Page 11 of My Turn Petal
One way to fill my darkest desires—smut books.
I exit the gym and get inside my car. The narrator’s voice engulfs me as I drive back home. Every time a story starts I wish it was Frankie’s voice instead, I can almost hear her before I’m pulled back by the actual voice that plays in my earphones.
The sun heats the hood of my car as I round the corner, and enter our building parking lot.
I step inside my apartment, throw the keys to my coffee table in the living room, and go straight to my balcony. Removing the creamy curtain, I open the glass door and inhale the chilly air.
I rake my fingers through my damp black hair and stare at the ocean, the stunning view of the sun hanging lower and lower as each minute slips by is why I chose to live here.
When I first came to New Jersey with my mom, we went straight to the beach, it was always her favorite place to be.
But I missed Colorado. I was born and raised there and leaving a place you’re so familiar with, a place that shaped you and has the most captivating scenery was hard to forget.
It took me some time to realize that it’s not the place; it’s the people you surround yourself with, they are the unforgettable part.
And if you fuckup they won’t forget that either.
I sure hope she will let my mistake slide, just this once, because I truly regret it and no amount of flowers will amend that broken statement.
Idea upon idea filters inside my head. Copious possibilities to help Frankie, excite her, and simply pleasure her.
Her condition doesn’t block her from experiencing orgasms, she can have many of those. If I didn’t tarnish our friendship, perhaps, I would get the chance to show her.
All the beautiful fantasies her body is capable of experiencing are not lost. Just forgotten.
She needs a reminder.
I have so many questions, and so much willingness to watch her coping with her condition. Witnessing it firsthand is different than searching for it.
She hides it so well.
Behind the walls of her apartment, I bet there’s a different version of Frankie when she is alone, and no one sees her struggle.
I’ve seen it through my own eyes as a teen with my mom. She tried to shelter me from it but I was observant enough to notice her. And when she got her dream job here, it wasn’t about me anymore, it was finally about her.
After putting me first her whole life, she had a chance to have me with her and still have the one thing she always dreamt of.
It was a lesson for me.
I was Colorado cold to her when we moved here but I didn’t have the right to do it anymore because watching her happiness changed my perspective.
Sometimes we are so stuck on the things we know that we forget there is so much more for us. Endless things and people can bring us joy and turn the tables.
Once a struggle, can be turned into a beautiful journey down the road.
It depends on whether you accept it as a part of your life’s journey, or not.
Nothing is perfect. Life isn’t perfect. It comes with ups and downs and winding roads. And you never know where you might end up along the way.
Today, I learned to never hold a grudge or fill myself with anger. I try to understand why I was meant to walk down that road that led me to the most beautiful woman across the hall.
And to this insane idea.
I sign as I turn and walk back to my living room.
My guitar still lies on my couch and my fingers itch to slide along her neck and turn her sorrow into a wild anthem.
I connect her to my amplifier and set it to light distortion, which gives her a nice ballad feel with a rock kick in between.
