Killing Beauty - Sex Stories

Killing Beauty

... love with him. Not on our first encounter. Though later on he did admit it to me that he fell in love with me the first time he unexpectedly laid eyes on me. School was just awesome and mind-blowing with Kyle around. Every day I was in Biology, seated there next to him with him looking and making eyes at me throughout the whole span that we stayed in class, I felt like I was in seventh heaven. Many times the professor would notice him and pass comment on how absorbed some of his students were starting to fall in love—not mentioning out names, but speaking in a manner that made it obvious by peeking in Kyle’s direction as he spoke—but still, Kyle did not ever quit making sheep’s eyes at me. It took him eight straight weeks to eventually ask me out. All this while, we were just friends that met and chatted and cracked jokes and laughed together during Biology. Whenever the two of us had a word or two and laughed and giggled what’s more, everyone’s attention would move and abide on us until we were over with whatever affair it was that we were carrying out. This was how it went the day Kyle expressed his feelings to me: After Biology, he ran to catch up with me in the protracted corridor, yelping out, “Nevada! Nevada Leigh!” I turned over to him, seizing my books, which I had planned to lay by and then lock them up in my locker. “Yes, Kyle.” He came to a final halt before me, breathing and sighing heavily. “What will you be doing tonight? My friend’s brother—Claudio I mean—is ...

... having a party. Claudio himself would like you there. I let him know that we are best friends. What do you say?” I mused about it for a little bit while. “Sure. They say never say never. I will attend that party.” “Thank you so much. One more thing. Look your very best. I beg you. I want to dance with you tonight.” Smiling joyously, I replied, “I probably will.” It was while we were dancing that very night when Kyle had began. “Nevada.” I looked up at him warmly. “Yes, Kyle.” “What would be your response if I told you that I love you?” I giggled in absurd excitement. “My response? It would be that you are joking.” He looked hurt in some way. “Nevada, I love you.” “Is that a joke? Another one from you?” “I am not joking, Nevada.” We stopped dancing right that moment and looked at each other quietly and gravely. “Kyle…I…I…” “I do mean what I say, Nevada.” His eyes showed it. “I can tell,” I observed. “And what is your saying? I want to hear it straight from you. Do you love me or not?” “I do, Kyle.” “You do?” He was suddenly happy and buoyant. “Yes, I do!” Squirming and yelling out in joy, he cuddled and squeezed me tightly to himself. I could hardly breath. In any case, he did not kill me. No, he did not. Onward to the Valentine’s he died. We were dancing, steadily and happily, just like on the day that he proposed to me and I in turn accepted his proposal. He was neatly and excellently dressed in an immaculate black suit, one that suited and harmonized with his disheveled blond ...