I think it was her legs that turned me on the most. They were just so beautiful and lightly tanned, smoothed and leggy, but had enough meat to wear you could picture her in those superhero movies. You know? In those shorts or tight pants or bodysuits that looked more like some awkward bathing suit. Like. Dunno, just, smoothed. And, you know, I mean, I was just standing there, waiting for Burris to check the overview. That one on 9.1-9.4? Yeah, that one, I'm sure of it. I remember going over cosines of triangles, that was it. I looked behind me, oh, god. She wearing a short jean skirt. It was short. Wait, I said that. But, it was only short because summer was coming.
She moved up in line.
My own legs moved to make a step to my seat. My skirt was short too, but, like I could compare. Her top? It was kinda low, I guess. Like, meh. I guess a hand below the neck is where the fabric started? Low cut shirts don't do much for me, honestly. Not if legs are exposed....
.. no that last statement was a lie. They don't even have to be exposed. Just, there. Crossed in an elegant fashion. The way hers were crossed, it's like. Gah? It's like they were trained to cross like that each time. No. No, they were born for that. The crossing, the unfolding. Subcontiously, I think I imagined them pinning over me, but I can't remember. I tend to forget what my tangents go into.
Oh, no that's just the phone.
Oh, I thought she asked me something.
No, that's the other Crista.
There's another Crista?
Well, there's a Krista, and a Christine, but I guess no Crista.
I should have been happy no one paid mind to my scribbles after I had a leave of five minutes, or something like that. This was my space. I was free to write what I wanted. I was free to think freely. Like her elegancy. Yet the very thought seemed like it was staining my mind. Staining it with ink. That kind you can't get out even with bleach? Yeah, that kind. I'd need that weird brain bleach crap that only exists in some weird mad scientist village that knows how to get the ink out. And it's like, they'd know what I would be talking about if I went there. And we'd go on random tangents about brain bleach while hooking up Frankienstien to some weird machine, and bleach his brain. And our pens would explode ink on us, but we'd have the bleach, so it would be okay. But then we'd realize the bleach only worked on brains, so we'd need to use real bleach instead. But no one would have any real bleach, since it's a town of mad scientists. So I'd have to go back home for it. But by then I'd already have an ink-free mind, so why would I need to go back?
I thought about that for a while and realized I wasted ten minutes thinking about bleaching brains.
I really need a life.
But, honestly, that ink was staining me. No, it was doing more than that. It was staining not my brain, but my innocence. Why did my mind cease her elegancy? Because I lacked the bleach.
I'll be blunt. As much as the female nature drew me in, the male nature drew me closer. Being female, myself, you know how females are. You know how they act. You know how they feel when they just want to bitch out everything for a week, then cry about how sorry they are and blame it on god for cursing them for almost their whole life only to be acting like a jerkface for a week every month. You know what's under the clothing. It's nothing new. You have the same body structure. It's nothing new.
Mysterious is their mind to a female, some more than others. They don't ask you if a dress looks fat on them [in which case they do, that is perfectly fine, I just have yet to meet any male that has asked me this, therefore I shall write only in which that I know of]. They don't ask you if their make-up looks okay or if an outfit is too 'showy'. They don't blame god for going on a total pumpkin load of emotion for a week.
As a female, you know these things already.
It's nothing new.
My legs were crossed.
I hate that feeling, when you uncross them? It's like pulling cling-wrap pieces apart.
That doesn't happen with Elegancy.
It was a moment. Like. Dunno. I was just sitting there, right? Enojoying the taste of the sucker I got from Burris' little box thing where you could buy some for some weird fundraiser I'm sure I've never heard of. It was cherry, I think. It tasted like cherry so I assumed so. But, just, my shorts me feel.. exhibitational? I know that's weird to go from, suckers to shorts to sex. But, it's the truth. So, I just sat there. Imagining that sucker was like, my lover. I caressed it with my tongue, all over, I remember I made sure of this. So what if I was in public? It's not like anyone could see what was going on inside my mouth. Each time I'd kinda pull on pull in a teasing manner on the handle so the part with the flavor? I don't know what it's called. But, I made sure I'd pull on it slowly so it was like, well. You know those popsicle-mental teases some girls do during the summer to drive guys mad? Yeah, it was kinda like that I guess. I just didn't have the same object. I was a popsicleless tease in secrecy undercover with a cherry piece of candy on a handle that only wished it was a popsicle, but didn't get the job, so it was stuck with the title of candy sucker.
The fact it was redish pink kinda helped my mind, in a perverse way. It was kinda smooth too, sort of. Every now and then I'd lick the sides then go back to having the whole thing in my mouth. Then, I'd press my lips gently together but with pressure still, and move it back out. It was like, gah. Like a trance? But not really. Like, I would stare at the wall I guess? I'd lose focus. Whoever this cherry flavored lover was, they tasted great. Then, if I was to put the piece back in, I made sure that it pressed against my tongue. My mouth would be open, a bit, and just, would rub against my tongue. I think the one guy next to me caught what I was doing. As if he knew each word I thought and anticipated each lick to the piece. He gave me this look, like he wished he could be my cherry flavored lover. But, knowing every word I thought, he already knew it wasn't going to happen, which made him turn back to take notes. And to think he never noticed I saw him cross his legs immediantly after turning away. Well, damn, now my exhibitational feeling would only grow more at the moment. Every now and then, I had to swallow, from the chery flavor mixing in my mouth? I sometimes wondered if any girls were thinking on the same teasing wave length I was on at the moment, so, I'd lick the thin, short part of the red side. While solving a problem, I noticed I make one of those thinking sounds. Like a sigh? I guess I did something like that. Not many people I know making these thinking sounds, so, I don't know I guess it was awkward? My pencil tapped the beach coloured desktop, then I made another thinking sound, a sigh. But, having the sucker in my mouth made it sound more like "mmmm....". That guy from before crossed his legs tighter.
God I'm so mean.
I liked licking my lips, from the taste of the cherry? It was left over. But the sucker was gone. Like a sad drunk with no wine left, or some girl whose boyfriend just cheated on her and doesn't have any ice cream left to consume while waiting for her girl friends to come over and tell her what a jerk he was and make her feel better. It was like that kind of left over. It made me miss that cherry flavored lover. College classes were so dull. No, I'm not even in college. Don't even try to ask me how or why I'm in them, but I am somehow. Someone mentioned spandex. Now, honestly I don't have a thing like most girls do for guys in spandex. I just don't. But, it made me think of superheroes. Which made me think of supervillians. Like Poison Ivy? Now she was a hot supervillian, and, as I proccessed the thought, why were the villians usually much hotter than the heroes? And if not, then they always looked completly and utterly, well, stupid. I pondered that for a moment, then thoguht of how red the sky was on one part. I can see it, through that one window to my right? Yeah. It's pretty. But, it made me think of my cherry flavored lover again. So sweet. Damn, now I'm feeling exhibitational again. It made me wish that the cherry flavored lover was real, and how it would look. But, I couldn't picture that. So, I thought of people, instead, who I wished had BEEN the cherry flavored lover, and not the candy itself that I had fondled over for the past forty minutes. Which helped, now that I was home. It feels restricting, thinking in public. Like if you fade out for too long, someone will instantly know you what you were thinking, but at home? No, no one knew. Even if you told them, they wouldn't know. But if you merely took a step outside while thinking, it was like the world would broadcast your thoughts.
Now, where's that cherry sucker....