Never Been Kissed(2)

Just one more look.

The doors have closed. It doesn’t matter anymore.

My eyes get snagged on his upper body, the way it looks stretching out the material of the hoodie, and down, down, down to his muscular ass and legs. I don’t know why his hood’s up. It’s May and not that cold.

It’s not hard to tell that he has a killer body. So killer, my ovaries take notice, basking in his masculinity. I mean, I have guy friends, but none of them are manly in the way Tarzan is a man, and none of them have ever made me feel this way, like my body’s about to combust. Which is kind of an asshole thing to say about your friends, but I figure since I’m only thinking it, it doesn’t really matter.

I know all my guy friends are good guys, deep, deep down. The kind of guys that’ll be cool if you called them at four am to get your ass home from a bar or whatever, even if they have work the next day. And good trumps good-looks every single time.

Just look at this guy. Oh my God, he just lifted her up, and they are full on grinding in front of me. I’m trapped! Ah! I’m going to be the sole spectator in a live porno! And I have to pee!

I keep staring; I can’t seem to look away. My mouth has gone Sahara dry. So this is what I’ve been missing all these years. This hunger for someone else that makes the world disappear. I hate them. I hate him.

I hate him because he’s beautiful and strong, and he would never want a girl like me. Who would ever want a nerd bigger than Josie Geller? Bloody hell, but to have a guy like that, a guy who can’t wait for you... I’ve only ever read this kind of passion in books, watched it in movies. It’s real. It exists.

I shut down a sigh, and make myself look away.

Please, please, please let there be no unzipping of jeans. God doesn’t answer, but I don’t hear anything that would lead to actual sex with me two feet away. I jab again at the number six, and ignore the sounds she’s making, moans and whimpers that would fit right in a porno. Jesus Christ.

There’s no air left in this elevator car, and the temperature has for sure gone up ten degrees. I need to get out of here.

The elevator chimes the doors open on the sixth floor, and I bolt out, cussing myself out that I don’t have my keys in hand. I feel the pain in my bladder as I waddle to my door, horrified to see the guy gently slam his girl into the strip of wall separating my apartment and next door, giving her the kind of kiss that is seconds away from fucking.

I swallow and look down to fumble with my keys.

“Hunter, baby? Where are your keys?” the girl pants.

I struggle not to let out a moan. I live next door to a sex god, whose name is Hunter. The sexiest name a man can have. How did I miss him since move-in? Simple, really, I don’t pay attention to the world around me, like any good little reader. Even then, if I noticed him, a part of my brain would’ve declared: he’s not for you. Because really... what would a hunk like that ever want with a fat-ass nerd like me?

Their combined breathing is faster, like they’re trying to catch their breath. I don’t want to see what he looks like. If the back-view was fine, what’ll his mug do to me? Ovary damage.

“Baby? Are we going to go inside? Please?” the girl asks.

Whining. She’s whining for him to give it to her. A spike of green jealousy lances its way through my heart at the sound of her voice. It’s fine to want that, to want to experience that need and lust for a man. The truth of my reality is I’m judged on what I look like all the time, and no one has ever wanted me. I’ve never been chased by anyone; I wouldn’t even know what to do. I don’t see it changing in the future.

Shaking my head, I open my door, shut away my little dose of excitement for the day. I lock it, waddling to the bathroom even as my bladder decides to give up on me. When I’m done, I raise my hands in the air, and do a Rocky Balboa victory run around my bathroom. This is what my life has been reduced to.

I’m really glad I didn’t see Hunter’s face. Super glad. Liar, liar pants on fire!

Moving to the mirror, I pull my hair out of my bun, massaging my scalp. I’m sub-average, with a giant ass and thighs. I wear nerdy shirts, jeans and Converse. I wear glasses, and somehow I’ve lived twenty five years of my life and never been kissed. Whatever, these are the cards I’ve been dealt and it’s not an awful hand.

Moving back to the kitchen, I pull up my ‘Suck it Up’ playlist on my iPod dock. Pop songs only, anything from The Wanted, Backstreet Boys, N*Sync, and lots of tracks from Glee. I let my giant ass move the way it wants to the beat, trying to stop imagining what the sex god next door looks like. Are his eyes dark or light? Hair long or short? Tattoos?