Just Like a Stallion (Harry Styles)

Chapter 21 Part 1

****Charlie’s POV ****

Sitting, rather impatiently, on the leather seat in Harry’s car, I gaze out the window in exasperating anticipation as the breathtaking sunset gradually diminishes. What does he have planned? Clearly his plots for me tonight are… intimate. To put it “lightly” so to speak.He explicitly demonstrated that earlier. My only problem is my evidently perceptible lack in knowledge of said “intimacy”. I am eighteen years of age and Harry has been my first kiss, embrace, boyfriend- if we’re even involved like that. Eventually I will have to clarify on that minor (err, major) detail. Currently though, that is the least of my worries. Funny, my first kiss was with a handsomely attractive male singer, what are the odds?

I am well ascertained in awareness of Harry and I’s apparent… sexual tension. Our attraction far stronger than any magnetism of sorts. Hell, every time he lays just a single finger on my skin, my entire body feels like it is in flames. Blazing through my veins, igniting an intense combustion in my abdomen which could erupt at any split-second.

Just gotta take things slow. He is my first everything after all. He would never push me into actions I am not quite ready for. For him though, I would do anything.

Clawing at the edge of the leather of my seat, a nervous eagerness overwhelms my ashamedly chaste body. Feeling pedantic over this whole debacle, I only wished I had at least some sort of inkling as to what to do while it all… goes down.

Where do I put my hands? Where is he putting his hands? Is he going to be rough? gentle? demanding? I’m clueless. At these moments, I desperately wish I had a girlfriend to discuss about this topic. If I still lived in America… no problem. My best friend would have been right there by my side going over where to put what and other sexual jargon. Probably suggestively using a banana for demonstration- anyways. Nonetheless, I regretfully neglected in finding any female friends here in London. Definitely kicking myself for that. Not to say that Tylor wouldn’t help me… he would be right there doing the same exact thing with that damned banana. Oh, my dear homosexual friend/neighbor. He indeed would no doubt comfortably give me advice on how to… pleasure Harry. I, of course, would be uncomfortable, yet grateful for it. Too bad it’s too late for that lesson from him. Harry will probably be back from the small market at any moment.

Nevertheless, I am anxious, extremely anxious. However, in the far back of my mind I can’t help but fail to keep negative thoughts from wandering around. What if I disappoint him? He’ll be unsatisfied and just move on to some flawless model with perfect skin, hair and that disturbing, societally famed thigh gap. An instant pang of jealousy hits me like a load of bricks. Just imagining my Harry with some flimsy blonde caused an aching to jerk in my chest. Fuck, I’m falling…hard for him. Too hard for comfort, I’m near hitting the cold, solid ground.

Uneasily, the jealousy slowly fades, only flaring my anxieties, fears and trepidations. What does Harry see in me? I’m not the typical blonde I described earlier with whom he has been known to play around with. I’m no Taylor Swift or Cara Delevingne. Yes, I googled him and his relationships, I’m curious just like every other teenage girl swooning over Harry Styles.

 Red hair, pale freckled skin, tall genes, and definitely no thigh gap. I don’t remember seeing a red head amongst Harry’s past flings.

Is this just a summer fling? If it is… I’m going to need a serious wakeup call.

“Fuck!” I curse out loud, frustratingly. Not capable of keeping my conflicting, inner thoughts to myself.