Disclaimer: All character belong to SM, I'm just the temporary puppet master. (Dance…I say, dance! Mwah ha ha)
A/N: I started this story for my own personal sanity but a friend read it one day and loved it. She urged me to write more and so…I'm trying. I would love to have a beta if anyone would be interested in helping out. Thanks a heap.
Mood music: Colorblind by Counting Crows .com/play#Counting+Crows:Colorblind:33089:s164784.14453.3804%2Cstd_
I don't know if I've ever been loved by a hand that's touched me and I feel angry; angry with myself for allowing it to go on for so long and for being blind to the repercussions of my actions. Too many times I have woken up to a nameless, faceless masculine body lying next to me in crumpled sheets and immediately regretted my actions. Without a glance back at their sleeping form, I make my escape by the faint glow of early morning rays of light.
The first time was an eye opener; a night that started out as a harmless get together with some co-workers, led to shots, which led to drinking games, which later led to me waking up naked in a stranger's bed. His tattooed arms encased me in a headlock embrace and his legs thrown over top of me, pinning me to the bed. I was terrified at first until flashes from the night came back to me. A grin crept to my face at the things that were said and done. He was so sweet and thoughtful. I snuggled to him, enjoying the affection and joy of a lover's embrace.
My snuggling roused him from his sleep. I'll never forget the look that passed over his face as shock and then realization colored his features. He all but pushed me away as he mumbled an excuse of an early morning appointment he needed to get to. The clock read 5:30 a.m. The feel of rejection is an unforgettable feeling. My face became hot with embarrassment as he watched me fumble around the room gathering clothing and hastily make my get away.
He lived in a townhouse in the historical part of town, which I was immediately thankful for because my car was nowhere in sight. It seems I had stupidly ridden with him to his house without a way to leave. I wasn't naïve enough to think he would come out to offer me a ride back, so I walked the five miles back to the bar where I had left my car. It was the epitome of the walk of shame. In my rush to leave his cold gaze, I had put my boots on the wrong feet, left my underwear at his house and stuffed my bra in my coat pocket.
I'll never forget the feelings I developed on my walk. I was cold, lonely and used up. I felt like a hooker to the greatest degree and the only one I had to blame was myself and the alcohol. My head throbbed from my hangover and the extra exertion of hiking up hills and through deserted parking lots. The sight of my car was almost a holy experience. The streetlamp above it cast a heavenly like glow around my pristine 20k car, promising warmth and comfort.
It was a whole month later before a relapse in my behavior. The second time I knew what to expect but hoped for the best; always hoping for a happily ever after; that when I made my move to leave, my lover of the night would make declarations of romantic dates and future love. Each time I was disappointed and even lonelier than the night before. I felt empty after a nightly rendezvous and usually spent all of the next day crying, eating Haagen-Dazs and watching chick flicks.
It was a vicious cycle but I always went back for more. Because in those hours when their hazy eyes stared into mine like I was their only one, I couldn't have been happier. They each held me as if we had already spent a lifetime knowing one another. It was addictive, those few hours of drunken bliss. After all, a woman never gets tired of hearing she's beautiful and 'different' than other women.
The men are a blur of caressing limbs and husky voices in my mind now, all melding together to become one. No one face sticks out amongst the crowd. To my knowledge, I have yet to cross paths with any of my past acquaintances; the good thing about living in a large city. Even if I were to stumble across a past affair, neither of us would know it and perhaps do it all over again.
My weekdays are filled with the life of a career minded woman. I spend the prerequisite nine to five hours slaving away for the man and then home to my modest apartment, to reflect on my life's lack of accomplishments. The weekends were my time to let loose and become someone else in the span of 48 hours. In the ugly, fluorescent glow of my office, I'm a lowly employee on the bottom rung of the ladder but in the smoky, muted light of a martini bar, I danced seductively; luring in my next conquest. My blurry sight passes from table to table searching for any takers; any on lookers who may be seeking a friend for the evening. Once my sights are set and zeroed in, it flows effortlessly from there. I feel like a temptress, a siren; able to call forth any man with my looks and womanly ways.
I feel brave, confident and fearless in the face of possible rejection. When in reality, I'm anything but these three things. My insecurities become buried beneath the pints of bitter, pungent alcohol.
This was my way for so long and I knew nothing else; no other way to receive the affection and love that I so dearly craved. To some it may seem ridiculous and an excuse for acting so wantonly but for those who have never received love in its pure form, we don't know better. We take what we can get, when we can get it, whoever we can get it from.
A/N: So yeah I know it was short but the next is longer…scout's honor. /