1. Every Sign I Read is Wrong, Baby


    Date: 9/17/2015, Categories: Lesbian, Author: puddleduck, Rating: 3, Source: LushStories

    I may only have two minutes before you knock on my door. Or I may have a lifetime. Inside I’m pacing around in my leggings, unsure what's going to happen. It’s too fast. My mind is racing through what I want to say to you in a jumbled series of recollections. But I must tell you, even if it ruins things. But where would I start? Maybe by asking if you remember the day we met, when I sat in your lap? Yes that's where. Because at least it was the beginning and it might make you smile. It's not as funny later. * It was the first day and you were sitting talking to your mum and dad in the foyer downstairs. I charged through the entrance doors for the first time, trying to look confident, with my parents following behind me. I noticed you because you were pretty and looked tired. I could see, even from there, little shadows under your eyes. I liked the way your long, dark blonde hair waved though. You looked like a Victorian porcelain doll in pink jeans and Gazelles. Honest, those were my first thoughts. Anyway I walked a few paces towards the stairs. But probably because I was staring at you like a moron, as I drew alongside you I tripped over the trailing handle of a bag I was dragging, stumbled, overbalanced over the arm of your chair and landed head down between your legs. You squealed. Your parents rushed to drag me off. It took a while: the rucksack on my back anchored me so my feet flailed like the those of a stranded turtle. Naturally, mum and dad didn’t help. I couldn’t ...
    see, but I bet at that moment they were both raising their eyebrows to everyone around as if to say – this girl is not our fault . They always do that. Only when I’d been craned back to my feet, taken a breath to compose myself and pushed my hair out of my face did I say my first words to you. It was something like, “I've made classier entrances.” You smiled and said it was ok, but even in that moment I was conscious they might be the last words you said to me. Funny that. In those few seconds, I’d classed you as distant and superior. Bored by everything around you. I make snap judgements, I know. I’m not perfect by any means. I’m chatty, awkward, silly. We wouldn’t fit. If our rooms hadn’t been on the same floor maybe we wouldn’t have spoken again – and I wouldn't be waiting here pacing the room now. But they were, so we said hi. And because we were both arts students, most of our lectures were in the same building. So we said hi a bit more. And we sat together in the cafe. And in a few days I discovered you weren’t distant. Maybe intense and reserved, but funny. You made me laugh with your dry observations. Your snaps were a league funnier than the ones from friends from home. Every time. I don’t know how you managed to be that witty. It took me hours to be sharp back. And talking of you and being funny. That time you and I were sitting across from each other at a big table in the cafe, discussing sex? We were laughing about someone telling me that the traditional mating ...
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