Teardrops are a collection of short, slightly sad stories (but remember, there are tears of joy and of love), that exist for a brief moment before they are wiped, and shed every Sunday. Or when they are ready, whichever comes last...

Just a little push

by Antheros

Wilma was surprised to see me with a girlfriend; it was stamped on her face. Her eyes opened wide when I arrived, my arms around Barbara's waist and Barbara's mouth saying something close to my ear. I think that Barbara looking at me like a puppy to its owner may added to the overall effect.

I tilted my head with a slight shrug, trying to say, well, what can I do? After all, she had said `no' to me more times than I could count. She had said `never' more times than I'd like to remember.

I kept trying because she always smiled when she said those words. Her `no' sounded like a `try again' and her `never' like `maybe tomorrow.' So it was for a while. Too long, perhaps. It was fun—in a twisted way, right. She was impossible, I was stubborn. I said the most outrageous things and she just pretended to be unfazed. I answered her questions with blatant sexual suggestions. I said whatever came to my head when nobody else was near. It was a game, and I scored when she blushed. At first it was easy. She blushed the first time I told her she was pretty. I don't know why, perhaps she just wasn't expecting it. She was telling me something she had done, and I just replied: “you only get away because you're so pretty.” Then, she blushed and changed the subject. Sure, this seems innocent enough, just regular flirting, but things escalated, and I started to like her. Too much, to be in love with her. “I love you” made her blush more than anything else. “I don't,” she dismissed, bluntly but with a quivering voice, red as a tomato, walking away immediately.

Perhaps I should have kissed her then, just like that. But it didn't occur to me.

A week ago I beat all other records. I described to her, as we walked together from the office to the garage, my dream of the previous evening. How I had taken her clothes off and fucked her. She didn't look me in the eyes once, but I could see her breathing getting heavier, her neck, breast and face getting redder, her hands uneasy.

I should have kissed her then. Dragged her into a bedroom. Again, it didn't occur to me. “Let's have dinner” was all I said when the elevator doors opened.

“No,” Wilma tried to say, but her mouth made no sound. She cleared her throat and said it again, this time audibly, strong. “No.”

Then Barbara asked me if I wanted to go with her to that event, some festival of whatever. “Sure,” I said. It was a festival, not a date. At least not until she slipped her tongue into my throat and I suddenly realized that I liked her. Yes, I'm a little slow for these things.

“You see, life is what happens when you are busy making other plans,” I said apologetically, when I got a minute to talk to her without Barbara hanging by my side. Wilma frowned at the Lennon quote.

“I don't mind,” she said, jealousy spilling over her words.

“I hope so. You said never,” I said, trying a smile.

It's now five minutes later, and I see Wilma going to the bathroom. Her eyes were sad, making me feel bad. I am sure that if I went after her she'd let me fuck her, right here, right now. Probably.

But Barbara gives me another of her puppy eyes, and I just walk over to her and encircle her waist with my arm.

She smiles, and that makes me happy enough.

06 Mar 2006
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