Johnny the short stories writer from San Francisco

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
I don't know if it was the way I was standing alone or if he just passed by but somehow his smile and hello made me want to know him, just a guy from San Francisco who I started to like.

And all the time he was saying how he writes short stories and how he end up renting a room right underneath the castle I was thinking about all the stupid shit I normally say and surprisingly I kept it to myself instead of blabbing.

I don’t know if it was my ‘’don’t be easy’’ motto or good girl image that led me to ignore my desires and walked aside when he made his move and try to kiss me. But there is nothing in this world I wanted more. Everything about him was simply desirable. Even though he invited me to his apartment I knew I would never go. I tried to look strong and in control but in reality I wasn’t. All I wanted was to kiss him and go with the flow. I wanted to go to his apartment, take his clothes off and gave him a memory to last a lifetime and to me a moment of wild student life.

Submitted: October 30, 2013

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Submitted: October 30, 2013

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I've never written a short story in my life or to be more accurate I’ve never finished one. And to be honest I don’t really care if this one will ever be finished I’m just hoping it might find somebody who once called me a tiger. Even if it’s stupid to think he would ever find it or even read it I’m sending this story to the universe with a wish and hope it might find Johnny – the short stories writer. I’m not from USA or from any country on ''edit your profile and Booksie page list’’ for that matter. But I do come from somewhere and this somewhere is the small place where he was that night. I don’t know if it was the way I was standing alone or if he just passed by but somehow his smile and hello made me want to know him, just a guy from San Francisco who I started to like. I was with my three friends in to crowded club on Tuesday night, even though I was drinking all night I wasn’t drunk anymore. All the dancing and jumping around went on for hours and it was at the end of the night when he somehow looked at me and said something in English. I have no idea where he came from and I didn’t really care. I was bored and he was there to talk. I also don’t remember what he said exactly, I do remember that I asked him where he was from and not so much the answer but the way he said it made me smile. He also said he wanted to kiss me and the way he chose the words and the way he looked at me wasn’t self-important neither to directly, it was so cute and gentlemen-like it would made every girl feel like the only woman in man’s eyes. I had very little money with me and the drinks were ridiculously expensive but I end up inviting this hot American guy for a drink. And all the time he was saying how he writes short stories and how he end up renting a room right underneath the castle I was thinking about all the stupid shit I normally say and surprisingly I kept it to myself instead of blabbing. I have to say my ‘’encounters’’ with Americans aren’t very pleasant. I’m not into ‘’my country is the best’’ shit and the imaginary perception of superiority. But this guy was trying so hard to impress me it almost looked cool and it worked. His funny glasses, unshaved beard, completely opposite of badass made him just enough interesting to keep up with the debate and just enough pushy to keep it going. I guess every young woman would be impressed and flattered if cute, hot and smart young man would take his time and try to earn awkward first kiss. I don’t know if it was my ‘’don’t be easy’’ motto or good girl image that led me to ignore my desires and walked aside when he made his move and try to kiss me. But there is nothing in this world I wanted more. Everything about him was simply desirable. Even though he invited me to his apartment I knew I would never go. I tried to look strong and in control but in reality I wasn’t. All I wanted was to kiss him and go with the flow. I wanted to go to his apartment, take his clothes off and gave him a memory to last a lifetime and to me a moment of wild student life.

I’ve met a lot of people and every time I brought up marihuana they were all looking at me like I’m a junkie and said ‘’I don’t do drugs’’. I very rarely try to explain how marihuana isn’t a drug and they really don’t know shit because I know it would be pointless and whenever they disagreed just made me want to punch them in the face. So when he invited me to his place to smoke and have fun I almost agreed and how stupid I was that I said no. Well I guess the details aren’t so important and I don’t remember everything we talked about. He was explaining to me how he wants to kiss me and all I was thinking about is the stereotypes of women who want a guy for money but in reality we all want funny, hot and young short stories writer who reminds you that world isn’t about the money but stupid decisions. And so it happened, out of the blue this perfect awkward first kiss and it wasn’t just a kiss. It was a drug and I was a junkie. His lips were so soft and worm that made you fall in love in the idea to kiss somebody like that for the rest of your life. The feeling of not seeing the guy ever again and all you had was this one first kiss to break the ice and all I could think about is running in the opposite direction before it turns me in to drug addict suffering from this new drug between two complete strangers. We could do anything if I were just brave enough and let myself be wild for one night. The funny thing is that the kiss well… it wasn’t even French. Who doesn’t kiss a guy with a tongue? And who doesn’t just do what they want to do? Simple thing as showing short story writer just how good of a kisser I am. Well I normally don’t believe in mistakes. I believe they make us who we are and this decision I made, not to kiss him in French, not to go in his room and have wild sex under the influence of alcohol and marihuana was stupid one. I had images going through my mind how the night could turn out to be a disaster or nice memory. I couldn’t decide if I made a mistake or did the right thing by letting this one go, but more that I think about it I realize it was a mistake and I do regret it. I had a perfect catch; hot guy, stranger, smart, funny, open and just a kiss away. I could have sex, do drugs, run around naked in stranger’s apartment and kiss French with no attachments, no feelings and no regrets. And in the morning I would sit in on a bus and drive away knowing I’ll never have to bump in one night stand and feel weird. But it is what it is. I was stupid to let go of his hand and walked away and he was stupid to let me go. But I guess I learned something that night. Hot short stories writer Johnny was a perfect victim and so was I. I wonder what he thinks about me. I wonder what would happened if I hadn’t let go of his hand, if I would walked him home and let myself enjoy that little time we had. I also forgot his last name which he told me to remember. Sorry. So Johnny, short story writer, living underneath the castle, who wanted to French kiss me – I do regret I didn’t follow you home and letting go of your hand was probably the hardest thing I did in a long time. So if you are reading this and remember, if it’s been a day, year of ten years thanks for perfect awkward first two kisses and sorry I haven’t kiss you the way we both wanted. And I lied, I did want to leave that place, I did want to go home with you, but I was afraid and a bit stupid to let you go. Well next time I’ll be more myself and less my grandmother. And so I finished my first short story of one night with potential of being reckless. So bye Johnny the short stories writer from San Francisco, with cute unshaved beard and perfect lips and thanks for a perfect memory. 


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