Sorry about the lack of update. I was bitten by the bug known as writer's block, and I've been afflicted with the sickness it bares for days and days and days.
God you're an idiot what a moron why did you do that? After my shower I sat in the living room, the only noise was my heart beating. John was pouting in his room after my statement. Is there no such thing as being noble in Britain any more? A thought passed through my head, a memory.
"And if you ever need someone one to talk to, someone to listen to you and let you do the talking, or-or you just need sex, the door's open."
I wrote a little note, and stuck it on John's door in case he decided to stop being moody.
Borrowing the car. Going on a drive. Don't know when I'll be back. Don't eat all of the corn flakes. -H.
I grabbed the keys off of the counter where John had so stupidly left them where I could take them. I sat in the driver's seat, and turned the keys forward. The car sprung to life. I always loved that feeling of being in power of something, going fast, and going nowhere. Paul always told me that one day I'd kill myself. "I don't understand how you haven't gotten a ticket or your license suspended or something!" He always said when we drove together. "Because I drive on the backroads, Mr. Swinging London Socialite!" I'd retort. He usually just laughed instead of carrying on the argument, we couldn't really argue with each other anyway. I pulled into the driveway I had pulled into so many times before. I could have done it in my sleep. I opened the door; just like George to leave it unlocked. I walked swiftly over to his sitting form on the couch, and sat on his lap. I wrapped my legs and arms around him, and kissed him. Oh, I've missed him... George broke it off once the kiss had reached it's climax. "Is this a dream?" He asked, his hands still on my waist. "Do I need to give you a bloody invitation to fuck me?" I asked. "No, this is real," He decided, and roughly crashed his lips to mine again. I unbuttoned his shirt, while he just sort of ripped at my t-shirt until he heard a satisfying rip. My shirt laid in shambles on the floor below us, but that was beside the point at the moment. George pushed me onto my back, and unzipped my jeans as he kissed my neck. "What a multi-tasker you are," I said. "I'm doing all of the work here," He said in between kisses. "I feel rather neglected." George's hands pulled my pants off and tossed them somewhere behind him. His focus was now purely on my bra. I rolled my eyes. "Want some help?" I asked as I took his clumsy fingers off of the back of my bra and unhooked it for him. "You'll always make fun of that, won't you?" George asked, slowly moving his lips down my body. "Most likely," I replied as I got around to taking his pants off. My mind went on sex autopilot as our lips met again, and the last rational thought I had that crossed my mind was God, this is where I'm supposed to be.
I woke around three in the morning. My vision slowly adjusted, and I remembered that I had very impulsively came over to George's for sex. I was in his bed, my clothes in a heap to my left. He must of carried me here afterwards when I had fallen asleep. He was snoring softly beside me. If I used my imagination, it was 1964. I slowly got out of bed to keep from waking him and the cats, who were sleeping at the foot of the bed as always. I dressed myself, and as I picked up my shirt, I remember that he had ripped it. I sighed in frustration, walked over to the dresser and opened the drawer where I knew he kept his shirts. After nearly a month, there was still a space that all of my t-shirts used to call home. I picked out a white t-shirt and pulled it over my head. It was a little too wide and bit too long, but it fit nicely. I didn't bother to pull my long hair out of the neck. I walked into the kitchen, and wrote him a short note.
Love from Girl