Status: Just a little cute something that'll be written when inspiration or boredom occurs.
Breaking Suburbia
Chapter Eighteen
And no matter the tolerance I tried to develop for the two, I just couldn’t bear to see them staring at each other so overcome with the vanity of affection. They’d lost their heads, they’d lost their reason, this was love and it was utterly sickening to watch.
Both of them were incapable of making a firm decision. They did not have the emotional maturity to take a firm stand; the exact antithesis of youth itself. Youth is fiery, it is passionate, it is giving, it is selfish, youth is the tingling in our bones, the bitterness in our veins, that quest for individuality in the world full of those painstakingly shaped from the same tedious mold, youth is saved exclusively for those who choose to experience life in a finer extravagance. It is a true travesty that we cannot age backwards, that we cannot start out wrinkly and senile and turn into beautiful children without a fear in the world, with potent innocence in our irises as we look towards the sun in that brilliant sunrise with utter wonder.
When Maggie said he loved him, I nearly died of wafting clouds of melodrama exuding from the area. Maggie didn’t love Chester; Maggie loved the normalcy that he brought around.
Maggie inhaled deeply, placing her hand over Chester’s warm fingers. She was intrinsically nervous, as his hands were fiddling with the satin straps of the pink camisole. Breathing slowly with caution, she gave him a reassuring smile as the fingers flicked the strap off of her shoulder. He brought his lips down to hers and kissed her very slowly, in a sultry manner that reminded Maggie of the heat of June-- that morning she hacked away at the rose bushes and Chester found her.
She arched her stomach towards him and the curtains rustled with the night breeze. This simple occurrence made the curtains flutter with the sincere beauty of simplicity. “I love you,” Maggie begged as he pulled away. Biting her lip anxiously, her free hand tugged at his shirt collar. Eventually, she allowed her nimble fingers aimlessly trail the center of his clothed chest. Once she had run her course, she began fiddling with the top button on the flannel shirt in a very prudish, teasing manner. Blushing, Chester pulled the silky drawstring on her pajama shorts, yet he stopped after the fluid motion. “Do you love me, Chester?” Maggie spoke in an alluring murmur. Shortly after, her eyes closed in pure bliss.
“I do, I really do.” He reassured, drawing incomprehensible shapes on her collarbones. “Of course.” He slipped the strap below the natural shoulder, letting it dip down her arm.
“Please.” She hushed, trying to keep her words in order, “You’ve got to love me if we’re going to do this.”
“I do.” He replied, kissing where his fingers once drew, where they once experimented with her reactions.
And with that, the frenzy began. The clothes littered the floor, the qualms of minimal importance were overcome, and they were naked; both completely vulnerable in the judging eyes of another human. Backs arched and frustrated noises of a girl, and a boy, that were apparently in love sounded off of the walls and rattled through the scraggly rose bushes below them. Maggie could still taste the ‘I love you’ on her parted lips as another growl of anticipation ripped through her.
Chester sinfully grinned at her playfulness. He was a quiet one in these moments of mistaken fervor. Cherishing the moments when he did finally boil over with excitement and speak, she’d manipulate him. She liked that, she loved how she could trigger such a reaction in him. Furthermore, she loved the way he looked at her, like she was nothing less than a puzzle to crack.
And when it came time to end the pleasure of it all, she covered herself in the discarded flannel shirt and he donned his boxer shorts. In that bed, they pulled the covers over their tired, but lively bodies, and huddled against each other until protection the night gave them was interrupted by the blazing sunrise.
Both of them were incapable of making a firm decision. They did not have the emotional maturity to take a firm stand; the exact antithesis of youth itself. Youth is fiery, it is passionate, it is giving, it is selfish, youth is the tingling in our bones, the bitterness in our veins, that quest for individuality in the world full of those painstakingly shaped from the same tedious mold, youth is saved exclusively for those who choose to experience life in a finer extravagance. It is a true travesty that we cannot age backwards, that we cannot start out wrinkly and senile and turn into beautiful children without a fear in the world, with potent innocence in our irises as we look towards the sun in that brilliant sunrise with utter wonder.
When Maggie said he loved him, I nearly died of wafting clouds of melodrama exuding from the area. Maggie didn’t love Chester; Maggie loved the normalcy that he brought around.
Maggie inhaled deeply, placing her hand over Chester’s warm fingers. She was intrinsically nervous, as his hands were fiddling with the satin straps of the pink camisole. Breathing slowly with caution, she gave him a reassuring smile as the fingers flicked the strap off of her shoulder. He brought his lips down to hers and kissed her very slowly, in a sultry manner that reminded Maggie of the heat of June-- that morning she hacked away at the rose bushes and Chester found her.
She arched her stomach towards him and the curtains rustled with the night breeze. This simple occurrence made the curtains flutter with the sincere beauty of simplicity. “I love you,” Maggie begged as he pulled away. Biting her lip anxiously, her free hand tugged at his shirt collar. Eventually, she allowed her nimble fingers aimlessly trail the center of his clothed chest. Once she had run her course, she began fiddling with the top button on the flannel shirt in a very prudish, teasing manner. Blushing, Chester pulled the silky drawstring on her pajama shorts, yet he stopped after the fluid motion. “Do you love me, Chester?” Maggie spoke in an alluring murmur. Shortly after, her eyes closed in pure bliss.
“I do, I really do.” He reassured, drawing incomprehensible shapes on her collarbones. “Of course.” He slipped the strap below the natural shoulder, letting it dip down her arm.
“Please.” She hushed, trying to keep her words in order, “You’ve got to love me if we’re going to do this.”
“I do.” He replied, kissing where his fingers once drew, where they once experimented with her reactions.
And with that, the frenzy began. The clothes littered the floor, the qualms of minimal importance were overcome, and they were naked; both completely vulnerable in the judging eyes of another human. Backs arched and frustrated noises of a girl, and a boy, that were apparently in love sounded off of the walls and rattled through the scraggly rose bushes below them. Maggie could still taste the ‘I love you’ on her parted lips as another growl of anticipation ripped through her.
Chester sinfully grinned at her playfulness. He was a quiet one in these moments of mistaken fervor. Cherishing the moments when he did finally boil over with excitement and speak, she’d manipulate him. She liked that, she loved how she could trigger such a reaction in him. Furthermore, she loved the way he looked at her, like she was nothing less than a puzzle to crack.
And when it came time to end the pleasure of it all, she covered herself in the discarded flannel shirt and he donned his boxer shorts. In that bed, they pulled the covers over their tired, but lively bodies, and huddled against each other until protection the night gave them was interrupted by the blazing sunrise.