This is just a short two chapter story about a young man named Harry, who takes it upon himselve to follow a young girl. He doesn't veiw it as stalking, as he is so delluded, he thinks they're in love, though they have not met! The reaction the young girl has to Harry's sudden appearance is explosive; but will it be what Harrys always dreamed of? Or will it all go terribly.
I could – should – be arrested for this. I’ve seen better men get thrown behind bars for far less. It is not right, not normal. A constant conflict between right and wrong wars in my members. This joy I cannot explain still is not enough to suppress the shameful thoughts that engulf my mind. I should stop, this is strange. Surely it cannot continue any longer, or at least it shouldn’t.
So I carry on performing this deed; ashamed of course, but the juice is worth the squeeze. My superego must wait its turn; rational thinking must take a back seat. I’ll stealth nearby, yes that’s what I’ll do. Mouth gaped and eyes wide I’ll proceed, careful not to be seen. I’m completely transfixed by her, and even while my eyes dart around, searching out my next hiding place, I still see her beauty in my mind, twisted it may be. I feel my feet move steadily forward towards my target, but no ground beneath me. I’m floating, striding on the air – elevated in my own excitement
This is new territory for me. I can smell her; a warm, citrusy aroma saturating my nostrils. Ah so sweet, my eyes closing in sheer bliss. I hear her inhale and exhale; she breathes as elegantly as she strides. Calm and smooth, as if required no effort on her part. Oh I wish she would show her face, just a glance for me. I am grateful for what I have, but I cannot help but want more of her. Liquid caramel – that’s what it looks like. Liquid caramel that gracefully sashays its way past her voluptuous hips. Never have I encountered tresses resembling pure silk, but now, being up close and very much personal, I can confirm its existence. I must confess, I had spent many weeks fretting, worrying that it may not be. She could wear a hair piece, extensions maybe; God forbid it is a wig. But no, now I know the truth. How could I even consider the possibility of her beauty being unnatural? My heart skips a beat as she flicks her elegant locks, strands brushing against her shoulder. As I edge closer I can feel my body vibrating, pulsating. God this feels so good! Does she do this to every male, or am I just, special? Who am I kidding, of course she does! Even a blind man would be astounded by her beauty; gay men may even change their ways, straight women developing lesbian emotions. Ha! I stifle a laugh, remembering my last pining. A blonde, Natasha was her name. Short strands of hay for hair, orange skin. Almost glad she went gay; a waste of time she was. Urgh! She was nothing, nothing compared to this one. This one was, is, a gem. She’s different, even in how she strides from place to place. She’ll appreciate me. Yeah; she’ll love me.
I spent weeks shrouded in dark crevices, eager to glimpse her beauty. I know so much about her; we may as well be lovers already! From the second she woke up, to the second she tucks herself into that cream, duck feathered sheets, I am there, like a guardian angel. I knew the shampoo she used, her favourite breakfast, and the movies she had an unnatural affinity for. Ah yes, I knew it all.
Just not her name.
It begins with an S that I am sure of. The golden charm bracelet coiled around her delicate wrist, the letter S engraved into its side told me that. Her last name is trivial, and somewhat an unnecessary complication. I mean, soon, and very soon indeed, she shall share my last name.
I have fantasised about the moment we meet, the instant her heart cries out for me. It’s coming, I can feel it. A beaming smile stretches across my face. She will make me happy, I know she will. I cannot wait.
Don’t kid yourself loser. “Soon, very soon” haha. You always say that. And guess what? It never happens. The familiar voice in my head stirs anger in my members, but I refuse to argue with my patronizing other self. He’s a regular party in my torment. I shake his taunts away and drag my shoes on, grabbing my bag, rummaging for my diary. No, I was not going to argue. Not this time. He was right; curse him. I’m all talk, no action. What scares me? I scanned her schedule in my diary. The night was edging closer; she’ll be on her way home, and I’ll be there.
Better get a move on then ey? The blasted menace piped up yet again.