Silver Isn't a Real Color
Fantasy: Part Four
Two or three hours later, River awoke next to Victoria’s impeccable and voluptuous shape. He slid his fingertips lightly across the surface of her skin, just barely feeling the peach fuzz that covered her body. “Sixteen,” he whispered to himself. Her body was flawless for she possessed an hourglass figure with facial features that of a super model. There was a small mole to the left of her left eye that added uniqueness to her beauty. Half of her head was almost inside the pillow of goose feathers while the exposed half was covered in messy, red hair. The white sheets reflected from the moon onto her skin giving it a metallic color. Silver again. Light freckles dotted her back and she groaned in her sleep. He sweetly ran his hand deep into her hair and recited, “No one ever keeps a secret so well as a child.” He grabbed a lock of her hair and kissed it softly and tenderly.
Quietly, oh so quietly, he got up to get dressed for work. He quickly threw on whatever clothes lay sprawled, almost decoratively, on the floor. Before he left, he gave her one last kiss on the forehead and said to himself as he left, “My perfect Queen Victoria.”
On his way there, he had ample time to think about things, to sort things through. Last night had been spur of the moment but it had felt so right. Thoughts ran through his head up and down the moral isles. I gave a sixteen year old alcohol. I had sex with a sixteen year old. I taught a sixteen year old how to snort heroin. But at the same time, she was more than just some “sixteen year old”. In his eyes, she was a woman. A mature, beautiful, perfect woman. She just happened to be sixteen years old. Who was to judge him anyway? Who was to say at a certain age one magically turns into a full grown, fully functioning adult? She had been what he’d been waiting for, for what seemed like his entire life. A girl, a woman, that read books, wanted to hear what he had to say, and had the looks and physique to accompany it.
The keys made an awful racket as River unlocked and opened the bookstore that morning bright and early at seven o’clock. When he went in the back storage room he found a neatly folded note taped to the door. It read:
I knew you wouldn’t say no.
-Victoria
Quietly, oh so quietly, he got up to get dressed for work. He quickly threw on whatever clothes lay sprawled, almost decoratively, on the floor. Before he left, he gave her one last kiss on the forehead and said to himself as he left, “My perfect Queen Victoria.”
On his way there, he had ample time to think about things, to sort things through. Last night had been spur of the moment but it had felt so right. Thoughts ran through his head up and down the moral isles. I gave a sixteen year old alcohol. I had sex with a sixteen year old. I taught a sixteen year old how to snort heroin. But at the same time, she was more than just some “sixteen year old”. In his eyes, she was a woman. A mature, beautiful, perfect woman. She just happened to be sixteen years old. Who was to judge him anyway? Who was to say at a certain age one magically turns into a full grown, fully functioning adult? She had been what he’d been waiting for, for what seemed like his entire life. A girl, a woman, that read books, wanted to hear what he had to say, and had the looks and physique to accompany it.
The keys made an awful racket as River unlocked and opened the bookstore that morning bright and early at seven o’clock. When he went in the back storage room he found a neatly folded note taped to the door. It read:
I knew you wouldn’t say no.
-Victoria