This started out between Me and My Friends writing fab little stories about each other's "Ideal Guy", essentially a little task to get our creative juices flowing. As such, I'm posting those I wrote, because I really love them, and want others to read them, because I'm vv proud of them.

1. He's Musical.


My eyes flickered up to the stage, not really taking much in. there was nobody there for now, just a guy, looking at the rack of guitars and trying to work out which one he would be playing in the next five minutes.

                As he straightened up, his back still to me, I watched his arse through his jeans. Toned perfectly. I let out an involuntary sigh and my mate looked over at me, rolled her eyes. I ignored her and turned my attention back to the guy onstage. His band-tee was black, Red Hot Chilli Peppers emblazoned across the front.

                I nearly choked on my drink. His clothes may have been perfect, but what laid underneath it was heaven. He stretched up to pull the guitar over his head, and I could see the muscle under his shirt, flexing and changing with his every move as he breathed and pulled up his strap, adjusting the guitar into his lap as he sat down on the metal chair and pulled the microphone up to his mouth. He turned in his seat to say something and I saw it. The glimpse of a tattoo. Inky black on his skin, it definitely made me choke into my glass. His side had stars across it. Not poncey, girly stars, but thick outlines, almost dark in their purpose. Then he opened his mouth and the tattoo was completely forgotten.


                This guy could sing. But that wasn’t what kept me mesmerised. His lips were soft and full, and solid and kissable… and I was at the back of the room. Nearly spilling her drink, I grabbed my mates hand and pulled her to the front of the crowd. She smiled at me and left me to it, but I didn’t see.

                I’d locked eyes with him. He looked like autumn. The bright lights were making his eyes shine, hazel, bright and solid, but glassy and perfect. They looked like they would speak, and he could say a million things with them in just once glance. I wanted them. I wanted to look at them and know exactly what he was saying. Right now, I had no way of knowing. But I was damn certain I could see him looking straight at me… straight through me.

                I looked away for a minute, looking at the drummer, at the guy producing the beats. Then I turned back, because he’d stopped singing. He’d lost his freakin’ voice. And he was still looking at me. I swallowed and the noise burst through my brain. He was twice as loud, more penetrating than he had been before.

                We’d had a connection in that moment that hadn’t been broken when his hair fell over his eyes, and he ran his hand through it, messing it up to perfection. Bed head. He looked, I realised, like he had been dragged through a hedge backwards. And hell if it wasn’t perfection.

                All too soon, he’s gone, and my friend’s dragging me back to the bar. We pulled up stools and picked up drinks, my eyes scanning the crowd for a glimpse of him. I caught the hair, suddenly, flopping all over the place, and set down my drink, set off into the crowd, ignoring my friend’s protests. I glanced back as I melted into the throng, and she was being hit on by a couple of cute guys. She would be fine.

                I caught his elbow as he danced along, smiling to himself, one hundred percent carefree and happy, grinning like a lunatic, his smile infectious because of his dimples and the way his eyes creased up, but never stopped glimmering in the darkness, asking for that connection.

                He looked at me and I smiled back, reduced to that by the sudden rush of blood to my head and the pounding of the music, and he turned to face me, taking my hand as he did. He spoke, and the words melted into the music, but they were better than anything, because I could feel the vibrations of his voice through his hands, and they told me more than I could have wished for.

                He pulled me towards him, so we were dancing together in a huge group of people, and I grinned even wider as he pulled me back towards the bar. My mate glanced over at me; she was sitting alone again, but raised an eyebrow, grinned and conveniently vacated her seat for me, blowing me a sarcastic kiss and disappearing in the opposite direction.

                He wouldn’t let me go as he bought me a drink, his hand, strong and twice as big as mine, forever interlinked with my fingers, and I was reluctant to move to let him go, but I knew tonight would have to end sometime.

“Can I walk you to your car?” The first words I’ve heard clearly all night, and I’m totally mesmerised because he sounds ridiculously perfect, and I know that if I say anything aloud, I was going to sound… inadequate.

                So, I nodded, swallowed and lead him towards my mate’s car. She was sitting, head down, hands in her hair, frustration evident in her posture. He noticed and pulled me away, before she could see us.

“I guess this is goodbye?” I heard myself offering nervously. He chuckled in that stupid way that made me want to jump him then and there and shook his head violently.

“How about goodnight.” He reached his hand into my bag and pulled out the marker pen I kept in there, before scrawling his number almost illegibly on my arm. I rolled my eyes and offered him the same treatment. Without another word, he nodded to me and turned away, but I wasn’t having any of that crap.

                I yanked him back to me, pulled him flush to my body and tiptoed to press my lips to his. Adrenaline pumped through me and I panicked, but all of a sudden, he was kissing me and he wasn’t letting go.

                Five minutes later, I was knocking on my friend’s car window and hoping she hadn’t committed suicide in those few moments I was away. She looked up at me, dishevelled and grinning and I pulled open the car door. We turned to each other and grinned again, speaking at the same time.

“I got his number!”

The End

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