housecat
1 Followers
Last Online 2 days ago.
I have fantasies that I would love to share with you. Sometimes they are dreams that make me feel wet; other times, it's a craving that kicks in when I see a man I want.
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I have fantasies that I would love to share with you. Sometimes they are dreams that make me feel wet; other times, it's a craving... read more
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housecat
5 days ago
There was a time in my life when I wasn't as bold as I am now. I was young (sixteen), but the desires I carry now were already alive in me then.
I remember when my family moved into a new neighborhood in Big Bear Lake. If you don't know the area, it's a small town tucked in the California mountains where the upper class go to "get away from it all." Some stay only for the summer or winter when it snows, but my family lives there year-round. My father owned a construction business that maintained those luxury homes and built the lavish additions people loved to brag about. We were well off.
Summers were the best. The lake was full of out-of-towners jet skiing, fishing, or trying too hard to look adventurous. I loved that time of year because it gave me the perfect excuse to roam wherever I wanted. "I’m going to the lake." Yes, I went to the lake… but I also slipped into the woods with my friends to drink cheap beer and talk about school.
One afternoon, while I assumed it would just be my usual group, three boys from school showed up with their own six-pack. I knew them, let's call them Boy 1, Boy 2, and Boy 3. They weren't exactly my cup of tea; all they ever talked about was whatever new Xbox game they were obsessed with. My friends tolerated their stale conversations. I did not. I decided to go home, said my goodbyes, and that's when Boy 3 followed me, insisting he walk me back.
As we walked, he asked about my interests: books, music, movies. I answered briefly, offering enough to be polite without giving him anything real. I wasn't rude; I just felt I owed him a conversation since he insisted on taking me.
It was around six in the early evening when we reached my street. A moving van was parked at the house next door. As I walked past it, someone rounded the corner fast. I stepped right into him, smashing my nose into his chest. He stopped immediately, apologizing, concern washing over his face. I looked up, and he met my gaze with eyes I still remember too clearly.
Even now, I can see those eyes. Hazed with worry, framed by strawberry-blond hair, and focused entirely on me. The memory of him is so vivid that thinking about it makes the back of my throat tighten, and my body stir. He was the one I ultimately gave everything to, the man who tore me apart, and the man I allowed to.
To be continued…
I remember when my family moved into a new neighborhood in Big Bear Lake. If you don't know the area, it's a small town tucked in the California mountains where the upper class go to "get away from it all." Some stay only for the summer or winter when it snows, but my family lives there year-round. My father owned a construction business that maintained those luxury homes and built the lavish additions people loved to brag about. We were well off.
Summers were the best. The lake was full of out-of-towners jet skiing, fishing, or trying too hard to look adventurous. I loved that time of year because it gave me the perfect excuse to roam wherever I wanted. "I’m going to the lake." Yes, I went to the lake… but I also slipped into the woods with my friends to drink cheap beer and talk about school.
One afternoon, while I assumed it would just be my usual group, three boys from school showed up with their own six-pack. I knew them, let's call them Boy 1, Boy 2, and Boy 3. They weren't exactly my cup of tea; all they ever talked about was whatever new Xbox game they were obsessed with. My friends tolerated their stale conversations. I did not. I decided to go home, said my goodbyes, and that's when Boy 3 followed me, insisting he walk me back.
As we walked, he asked about my interests: books, music, movies. I answered briefly, offering enough to be polite without giving him anything real. I wasn't rude; I just felt I owed him a conversation since he insisted on taking me.
It was around six in the early evening when we reached my street. A moving van was parked at the house next door. As I walked past it, someone rounded the corner fast. I stepped right into him, smashing my nose into his chest. He stopped immediately, apologizing, concern washing over his face. I looked up, and he met my gaze with eyes I still remember too clearly.
Even now, I can see those eyes. Hazed with worry, framed by strawberry-blond hair, and focused entirely on me. The memory of him is so vivid that thinking about it makes the back of my throat tighten, and my body stir. He was the one I ultimately gave everything to, the man who tore me apart, and the man I allowed to.
To be continued…
