Rosie - Sex Stories

Rosie

... surrounded on all sides by expansive farm fields. Our new next door neighbors were my grandparents, who had a farm. During those years before we moved, however, Rosie and I hardly ever spoke. She was a girl, after all, and I was much more interested in garter snakes and comic books. Rosie had made some white girlfriends at school and I often observed her sporting a wide smile that showcased her pearly white teeth. Underneath it all I always thought I saw a hint of anger in her face, though. I suppose I had developed a childhood crush on her, although I would certainly have denied it at the time. In the twisted logic of young affection, the more I liked her the less I talked to her. Once we moved to our new house, it would be nine years before I saw her again, when we were both included in the same high school district, each of us riding buses to attend high school. Acne ravaged my face early on when I went through puberty and then ruined it further with each year of junior high school. My mother took me to several different doctors, who would earnestly squeeze and poke me with painful instruments of torture, none of which provided any type of relief. Angry red pustules and hard, subcutaneous cysts made my face look like the surface of the moon, and I hid myself in the back corner of each class I took, feeling deformed and monstrous. All I could think about were the girls that were developing hips and breasts around me, none of whom would ever glance at me, let alone talk to ...

... me. I was Quasimodo and Two-Face combined into one hideous outcast. Meanwhile, Rosie had blossomed. When I first saw her in high school our freshman year, I almost didn’t recognize her. She had small, firm-looking breasts, and a slim waist that only made her bubble-shaped butt stand out more, and not a blemish on her smooth, dark chocolate skin. Her lips were large and rose-hued, and her eyes had a slight angle that I did not recall from her youth, almost oriental in effect. Her outward persona had grown into one of confidence and her carriage was proud and still somewhat defiant. I didn’t have her in any of my classes my freshman and sophomore year. I would only catch glimpses of her in the crowded hallways between classes or at the cafeteria. I always looked away when I saw her, for I was monstrous and she was so beautiful. Once I thought she recognized me and tentatively waved a greeting to me, but I averted my eyes and walked hurriedly past her in the hallway, feigning being late for my next class. Time happened as Time will. My sixteenth birthday came and the worst days of my acne slowly faded away. I only had one or two huge cysts to despair over at any one time. I wore my hair over my ears and shirt collars. I wrote page after page of lonely, awful poetry. I listened to angry rock and angry R&B and angry folk music. My grandfather took me under his wing when he saw where I was heading. On Sundays, he took me fishing with him on small Michigan lakes and listened to me ...