She wasn't perfect, but he didn't think anyone really was. Especially not those skinny, over-airbrushed models everyone was always talking about. He liked her "imperfections". The freckles on her alabaster skin that made the random patterns he liked to trace with his fingers. The area behind her ear where just his breath can make her sigh. The middle of her palm where the innocent graze of his thumb would make her shudder. The spot between her shoulders at the very top of her back where the mere whisper of his lips could make her moan.
He liked that her body was sensitive to his touch. That even the most innocent of contact between them could make colour rush suddenly into her cheeks as she thought of him repeating that contact the next time they were alone. The sight of her pupils dilating with pleasure as she remembered the last time they were alone. That shy look through her lowered lashes that told him that she not only wanted him, but loved him. The way she always closed the space between them without even thinking about it that told him her need to be near him matched his need to be near her.
He could watch her forever and never get his fill. The way she tilted her head back when she laughed that exposed her creamy throat in a way that just begged to be kissed. The way she sometimes watched his lips while he was talking that made him lose his train of thought. The way she covered her mouth when he surprised a giggle out of her. The sweet way she blushed when he teased her or complimented her.
He found himself making up excuses to touch her. Brushing her soft hair out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ear. Offering her his hand to help her out of the car. His hand in the small of her back as he walked beside her in a crowded place. Touching the tips of her fingers as he takes a book from her. Covering her hand as he makes a point during their dinner conversation. Over and over he found himself drawn to her. Maybe she was perfect. Perfect for him.
Writer's Note: The inspiration for this piece of very short fiction came about after a conversation I overheard between two guys. The first one had just described a girl (I can only assume she was his girlfriend/wife) & the second responded with, "She's not perfect, but she's perfect for you." The way he emphasized the word "you" really got me to thinking. Then later that night these words began banging on the inside of my brain demanding to be let out. I happily obliged since the inspiration to write doesn't come around nearly as often as I'd like.
That was a few weeks ago. I didn't post it right away because even though the inspiration was the conversation between two strangers, the end product seemed personal & almost private. Like I'd put way more of myself into it than I had intended. There is something of me in every thing I write, not just the fiction & poetry. I think that's what it takes to be a really good writer. Not that I'm a really good writer, just that I hope to be one day. I decided to post it this morning when I realized why I had been reluctant before.
I don't remember a time in my life when I have ever been comfortable with my body. I cover it up & I avoid mirrors at all costs. It is so far from perfect that it's in another universe. In my head, I know that no one is perfect & in other people I know that perfection isn't required for someone to be beautiful, handsome, or even sexy. But only in other people. Somehow I can't seem to let myself off the hook for my lack of perfection and not just in looks.
If I'm not perfect, then no one will love me is what the voice in the back of head has told me all my life. As an adult, I know this is not true. I'm not perfect and I am very loved. But I can never seem to vanquish that thought completely and I think that's because as a child I didn't know for sure that it wasn't true. By the time I knew it was nonsense, I'd already heard it non-stop for years.
The bad things are easier to believe than the good things. My proof of that is that every "bad" thing ever said about me or to me went straight into the thought bank of my little voice, but only about 1 out of every 10 "good" things made it in there. Although in the last few years, I'd say that the "good" numbers are definitely on the rise & a lot more of "bad" things are just discarded before my little voice can get a hold of them. It's a slow process though. So bear with me, I'm a work in progress. :)