Male desire of Lustful Interest

The smell of the train was a mix of sadness, smoke, and sweat. The heat was like a cigarette was burning all our skin from all the bodies cramped together, but I didn’t complain. I sat there staring at the ground. I thought of the ugliness of those who damage those who are different. Talking and moving for the people around me was making me more irritated by the second, but I just sat there.

The train doors then opened, there she was, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. She had ginger hair with blonde highlights, rosie pink skin, her eyes a hazel green. She was wearing a light pink dress with skin-colored tights under. She had a pink bow that matched her dress on the back of her head. She also had a white jacket on–It’s winter. She caught my eye like a tiger to its prey. I couldn’t blink while looking at her. She was an angel. I may not know her, but pretty soon I will know everything about her. I kept staring at her until she got off the train.

Afraid of losing her, I followed behind her. Even though we were far from where I lived, I didn’t care. She walked through the city of New York–I was right behind her. I knew to keep my distance to not draw attention to myself. If she turned around to see behind her, I hid in crowds yet still keeping my eye on her. Every turn, every cross, every stop, I’ll be there watching and following her. She finally stopped at a bus pickup. I acted like a normal guy just waiting for the bus. From the corner of my eye, I could see the height difference we had. I was 6′3 and 21. She looked at least 5′4 and 20.

The bus finally came. She got on first then I did. She sat next to an old woman, and I stood there in the distance still staring. Five stops, it was finally hers. She got off and I followed behind. I made it look like I was going to my house since we were in a neighborhood that was quiet and had empty streets. The neighborhood was so quiet, a heartbeat could be heard miles away. I hid behind trees and bushes as I continued following her. She then reached a house–her house. After she went inside, I wrote down her address and the license plate on the car, so I could remember this place when I visit again. I said to myself, “Bye bye, pretty lady. See you soon.” I smiled before making my way home.

The walk home was lonely and desperate for her again. I missed her already. Just remembering her face made me want to learn everything about her.

I stare at myself in the mirror. I hate the way I look. I hate everything about myself. My hair, eyes, skin, scars, everything. My name is Damien Spencer–God, I hate that name–, I’m 21-years-old, I was born January 1st, 1987. People say they would die for eyes like mine–they’re dark blue. I don’t get the dramatic cause for colored eyes, they’re just eyes. My hair–Jet black–goes just a little past my shoulders. The worst thing about me is my scars. I have a scar going across my mouth like a smile, making me look like a fucking clown. And another scar going down my blinded eye.

I stare at my pale, tattooed covered chest and stomach. How did I end up like this? But I knew the answer. I slapped my face over and over again until I was red. I screamed at my reflection until my vocals cracked. I grabbed my cigarette pack and smoked until I was passed out on the couch.

She was in my head, my dreams, my eyes, and my heart. This wasn’t just love, it was desire. Desire for her. Desire for her body. I’ll see her one way or another.