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Should I continue writing this?
I’m going to start this story with the acknowledgment to the reader that I, the writer, am crazy. I don’t know who is listening or if I have anything worth saying. I do know with a boring certainty; I am not the only who feels this way. Why is so hard to not feel like you are born for other people’s stories? Am I just a cheap plot device? At least I know ego and id talk to each other.
Hi, my name is Cherry, I’m 22, and I’m attracted to older women. I’m not talking about women who are a couple years older than me, I’m talking about women who gave birth and have grandc***dren.
I grew up with no strong female influences in my life. Growing up as a lesbian is confusing on its own, I grew up with only my dad. He does his best to support me with my “alternative” lifestyle, but my dad will be the first to attest to the fact that he’s clueless about anything l.g.b.t. related. However, I think because I grew up with no mother, no aunt, not even a sister, I catch my myself thinking about matriarchal roles in a more lustful light as of recent. Especially to grandmothers. I’ve always felt an erotic connection towards old women. I’ve never acted upon my instincts and to be honest I’m not sure how to even court a woman, let alone a woman who could be my granny. Regardless, I’m happy to at least have my smutty daydreams of treating my elders with respect.
It’s Tuesday night and I decide to do something pseudo adventuress. I’m going to go the psychic 20 minutes from my house. It’s on a corner of a busy street in the heart of my quaint town. There is no real name for this psychic shop, and its honestly just a house that has a glass door with a pink neon light above it that says open. I’ve always meant to stop by but being a student and working part time job puts a limit on your budget quickly.
Opening the door, I look up and I’m immediately greeted with stairs, unsure of what to do, I call out, “Hello?”
“Come on up!” a feminine unknown voice chimed out. Feeling giddy I climb the stairs to meet my soothe sayer. Rounding the stairs, there I see sitting on the couch a woman who was probably late 50s early 60s. She has shoulder length mousey brown hair that’s fading into a strange coppery grey mixture. Her black eyeliner traced her whole eye, making her green eyes pierce my soul. She was very endowed and didn’t wear a bra. Which means I’m in luck because her blouse was white and made it just visible enough to see the ghost of her dark pink areola. She had plump body and I wanted to see what her underwear looked like underneath her long blue jean skirt. “My name is Cheryl” She said smiling. As she spoke a saw a flicker of silver in her mouth. Is that a tongue ring? I think I’m in love.
“Um, hi! Uh- sorry, I’m being awkward, I’ve never done this before.” I stuttered out sounding like a pathetic virgin. Wait, I’m not a virgin! And why am I thinking about sex in the first place! She’s just going to read your future dumbass. Cheryl once again smiled sweetly, causing me to feel a blush blooming across my cheeks. For a spilt second, I thought I almost caught her checking me out. The thought excited me. I buried that thought deep within myself, telling myself she must just be reading my aura or something.
“Would you mind helping me off the couch c***d? These hips are fragile nowadays.” Snapping back to reality, I grasp her forearm. Being confident and awkward; I fumble around, trying my best to help her up swiftly, suddenly she starts to wobble, and she needed more support. I take my right hand and place it in the small of her warm back, lunging with my left leg and leaning back to keep us stable. In the heat of the moment- I mean in the urgency of the moment- I realized that in order to balance us, I lodged my thigh in underneath her groin. Her warm and moist undercarriage was resting on my thigh which was exposed from my flowy back lace skirt from the winds of action. Holy shit she doesn’t wear underwear either. Fighting past my urge to revel in the fact a woman’s vagina is on my leg right now, I firmly grasp Cheryl’s shoulders and left both of us up to a fully standing position. My hands still stabling her shoulders I ask her if she’s okay. “You’re such a strong young woman” she said gently patting my cheek with her warm hand. Walking past me, Cheryl grasped my hand and led me to an intimate little room meant for card reading and such. Still feeling like a k** with a crush and a little frazzled, I sit down meekly across from her. The mood lighting was great, in between us was a red pillar candle with a black cross printed on it. The light flickered across her face as she somehow managed to sit down with relative ease despite having fragile hips. Maybe she’ll just need help up again, I do not deny that I’m excited for that. I blush and smile at the thought, happy that no one can hear what I’m thinking.
“Would you like to know about your romantic and sexual love life?” Cheryl said locking eyes with me. Feeling immediately put on the spot also thrown off from the sexual part being thrown in there, I try my best to respond without being flustered.
“What?” I pause but then quickly tack on, “I mean don’t we read the cards first and see if it’s even in the future first?”
“So, you’re a virgin.”
“No!” I say reflexively.
“I see, it must have not been in a while then.” My cheeks blush furiously.
“Is that a problem?” I say, feeling as if I’m being interrogated.
“Not unless you think it is.” Cheryl says, eyes still roaming all over me and even gazing around me. I feel like I’m talking to someone who’s looking at my soul.
“Why are you asking me? Shouldn’t you tell me what you see?”
“My readings are always more accurate when I get to know the person a little bit. There are many kinds of psychics’, many need to hear what the client’s symptoms are to make a diagnosis.” Cheryl says making direct eye contact. “We not only see, but we hear.”
“Oh…” I say once again feeling as if I messed up. “Yeah, that makes sense… I’m sorry if I came off as rude just now.” Cheryl, closing the gap in our already very intimate, almost closet like room, placed her gracefully aged hand over mine.
“Want to know what I see and hear?” She said whispering inching closer towards my face, staring at my lips.
“What?” I whisper, suddenly realizing I’m whispering… I notice the mood changed. I feel like I’m being cast underneath this woman’s spell. Perhaps an elderly witch? Who is this woman and is she even real? She must not be real, because if she was truly physic, she would know it would be pointless to cast a spell on me, I was hers when I heard her voice chime over yonder staircase to beckon me up, I am as much of her princess as she is a witch. Aren’t there two sides to every story? Why the hell am I thinking so much when all I want to do is be a slutty young person without shame?? I look up to see Cheryl has leaned back slightly and she’s staring at me. “What?” Why am I even here? Don’t get me wrong I think I like this weirdly sexual experience but where is it going?
“I’m just listening to the words you’re not saying.”
“I really like how you say things.” I say through a giggle, I’ve decided I’m just going to give in and listen to what she says, if anything it will be an experience and with any luck, she’ll give me one.
And then, almost as if skipping an entire beat, Cheryl leaned further away and had a sudden air of rigidity. She grabbed my right hand and held it over hers. “Your right hand is your dominant hand. I say that not because I’m a psychic, but because I noticed you used your right arm to support me when correctly caught me. Good use of body mechanics by the way!”
“… Thanks” I am so confused aroused right now.
“I see a young girl who wants to play by the rules but also play with herself. She knows what she wants to experience but she is too scared of all the potential cause and effects. You create false identities as a form of escape because you justify it with your art. You want to release yourself from derogatory ideations of yourself image.” I stare at Cheryl’s face for a moment. Okay I know I said I would follow her, but now I’m sensing a little bit of a dangerous side to Cheryl, can I trust this vixen? “You seem close to realizing your inner potential, but you seemed to be a little turned about. If you’re unsure of how to proceed I can help you. But I won’t charge you for anything, you seem like a sweet girl and I want you to let me help you unlock yourself.” I cannot decide if she wants to fuck me or not. I’m going to boringly choose to not rush the story and see where this leads organically.
“I want you to help me Cheryl.” I say brushing Cheryl smooth gnarled thumb.
“I’m sure we’ll be fast friends, now as for our partially clothed healing massage session we cannot perform it on my massage therapy table, for it has a screw loose. However, I have more than enough space on my bed to work on you. I happened to have just thrown some clean sheets yesterday.” I know it’s bad that it’s taking me this long to figure it out, but I still don’t know if she and I will make love or if she just one of those crunchy granola people.
It is weird how I wrote a different character, different gender, different sexuality, and a different backstory for the protagonist of the story. I still hate the young person for sleeping with the older person. The goal was to craft a reality of a different person who has a similar taboo urges with young and old pairings while also remaining anonymous as possible for anyone who reads. At first, I wanted to lecherously live vicariously through camp porn; saving myself from doing it again. But now I feel the need to seg way into topics. Instead of talking about myself I want to talk about Nature vs. Nurture, who’s to say how many times you must change the variables, the constants to eventually find a reality where I’ll feel less doomed to cleanse myself with sexual experiences that have no connections and are laced with false kindness and gross abuse power dynamics. That may exist in another reality but in order to move on with my future, I want to stop subjecting myself to roles that have shallow rules. I want to forge my sexual life and my romantic life together. I want to gift myself this idea. I want to free myself from my c***dhood ideology that I was a no-good sexual deviant. All I can say for sure is I am a horrible narrator.
Hmm, I guess the story is still going. I thought I was done.
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