SchoolBoy (465 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.28 on 8 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by earth collapse (View user info) at 2009-03-03 12:27:29 EST
By the time she discovered she was pregnant, it had been too late. And she knew beyond a doubt that the baby was not his, for he had been away the week when she had conceived and had been with another man, really a boy.
She didn't know if she should feel guilty, because guilt is emotionality personified onto others, and while everyone would criticize her for her infidelity, if he had just been there, this wouldn't have happened and perhaps she would feel guilty, but she knew something was missing and this had been bound to happen.
It was difficult for her to decide whether she would leave him, if she would even tell him the child wasn't his. 'Not knowing was better', she thought, 'for what difference would it make anyway?'
The true father was a much younger man, he was nineteen, just out of high school, with these big green eyes that saw the world through a camera lens, saw all the possibilities, all the beauty, and they had met on the job, a small pizzeria where she was a waitress and he made deliveries. They hadn't spoken to each other for the first months, maybe just a passing 'hello' or 'good morning,' and he would smile and she would smile and she would each day be excited for that when she would pull into the back parking lot.
There had been no initial attraction, no, she had no interest in younger men, but often she would watch him as he washed dishes in the back between deliveries, occasionally singing to himself, and she would have to listen hard to hear the words, and maybe that was when she realized she wanted him. And she remembered back to high school, this boy who wrote poetry and drove a motorbike, who talked about Europe and backpacking, about art and all those things that people admire. She had wanted to lose her virginity to him, but she was not the type of girl he went after, and she never had a chance to tell him.
But the more she watched him and listened to his voice singing between the clank of pots and the spray of the hose, the more he reminded her of that boy, that youthful desire, and it made her feel good. And she didn't consider herself old. She was just a year over thirty and she thought herself still attractive.
Maybe the years had made her a little insecure, and the truth was she had never been with many men besides her husband, really only a few, and she had never had an orgasm with anyone, not even her husband.
But this young man, with his blonde hair, not particularly big either, was able to somehow get her off without much trouble at all. And for awhile, before they had ever gotten together that night in June, she would think of him, maybe laying in the bath or in the tanning bed, and she would touch herself and when she came, she would feel warm all over and satisfied, maybe still horny and even more enamored with this blonde boy who delivered pizza and washed dishes and sang to himself. Maybe he even made her feel more beautiful, unlike her husband, who just made her feel old and ugly with responsibility.
He was a good man, an honest man, maybe a little stupid, content with his comfy little job, pulling in forty or fifty thousand a year. Had she ever been in love with him? The word was so loaded that she hardly liked to use it. What is love? Everyone liked and hoped to believe that it was something unique, storybookish. He was a good provider, sincere, and maybe all love is anyway is comfort, making a life for yourself, a mortgage, car payments and health insurance, the occasional trip to the tropics, perhaps Vegas, and lots of boring sex that felt like more of a chore than anything.
User Reviews
Submitted by therealgeddylee (user info) at 2009-03-03 23:24:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Yep, depressing. But we appear to see this subject in the same way...
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2009-03-03 14:29:59 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Well done writing type things, sorry about your view on love and life.
Submitted by Cyrus (user info) at 2009-03-03 13:48:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Just _didn't_ feel like polishing it up.
Hmmm... sentence structure trouble...
Submitted by Cyrus (user info) at 2009-03-03 13:14:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2009-03-03 12:35:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Well, that was somewhat depressing to read, but well written.
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How about well conceived but (somewhat)poorly written.
I think you have talent, but you need practice. You have a number of instances of sentence structure trouble.
This sentence for example: "But this young man, with his blonde hair, not particularly big either, was able to somehow get her off without much trouble at all." As the sentence is constructed, the phrase "not particularly big either," would seem to refer to his blonde hair. On re-reading it, I'm pretty sure this was meant to be a reference to the size of his penos.
Or maybe you just feel like polishing this up for publication here, couldn't blame you for feeling that way.
Submitted by RoadSong (user info) at 2009-03-03 12:59:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
"Maybe the years had made her a little insecure, and the truth was she had never been with many men besides her husband, really only a few, and she had never had an orgasm with anyone, not even her husband."
~~~~~~~~~
This explains a lot....
Submitted by AW4416 (user info) at 2009-03-03 12:50:11 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2009-03-03 12:35:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Well, that was somewhat depressing to read, but well written.
Yep
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2009-03-03 12:35:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Well, that was somewhat depressing to read, but well written.
Submitted by Quint (user info) at 2009-03-03 12:35:16 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Posting fiction without porn, some stupid news story or a picture of a rabbit/emu/cat/horse? How dare you! What do you think this is, a serious writers forum?