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Writer
Join Date: May 2007
Posts: 46
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Ode To Julie
Tell me what you think and be as honest as you want; I can take it.
Ode to Julie
Even when the air was at its most calm and still, she seemed to have a gust of wind blowing through her long as day, dark as night hair. But as if each strand were combed back into place by angels, when the wind left, it left as if it never came at all, and she was as magnificently perfect as she had ever been and as she will forever be.
No. This isn’t working. You aren’t being honest.
Her name was Julie. Her parents called her Julia, but you and everyone else called her Julie—except for her three-year-old brother who called her Ju-Ju. Her hair was shoulder length and brown, she wasn’t “magnificently perfect,” and for seven months of your eighth grade year, she was your girlfriend.
You had known Julie for a long time because of school, but you didn’t know her until Mr. Johnston paired you up for a pre-algebra project. The two of you were a good team because she knew how to do the math and you could draw straight lines needed for the graphs. When she tried, her lines were squiggly. She was nice to you even though she was doing most of the work and you realized how pretty and sweet she was. You spent the whole night thinking about her, and it made you so sick that you couldn’t eat dinner—on pizza night! After obsessing over her for a while, you worked up the courage to ask Ryan Lawrence to ask Julie if she liked you when he saw her in their third period social studies class. At lunch, he told you that she said yes.
“Like like or like like?”
“Like like, I guess,” said Ryan.
What an idiot. You were after the girl of your dreams and the best answer he could think of is “I guess”.
“Are you sure?”
“No, not really. But at least she doesn’t hate you, you know that much.” Ryan must have seen that his response annoyed you, so he added, “If you really want to know, why don’t you ask her yourself?”
That’s what it came down to: pre-algebra, Mr. Johnston, Julie, and you in the last class of the day. You felt like a coward. You considered throwing up so you could go home or going into the bathroom and sitting on the toilet until the end of the day. Neither would have worked though. If you didn’t go to class today, what would you have done tomorrow? Or the day after that? You would end up failing pre-algebra and being grounded for the whole summer. You didn’t know much about love, but you did know that no girl was worth losing a summer of freedom.
Also, there was the chance that she did like you. You thought of a plan that was foolproof. You wouldn’t go to your locker so that you could be the first one in the classroom. You would take a seat and wait for Julie. If she sat next to you, then you would know it’s “like” and life would be a wonderful dream as if you won the lottery or the Gates of Eden opened and you were the first person in line. If she didn’t sit next to you, then it would be “like” and your life would continue on, but it would be full of pain and agony and your last hope would be that you don’t cry during class.
She spotted you as soon as she walked in. She smiled and waved, but it looked more like she was saying, “Hey friend, how’s it going?” and less like, “Hold me in your arms and never let go.”
Must hold back the tears.
Things looked up when she sat next to you, but there were mixed signals in it. Of the two open chairs by you, she chose the one that was farther away, and when she sat down, she scooted her desk in a direction away from you. You didn’t know what any of this meant, first with the friendly but not too friendly wave, and then she sits next to you but moves away making her too hard to read. Women.
You were so worried about how she felt that you didn’t hear Mr. Johnston the first time he called your name while taking role. When he repeated it with a frustrated tone, you were startled but said, “Here.” This caught Julie’s attention as she looked at you with a slight giggle and a deviant little smile that could only mean one thing: she liked you.
You sat next to her on the bus after class. You don’t remember what you talked about—she did most of the talking—but you remember it being meaningless chitchat. She never brought up whether or not you were boyfriend and girlfriend.
You got off the bus with Julie at her stop, which meant that you would have to walk twice as far to get to your house, but for the few blocks that you walked with Julie you would have walked across the globe. She grabbed hold of your hand. It was small and warm and for the first time you noticed how many rings she wore. You said goodbye to her at her house and she said she’d see you tomorrow in class.
When you got home, you masturbated and pretended your hand was Julie’s.
* * *
You enjoyed having a girlfriend (Julie was your first). Whenever you were with her, you couldn’t help but smile. Even when you weren’t with her, she could drop into your mind and make you happy.
Julie’s favorite activity was to talk on the phone. She would talk to you for hours about anything, which often turned out to be nothing. For the most part, she talked about school stuff—students, teachers, lunch, homework, and so on. She once talked for forty minutes about the unhygienic condition of the girl’s bathroom next to the cafeteria. Other times she would talk about movies, music, the mall, her brother, or her parents. If there was a topic that was relatively pointless to you, Julie covered it in depth while talking on the phone.
For the most part, you just listened and added a syllable here and there while she talked. There were times when you would talk for great lengths, such as the time you saw Cadence Stanton fall down the stairwell and you could see the bone sticking out of his leg and he was crying and they had to bring him to the hospital in an ambulance and he was gone from school for two weeks but when he came back he let you sign his cast, but for the most part you had nothing to say.
Sometimes, while she was talking you would just listen to the sound of her voice and picture her in your head while you touched yourself. One time you put the phone on your balls so you could feel the vibration as she talked about her dog. The phone was cold and there wasn’t enough vibration for it to be pleasurable, so you put the phone back to your ear and randomly added, “That’s nice.”
These conversations happened everyday and wouldn’t end until Julie’s parents made her get off the phone. You liked Julie’s parents a lot. Her dad was funny. He had a habit of telling corny jokes whenever he saw you and he always had a new joke. You would have to laugh—not because the jokes were funny, but because they were so horrible. He was a walking B-movie. And Julie’s mother, if you don’t count actresses or models or Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders or anyone like that, was the most beautiful woman you ever saw. You liked Julie a lot and she definitely was pretty, but her mother was something else. She was a full-grown woman. Like Julie, she had soft, brown hair and chocolate colored eyes. Unlike Julie, she had a big, luscious set of... lips. She intimidated you so much that you could barely talk to her or look at her, or at least you couldn’t look at her face. She worked as a nurse at a doctor’s office and your favorite place to be in the world was at Julie’s when her mom was coming home from work so you could see her in her uniform. You sometimes wished that you were sick so she could take care of you and give you a sponge bath and ask you to turn your head and cough.
When Julie was angry at you or had been annoying, you would punish her by thinking about her mother instead of Julie while you masturbated. Other times you did it, but it had nothing to do with Julie. Sometimes, such as when you went to the beach with her family and you saw both of them in bikinis, you would think about them at the same time. The idea of a mother and a daughter being sexual with each other was something you thought was wrong, but at the same time, it was so arousing that you couldn’t help yourself.
Sometimes you wondered if Julie knew that you liked her mom. After a few months of dating, she stopped inviting you to her house, and when she did, her mom was almost never there. It was probably because of the birthday thing. Julie and her mom have birthdays that are three days apart. You thought it would have been nice to buy them both presents. You bought Julie’s mother a book by some guy who writes cheesy romance novels, well, they cover made it look cheesy anyway. You knew she read the books and thought it would be a good idea and it was. She said that she had been dying to read the book and gave you a big hug. You bought Julie a purple blouse. The woman at the department store said that purple was the “in color.” Julie said that she hated purple and that she had told you she hated purple before. She also wanted to know how you could know her mother’s favorite author but not know what colors your girlfriend liked. Luckily, for you, her dad came in the room with a birthday cake and started singing a goofy song before you had to answer. The next day you returned the blouse and bought some expensive lipstick instead. You told Julie that you remembered how she said that her mother wouldn’t let her wear makeup until she was in high school, so this would be a secret. Julie liked this gift a lot more, but you knew that she still didn’t trust you completely.
Because Julie didn’t want you around her mother anymore, she started to take you to the mall more often. Julie liked to go to the mall, but she didn’t go because she was one of those girls who obsessed about fashion and clothes and things like that, or at least she didn’t obsess as much as some girls do. She probably didn’t care about those things because she would have looked good in anything. Or nothing. She would have looked very good in nothing.
She never bought anything when you were there. Often, she would never even bother to go into a store. The two of you would just walk around for an hour or so and talk. You were at the mall when she first kissed you. It wasn’t special like it is in the movies. There was no slow motion or fireworks or sappy music or any of that stuff. You were sitting together on a bench and she kissed you. It was very quick. Both of your mouths were closed and your lips barely touched. You weren’t even expecting it and you don’t know why it happened. You were glad it did though because that kiss led to more kisses. Better kisses. Eventually she would let you French kiss her. None of it was magical or amazing, but you did enjoy these moments, most of all because it stopped her from talking.
* * *
Julie liked to give you tests. She found them in the women’s magazines that she read. They were easy to see coming because they would always start with some hypothetical scenario. If you thought about the question or scenario, it was usually easy to think of an answer that would please her. Sometimes you would do the opposite and tell her the worst answer you could think of. She would become angry with you and she would start to cry and she would yell at you and you would have to explain that it was all a joke and you would laugh and she would yell again but she would stop crying at this point and would forget about the whole thing soon enough but you still thought it was funny. Julie did well in school, but she wasn’t too smart about stuff like comedy. She must have gotten it from her dad.
One of the scenarios she asked you about was whether you would still date her if you found out that she could never have children. You told her that you cared more about making babies than having them. She thought you were being serious, but she didn’t get upset and start yelling and crying. Instead, she asked you if you ever thought about having sex.
All the fucking time.
You told her no and that you were only joking and that you would still want to date her if she couldn’t have babies. She said all right and was silent for the next few minutes and you felt awkward and you think she did too because she went home not long after that.
One night Julie called your house and told you that her parents had gone to a party. She said that she was supposed to watch her brother, but he was asleep. She said that the house was basically empty. She told you to come over. You did.
You don’t remember how it started, but you know that eventually you and Julie were on her bed kissing. She was letting you touch her chest, but her shirt was still on and she wouldn’t let you go under it. Julie felt your crotch and found your erection. She looked kind of disgusted by it, but you asked her if she wanted to see it anyway. She didn’t give an answer, so you took that to mean “yes.” You pulled down your pants. She was hesitant, but she started to stroke it. You wished she had taken her rings off first.
Slowly, she moved her head down to your lap and put your dick in her mouth. You laid back and let the feeling go through your body as her lips and tongue slid up and down. You were so caught up in the moment that you forgot to tell Julie when you were “ready.” The first blast of semen and her screams were nearly simultaneous. She didn’t have a chance to get away. She ran to the bathroom and started spitting. Sounds of her crying and brushing her teeth filled the house as you left.
The odd thing is that she didn’t seem mad about it the next time you talked to her. Perhaps she understood, perhaps she thought it was in some way her fault, perhaps she was so traumatized by the event that she wanted to live in a false reality where the event never took place. You don’t know because she never said why she wasn’t mad. The only thing she said was that she would never do that again.
You wondered if her mother would.
* * *
The strangest thing about Julie though is why she broke up with you. You don’t know what you did or didn’t do that upset her, but something happened.
One day she asked you if you liked Sarah Fisher. On a physical level you did. Sarah Fisher was a cheerleader and you liked that. You also liked to imagine Sarah with her cheerleader outfit and Julie’s mother in her nurse uniform, together. But you knew that this was not the information that Julie wanted to hear. She wanted you to say no; it was probably some kind of a test. Instead of doing that, you asked if she liked Bruce Marshall. You don’t know why you asked that. You didn’t even have a reason to think that Julie liked Bruce. He was just the first person that came into your head and the words came out of your mouth without considering them.
Julie stormed away from you at that moment and headed toward her house. You weren’t even certain that she was mad, but later that night she called you and said that the relationship was over. Other than a few inaudible sobs that was all she said. It was probably the shortest telephone conversation she’s had in her entire life.
You were crushed. Tears streamed down your face when you heard her hang up. You tried putting the phone to your balls, but it didn’t help. You didn’t think anything would. All you wanted to do was stay in your room and cry and that’s what you did. You cried and cried and cried until you couldn’t cry anymore. Your heart still hurt after the crying stopped so you needed something new to do. You opened a notebook and tried to write a romantic ode to Julie; instead, you wrote this.
You don’t feel sad anymore. You realize that you weren’t in love, you weren’t in a movie, and that life will go on. You know that you will be happy again and that you will move on to someone else. You aren’t mad at Julie either. At this point, she’s just another person who you have no feelings for. She isn’t the greatest thing in the world. Hell, compared to you, she can’t even give a decent hand job.
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