. He would inch closer to me as we wait in the long line. He would whisper in my ear, "You're too cute," and I would blush, smile shyly, and say "You're cuter." But I would realize what was happening and move away and pretend we were nothing but friends. He would look hurt and sad, and I would say sorry, and he would smile and ask me what I'll be ordering. We would get our enormous burritos and find a table for two and sit across each other. He would make jokes, and I would laugh at them and marvel at the miracle before me. Our feet and knees would collide, and my heart would beat and skip like people in musicals singing about happiness and love.
Afterwards we would go to the mall and look at all the things we want but cannot buy. We would go to Abercrombie & Fitch and try on the clothes, pretending to be models. I would pick out a pair of jeans that would fit him just right and accentuate all the right features. He would try it on and ask "Aren't these a little too tight?" to which I'll reply "That's kind of the point" and wink at him. It would be his turn to blush and smile shyly. Then he would pick out a shirt for me. I would try it on and say "This is a little tight" to which he'll reply with a sly grin "That's the point, right?" A salesperson, or rather, a model, would approach and ask us if we were planning on buying something and we would say no and run out, leaving the pile of clothes behind. He would take my hand while running and say "Come on, let's go catch a movie!? We would run hand in hand, and love would give me the courage to not care at that moment.
We would watch a scary movie. I would buy the largest bucket of popcorn and a large soda that we would share. During the movie I would jump at every suspenseful scene's climax, and he would put his arm and hand over mine on the armrest to comfort me. At one point we would both reach into the popcorn bucket simultaneously and our hands would meet, and we would look at each other in the dark and smile. We would inch closer and closer until the movie ends and the lights brighten again and we are brought back to reality without remembering any of the movie's plot or even its title. The popcorn and soda would be gone, and we would giggle like innocent school girls giggling over something guilty.
That night he would take me home. On the driveway we would stare at our laps in silence twiddling our thumbs, not sure what to do. We would finally look at each other and I would smile nervously while he keeps his serious face. He would move in, and before I'll have time to react, his lips would be on mine, the heat of the moment fusing them together, the passion of the kiss immortalizing the moment in our memories. By some miracle, our lips would part and we would look into each other's eyes as we try to catch our breaths. "I should go; my parents might wake up" I would say and exit the car. I would look back at him before entering the house, and I would smile and see him smile back.
I would not sleep that night because my thoughts would be fixed on him. An hour after I lie down on the bed, there would be a knock on my window and it would be from him. I would open the window, both exhilarated by his presence and worried that his visit might wake up my parents. "I had to see you again" he would say, and I would embrace him and melt in his arms. Skin on skin would create a beautiful catastrophe, each point of contact an epicenter that would send shockwaves through our terrestrial bodies. My eyes would open to the sunlight flooding my room, and I would see the angel sleeping next to me. I would thank God that school's over or else my parents would come knocking on my door to wake me up. I would watch him sleep, study his serene face, watch his chest rising and falling with each breath.
On our one-month anniversary, he would pay me a surprise visit at my summer job at McDonald's. He would use the drive-thru because he'll know I would be the one operating it that day. "I would like some Adam without clothes, and I'd like some extra Adam with that, please" he would say, and I would blush and laugh nervously. At the window I would hand him a special burger I made myself and extra fries. "See you later?" he would ask, and I would reply with a timid smile "Yeah." I would never get used to his charm.
"I was thinking we could go out to dinner and go to the pier and..." but my hesitation and worry-stricken face would make him stop, and he would plead, "Come on, it's our one month anniversary. Please?" But I would look to the ground and say nothing. "Fine. We could always hang out at my place." He would have the house to himself the whole night because his mother would understand and would want us to have time alone together on our anniversary.
On our two month anniversary, I would agree to go out with him. His face would light up and he would say "Alright! We're making some progress," and I would secretly hope we would go to a place where I'd be free from the stares of familiar faces and whispers of recognizable voices. But he would know me enough to know that I'd be thinking that. He would take me to a fancy restaurant on the other side of town where no one I'd know or who'd know me would be there. But of course while we're eating, the former senior class president would be there, and she would come up and talk to me and inevitably hint for an introduction. "Claire, this is Dayne" I would say, and Claire would shake Dayne's hand and say "Nice to meet you. How do you guys know each other?" I would rush to answer before he could speak, and I would say "Dayne's my cousin. He's here for a few weeks and my aunt asked me to show him around." I would not be able to look at him the rest of the night because I would be too afraid to see his pain, anger and embarrassment.
On our three-month anniversary, he would bring me a single red rose and he would ask "What about this time?" I would sadly reply "I'm not ready." He would sigh and say "Adam, I understand why you're afraid, but I don't think I can go on like this. Every time we go out, it's like you hardly even know me, like I'm nothing, like... we're nothing at all. This might be selfish, but it hurts. It really does." I would look down in shame, and tears would scald my cheeks. "So I guess this means it's over?" I would manage to ask through the quiet sobs, and he would sigh again and ask in return "You're not even gonna try?" and I would continue to sob in silence. "Then I guess it is" he would say in resignation. He would take my hand, put the rose on my palm, close my hand and hold it. He would smile his last smile, one steeped in pain and longing. He would look back before walking out the door, and then he would walk out forever.
I would curse the person who coined the phrase "Third time's the charm." I would cry for hours, screaming inside, screaming at myself for being weak and cowardly. I would scream inside for him to return, even though I'd know my screams would not be heard. But I would do what I do best. I would do nothing. And I would let the rose wilt.
My thoughts were interrupted when a beach ball hit me on the chest. "It's time to go, Adam." My friends were finished and some of them were starting to pack up their belongings. I looked over to my right and he was gone. I looked at the glass of pink lemonade. The ice cubes had melted and the lemonade was pale, the sweetness and zest diminished.
I chuckled to myself and shook my head in disbelief, disgusted at how even my fantasies end in sadness, in dead ends. My heart skipped a beat and then beat harder. But it was not because of a possible heat stroke or because of a beautiful boy passing by; it was from something I could not place at that moment--some steady, solemn force that fueled my blood and my senses. It was time to go.
In the meantime, I was glad that I was wearing dark sunglasses to hide my damp, red eyes. I did not want to explain nor did I know how.
--The End--
Please email comments of any kind to chiemo88@yahoo.com.
-C.M.