Another voice decided to partake in the yelling. He went on about people making mistakes and blind spots, for the love of lame excuses. I had to just muse at the fact that not one ‘sorry’ had been uttered. Seconds later, a voice that came from a few floors above me added in his two obvious cents to explain how they should shut up because people were trying to sleep in on their only day off. I laughed despite my mood. I loved it when people in the apartments opened up their sliding glass doors to add in their infinite wisdom in a situation that didn’t involve them at all.
Ah, the city. Let’s shove as many people into one building as we can. If we give them stressful work and insist they buy more than they need, and trap them basically, then they have themselves one hell of an experiment in the depravity of man. Not a cup half-empty kind of girl, I still sometimes felt that way, given this kind of day anyway.
Life goes on, doesn’t it, I mused, my lips out in a full frown. Absolutely no one cared about me up here, with only a cup of coffee to share my woes with. Sure I could call Chloe, wake her up, I was sure, but I actually didn’t want to relate all the details yet, at least not to anyone else beyond the air. Besides, a part of me feared what advice she might have for me. I couldn’t imagine that even she could come up with an explanation as to his abrupt exit, nothing good or fitting at least, and she was very experienced with all kinds of men.
Where I had mousy brown curls and blue eyes, my best feature by the way, Chloe had dishwater blond hair that she kept highlighted. To add to this fortune, she had those ocean blue eyes. Hers were far more striking than mine, made only better by the combo of being a blond and skinny, and just all around beautiful. She kept her hair short and stylish, always going for the latest cut shown in the magazines. While she was a girly-girl, she wasn’t vain. She went on and on about how cute I looked all the time. I’d never once gotten a vibe that she was playing me just to be nice. She found beauty in all types, even as shown by what she pointed out in magazines.
Chloe really enjoyed magazines, clothes and make-up. Me, not so much. Sure, I liked to wear something pretty as much as the next girl, but I didn’t spend much time on it. Shopping for me involved getting there, getting what I needed, and getting out. Lucky for me, Chloe experimented on me as much as she did herself. She kept me fashionable despite the fact that I often just lost track of the time in a fictional world and didn’t have the time left to bother before going out.
At times, I also lost track of how many potato chips or cookies I’d eaten, as well. Yet, I wasn’t prone to obsessing about my weight. Where Chloe had a stick figure body like all those which were all the rage now, I had curves and then some. She wasn’t skinny by conscious choice anyway. She just wasn’t a big eater, never had been, even as a child. Anytime we were given free rein over something like pizza or ice cream, even at five years old, she just picked. Her mom always complained that she ate like a bird and should be more like me. All in all, I didn’t mind me, and her behavior helped instead of hindering that mindset.
I actually had lucked-out in holding my weight well. My curves were proportioned evenly all over my frame. Of course, even then, we all get self-conscious at times, as new men explore us. We all doubt how they see us. I’d heard Chloe and other girlfriends complain about the same thing no matter what their size. I had full breasts that hung heavy, falling to a full rounded stomach. My thighs definitely gave a guy something to hold onto. I do tend to assume most guys want the stick figures, as that has just been my experience, a knowledge of probability and statistics. Yet, sometimes a guy like Lex comes along, apparently, all drop dead body-builder type, and wants a girl who offers him something to grab onto.
My heart skipped a beat at the thought of how he’d reacted to me. The image of a naked Lex, hard erection, climbing over me, came uninvited but not exactly unwelcome into my mind. My skin reacted, tingling in remembrance of his weight against me, all his hard muscles against my soft flesh. I grew wet just thinking about how he’d stretched me, made me come, when we’d finally joined together.
I was wiping away tears from my cheeks before I even realized that I’d started to cry. My eyes, swollen and scratchy from last night’s weeping episode, resented my rubbing at them again. They burned. The tears soothed the dryness but irritated the eyelids of the poor abused things. Going for a tissue, I saw the note where I’d let it drop from my hand on the way to sit outside.