Collection of Stories

Once Upon A Time...

Writer's note: This is a little darker and a little lighter than what I usually write at the same time. I hope you as a reader see this as a progression story, not something to be debated over. It's taken me quite a while to write it, and it's something I'm really proud of, but constructive criticism is always welcome :) Enjoy.

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Once upon a time, there was a young woman who dated a guy and loved him so much that she would do anything to please him. This guy introduced her to the world of love and to new vocabulary like "sexy" and "beautiful", and this made her fall very much head over heels in love.

With this love came the introduction of dates, which was strangely different to what the girl had imagined. She  believed in fairgrounds and cafes, walks in the woods and day trips to famous places. This did happen, but not with the frequency that the girl had idealised. "Dates" were not trips or cafes or woodlands, but in houses within bedrooms watching films that you might not see the end of. 

These movies were laid abandoned amidst a single kiss being misinterpreted that passion was required from the young girl. Kiss became kisses which became bigger, sloppier. Hormones would rise and zips fumbled with. Clothes were discarded with caution from one and not the other, so that skin could be felt, senses overloaded, appetite satisfied.

Sometimes this was what the girl wanted; her body would be willing, her mind racing, her blood pumping. Sometimes she just wanted to see what happened at the end of the movie. Sometimes she'd think about her fairytale dates as she surrendered to their hormones, incapable of understanding what that meant. And sometimes, just sometimes, she'd decline his advances for thirty more minutes, just so she could see what happened in that film of theirs. 

As much as the girl wanted to say that she was confident in what she wanted, she knew deep down that she lied to herself. Submission was easier than explaining; blinking back tears was simpler than making him disappointed. And after all, wasn't she "sexy"? Wasn't she his "naughty girl"? Didn't her body want him? The girl felt that this was her role to play and that it made him happy, so that should make her happy. She just wanted to see the end of the movie, that was all.

After a time period that was too long in retrospect, the girl got sick of asking for a little less attention and more fairy tale dates with no results. The relationship fell apart like ripping a plaster and she was alone. This wasn't true literally: she had her family and her friends who were all very supportive. However, she could not bring herself to admit what happened. She didn't want him to get in trouble, or for people to see her weak backbone. The girl began to blame herself again, just like in the relationship, mentally punishing herself for submitting. Some feminist she was. But after all, wasn't she "sexy"? Wasn't she his "naughty girl"? Wasn't it "her role" to play?

The weeks began to pass and the guy began to reveal his true colours, leading her to realise that this mental punishment wasn't necessary. She thought about all the times she had asked to have less sexual attention, and that this simple request had been denied to her. The girl could have spoken out, yes, but that didn't mean that it was her fault. The girl was still feminist, because even though she had submitted, she knew that he should have known better than to coerce her. The girl hadn't known what to do or say in order to help herself, but she had learnt what to do. She could grow from her unwanted past and make it into a life lesson for the future.

One day, the girl met someone else. This one was afraid of attention too, not the same kind as her and not for the same reason, but they understood that attention could be unwanted. They knew that scars fade but sometimes they show through again. He liked kisses, just kisses, and movies at the cinema, and day trips to cities, and cafes, and woodlands. 

The girl came out of her relationship with the guy and was stronger than she'd ever been after recovering. She wasn't weak, she was strong. She wasn't "sexy", she was sexy. But not only that, she was intelligent and funny and opinionated. The girl was herself. And that was all that mattered.

The end.