Having just moved out of your mother's house after finishing college, you started living independently and moved to North Carolina. At first you found it a bit weird to be living alone. You were used to staying in a medium-sized house, five bedrooms, two stories, with your complete, extended family. That meant generations of families living in a single house – which also meant that you didn't get to have your own private time because you had to share a room with two bunk beds, for you, your brother, and two of your cousins. There wasn't a place for you and you alone in there. Due to that and for so many other annoying reasons, you longed to be away from the collectivist culture you grew up in. You still, however, liked the thought of having a family, but not too much family.
Now you're staying in a small apartment, with enough room for a conjoined kitchen and living room, a small toilet with a shower, and a bedroom with a single bed. It was everything you needed, and you were contented with what you had. There wasn't a lot of furniture around, just a three-seater couch, a table, a television set and a bed. That was enough for you because you liked everything that was simple, neat and pretty. You were happy that your place wasn't noisy, and you can finally have your privacy, unlike before. It kind of felt lonely though, being all alone without anyone to talk to. Maybe you felt a little homesick, but you thought you were simply too old for that stuff.
Moving out is always a challenge and it can be quite worrying at first, and that's exactly what you felt. But at the same time, there was a thrill about it. Maybe it was the thrill of adventure, the thrill of writing your own life's story with your own hands, or maybe it was just the knowledge of the fact that a new life, free of other people dictating what you want and what you need to do, which is essentially freedom; lies ahead of you.
Summer of 2008
It's your second day of independence. It's Saturday, 6AM and you've just woken up, tired and hung-over from the welcome party thrown by your new workmates for you last night. You hear a growl coming from your stomach, and then you came to understand and remember that since all your life your mother wanted you to focus on studying, you became a sheltered brat. So, you're quite fucked when it comes to cooking. Actually, you're very fucked. You can't even fry bacon without dancing around like an idiot trying to dodge the spitting oil.
As you were getting out of bed, you thought, "Damn. I wish I asked Ma to teach me a few recipes before bolting out of there. Well, I guess for now I'll have cereals in the mornings, cup noodles for lunch and maybe some Chinese for dinner."
You grinned as if you've formulated the best plan you've ever had in your life. "Thank god for cereals!"
You pulled yourself up out of bed, did a few stretches and then brushed your teeth.
"I'll probably try to fry an egg…" you thought to yourself while playing around with the gargle in your mouth, but the splashing water on the sink made you remember your fear of cooking oil burning your skin. "…maybe next week." You spat the gargle out.
All refreshed and ready for the day, you walk towards the kitchen cupboards, and rummage through a mess of boxes containing flour, baking powder, and some other unlabelled boxes containing ingredients you'd never even attempt to touch without Ma's instructions. Finally, after a good few seconds you managed to find your beloved cereals.
"I guess she didn't want me finding this if she had to put it behind all this shit."
You got a bowl and poured over some of that junk in it. Milk, the final ingredient to this seemingly life-saving recipe is of course, supposed to be inside the fridge.
"Where the hell is the milk…Oh fuck. If it's not here, then it's in one of those moving boxes still. And it must be fucking disgusting by now. Awesome work Ma. You thought about hiding the cereals but you forgot to put a perishable item in the fridge. Fucking smart."
Luckily, your apartment is right next to a shop. You run out of your apartment in your pyjamas and rushed to the store.
"Thank god there's some milk here. Thought I'd have to munch through a bowl of corn flakes on its own. I'd rather not show up to work on Monday with a chipped tooth." That was obviously an exaggeration on your part, but since you've never had cereals without milk, you didn't know any better and assumed the worst.
Having finished your objective, you rush to the counter to pay for the milk. As you grab your wallet to pay the cashier, memories from the night before came rushing back. There was a stabbing pain in your temples and you started to feel a little dizzy. You had flashbacks of what occurred on that welcome party you thought you enjoyed so much, and then you began to panic a little. "Oh god. Last night..." You said as you ran your fingers through your hair.
"Sorry sir, what was that?" The cashier asked, puzzled.
"Oh... sorry, I was just... thinking aloud. Can I just leave this milk here for a second? I forgot I needed to get something else."
"No worries! There aren't usually a lot of customers this early in the day so take your time."
"Thanks."
Remembering the eventful night you had yesterday, you suddenly recalled that you tore a sleeve off of your jacket from all the thrashing you made in the bar where the party took place. That was your first time having alcohol and you couldn't handle your shit. You couldn't even remember what the bar's name was, how you got home, or exactly how you got into your pyjamas.
With a flushed look, you thought, "Damn that was embarrassing... I kinda just want to die right now, please."
But now you know you needed threads and needles to patch that torn sleeve up.
You look around the shop and at the section labels and found the knitting aisle. You head towards it and you see a shelf dedicated to knitting and sewing. There were different colors and types of threads, varying sizes of needles, patterns, yarns and thimbles. Everything you could ask for was there if you were a knitting hobbyist.
You pace around the shelves, trying to look for the right thread color to match your jacket.
"I hope they have marine blue in here somewhere…"
"Ding-dong."
You hear the door entry chime as a bunch of people entered the shop. "Where the hell did all these people come from? Fucking cashier lied to me. She liiiiiied." You said as you watched ten, maybe twelve people come into the shop. You began to hurry because you didn't want to hold up the people who just entered because you drank too fucking much. Your head started to ache more from the combined stress of having to hurry up, not being able to see where the fucking marine blue thread spool was and the lingering hang-over you had from enjoying last night's welcome party.
"Do they not have marine blue in here?" You thought aloud as you paced around the shelves looking hurriedly for the right thread color to match your jacket. You feel sweat beading on your forehead, slowly dripping down your nose. You had a sick feeling running to your stomach, as you verge to the point of puking out everything you had yesterday. You know full well that you're worrying about something so insignificant, and that you can just tell the cashier you'll take a bit longer and let the others have their turn, which she'll most likely do anyway without you telling her. You could have just asked her where the marine blue spools were too, but you were to stressed out to think that far. Or even to think at all.
An unfamiliar voice then said, "Hey, they're in this shelf."
Surprised, you turned around and saw a young man, pointing at the shelf behind you. He was wearing a blue jacket, a white shirt underneath stained with what seems like pizza sauce and mustard, some baggy, probably generic pants, and old flip-flops. He took two spools of thread and handed one to you.
"Oh god, thank you!" You exclaimed, as you wondered why the marine blue thread spools were separate from the others. "I've been trying to look for those things for quite a while."
With a gentle, kind smile, the stranger said, "Is that so? Well, that color's special. If you need it, it's always gonna be right in this shelf over here."
"Thanks for the help! Sorry, but er..." You point your thumb towards the counter.
"I'm sort of in a hurry and I have to go... Thanks again!"
"You're welcome."
You then turn around, took a bunch of needles, waved the man good-bye and started to dart back to the counter to pay for all your items. But before you could go out of the knitting aisle, you suddenly felt a hand grabbing your arm, pulling you back.
"Huh?"
Surprised, you turned around to see who was holding you, but before you could recognise anything, you felt another hand cover your eyes and you were temporarily robbed of your sight. You felt a little frightened. You could have slapped his hand away from your face, but you were scared that the person might hurt you instead. Your fight or flight response became fight or fright, and in this case you chose the latter one.
With a panicked tone, almost whimpering, you asked, "Wh-who are you? Why are you doing this?
No one answered, and you start to feel your nerves tingling. You felt the sweat from your forehead drip down to your assailant's hand, which was a little embarrassing, but that didn't stop him from covering your eyes. But then you realise that those hands... They felt like they were just there for the sole purpose of hiding someone's identity. It didn't feel like it was an attempt to hurt you.
"Bryce? Evan? Is that you?"
You called out to two of your new workmates who also lived nearby, only two or three blocks away from this shop. You had a hunch that it might just be them, and that maybe by coincidence, they saw you in the shop and just decided to play around with the rookie.
"If this is some sort of prank, i-it's funny, okay? Ha-ha. N-now please let go of m-"
"Let go of me…mmmph."
"Mmm…mmph!?"
This is optional, but when I was writing the next part I was listening to "The Closer I Get to You" by Beyoncé and Luther Knowles. Found myself a little more imaginative with that on. It's totally up to you, but I highly recommend that you play it while reading onwards. Kind of sets the mood ;)
Slowly you felt the hand over your eyes leaving its place but for some reason your eyes closed itself the moment it left. You felt a little pain in your mouth but it was accompanied by a soft, sticky and wet feeling. It felt kind of… good, but draining at the same time. Breath suddenly was something you were running out, but you somehow still held on, because this was something new to you. It was a sensation you've never experienced before. And you liked it. It was the first time you felt this kind of pleasure, and you didn't want it to end.
The hand that used to be on your face carefully slid to your back and gently moved upwards to your nape, running its fingers through your hair, slightly pulling at it at times with you groaning a little in response. The other that used to grip your arm held you by your back and pulled you closer, which perhaps was an attempt to secure you, and it did. The fear you once had eventually disappeared - if anything, you felt safer. You felt sheltered and protected in his embrace. What was supposed to be invasive became so caring and passionate - which was weird considering you have absolutely no idea who this guy is that's holding you tight, as if he was your long-time lover.
The moment he pulled you closer, both your bodies touched and you felt a lean, lightly built chest pushing itself onto yours. It was strange at first, but the feeling it gave you was overwhelming as you felt each muscle push into you and you couldn't think of anything else at the time but to enjoy it. Both your bodies moved in unison with each other, and the friction it caused gave a stimulation unlike anything you've ever had before. Your knees felt weak as you felt you something in your gut heating up, but his hand that was holding you by your back made sure you didn't fall.
But falling down didn't even matter anymore, because you already fell for him, and there was no saving you.
Something then gently creeped inside your mouth, moving around as if it was wrestling with your tongue. It tasted like... mangoes? Maybe even a hint of strawberries and chocolate. It went to the base, to the sides, and then to the roof of your mouth. It felt weird, but oddly satisfying. And arousing. The music playing in the shop doesn't seem to reach your ears anymore; all you could hear were the lewd sounds your mouth was making, as your tongue inside swirled and was directed by his own like an orchestra conductor, going from pianissimo to forte. You could smell a fragrance. Shampoo, maybe? It was a zesty kind of smell, and it was nice. You didn't need your sight to determine that this guy was pure perfection. He was leaving his mark all over your other senses, and everything felt so damn good with him. The sensual overload had you feeling faint, but you keep telling yourself not to, because you wanted more of him.
He started becoming a little more aggressive. He pushed his head a little further into yours, making you arch backwards slightly. It was as if he was exerting his dominance over you and your being, but you had no qualms with it. It was like predator and prey, and you were letting him consume you entirely for every second that passed. Giving in to your innermost desires, you accepted what was coming to you whole-heartedly.
Soon you discovered there was something welling up inside of you, but you just can't put your finger on to what it is. You were flooded by all the different sensations you were feeling and they were all you could focus your mind on. Your entire body was burning up, and but that intensified what intense feelings you already had even more. You were going crazy. You tried to gasp a little air with every chance you get and went back to prolong this... experience. An experience you'll probably never forget.
"Ding-dong."