1. The Tales From The Tavern: I Lust After Your Scar


    Date: 8/18/2015, Categories: Love Stories, Author: el_henke, Rating: 2, Source: LushStories

    addicted to my own hideous reflection as much as Narcissus was addicted to his own beauty . To that came the badmouthing, and gossiping at school. Most of them weren't even bothering about pretending they were talking of something else. Whenever I entered a classroom, it was a sudden dead silence, and two dozen pair of eyes glued to me. Either that, or obvious murmuring as though I was completely deaf – or blind. These glances they sometimes threw me, and all these fingers pointing at me... not just my schoolmates, though. The teachers as well treated me like the cripple I looked like. Talk about the teachers' duty to act as a role model. The same goes for my friends, I tell you. It's funny how one's facial features closely correlate with the number of social bonds, Guess I had my fifteen minutes of fame – every recess. And the cheerleader squad I had been the captain of? I had fought to get into that position, even defeated these sluts that were taking advantage of the gym teacher's weakness for underage girls, and still-developing sixteen year-old titties. All the fighting, the teeth kicking for what? For having my achievements, and my dreams shattered by one clumsy, stupid accident. With that also came the teen angst. A crapload of teen angst. Having irreversibly lost one's beauty in this hostile world which is driven by unrealistic model standards can cause all sorts of complexes, and disorders. The paranoia of possibly never being able to make friends again, let alone ...
    finding love, or getting laid for instance. During that time I had to learn to wear a mask, to be strong, not to show any sign of weakness. Every day the same fight at school, and consequently crying my eyes out once I hit the bed back home. Why me? Why my face? Eventually, the talking went flat after a few months. They had probably ran out of re-runs of old jokes about me, and got tired of picking at me. It didn't help increasing my popularity back to a decent level, though. By that time, I had ditched the bandages completely, and replaced them by these here shades. It took some convincing to have the teachers let me wear them during class. Of course some of my classmates were terribly jealous of my permission to keep them on, and wanted their own share of my exception. As they realized they'd never get it, the gossiping continued – less loud this time, however. Some of them even tried to drag me in front of the principal, but I knew about his sweet spot for dirt cheap chocolate despite his severe diabetes, and his wife breathing down his neck. Dark sins. Who doesn't have them? They don't necessarily have to be of sexual nature. Before long after ditching the bandages, I had – oh miracle – turned into the aim of a competition among the jocks. Who could touch my scar first. Sometimes two of them would hold my arms while the third would trace his index over the tissue, singing, chanting a stupid rhyme about my scar while his buddies where laughing, and cheering. Yes, super ...
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