Morphine

Chapter Two

Malcolm waited in the closet. He was sure he wouldn't have to wait long. Marceline Anne (she finally told him her name) was prompt. She wouldn't tell him what she was doing before or after their time together but she always seemed to be rushing.

But he didn't mind. He saw her twice a day. The first time between second and third period and the second between fourth and fifth period. It wasn't much time but when they were together, time seemed to slow down. They never hurried.

He couldn't see her much (he had bad eyes and usually wore glasses) in the bad light but he was learning her through touch. It was hard to learn her through conversation. She usually dressed quickly and split afterwards and she always jumped him in the beginning.

Not that he wasn't just as hungry for her. Before their time together, he'd thought about her constantly and predicted that if he had her, the interest would fade. Not true at all. From the moment he'd first slid inside her, he felt at home and felt deep in his soul he'd never tire of her.

He tried countless times to engage her in dialogue but she only responded while he was inside her. It wasn't much and they were usually short answers but at least she gave him something. But he wanted everything.

Today he planned on asking her out. Outside of the closet. Maybe the movies? That'd be no pressure, right? Or would it be boring? Meagan's voice in his head gave him sweaty pits. He didn't want to mess this up.

While he was thinking, the door opened. He blinked as she came inside and shut the door behind her. He was struck again by her beauty. Besides her exquisite face was her shapely body. The girls he was used to were thin. Sometimes sickly so. But Marceline Anne? She was shaped like a woman.

She was short so her curves were more pronounced. She'd told him she was 5'3, which was a near foot shorter than his 6'2. She had big, round breasts sitting on top of a gently round stomach. She had wide, childbearing hips and a big, round backside he loved to touch.

Her thighs were incredibly thick but firm. Even her lower legs were shapely with sculpted calves and tiny ankles. Her feet were small and by touch he'd discovered her toes were near nonexistent. Her hands were the same with chubby short fingers.

He'd learned that she cut her nails every Sunday because they grew fast and very long but she found them difficult to keep clean and do a multitude of tasks so she cut them. He'd found out after she scratched up his back and she told him that she hadn't cut them that week.

Her arms were chubby and she did have love handles but he just loved it all. Plus she was indescribably soft. He thought all girls were soft but this one was as soft as a newborn swan.

He didn't know why she didn't dress more like a girl. As far as he'd seen her, she wore jeans and tees with her black leather jacket. The clothes were name brand and clean but they weren't very impressive. They were baggy on her frame. All she wore on her feet were Chuck Taylor converses and she kept her hair in a bun.

She didn't even wear much jewelry.

But he didn't mind. She was raw, natural, simple. He liked that about her. Until he got to her underwear. That was where she seemed the most girly. She wore lace and satin underwear in a myriad of colors and designs. Even her socks.

He felt like he was unwrapping a present every time he disrobed her.

As he eyed her greedily, she took her phone from her back pocket and set it on a shelf before shrugging out of her jacket. She tossed it over a broom and came to him. She wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him down, fusing their mouths together.

She toed off her shoes and lifted his shirt over his head. She marveled over his chest and abs. He was thin but barely. He was a little bulky and had a body that wouldn't quit. He had sculpted pecs and a deep six pack.