youvedonewhat
Rock n' Roll Doggie Band-aid
Greetings peeps. Part 2 of Rose. Feel free to let me know wotcha think. 
Ok, last bit from last bit>>>
After that little incident had taken place, I decided that he was more of a hero than ever and, I’d rather liked him carrying me. I’d felt warm and safe. I’d felt protected and snug in his arms but unfortunately, unless I was going to throw myself onto the pavement and damage myself again, it was unlikely to be repeated. And that was pretty much like it was in those days; a little girl, an older boy and a deep infatuation.
Next bit>>>
Warning; some swearing. Not a lot. :0)
And then came my older years; the years when I decided that boys were disgusting, smelly and in no way to be trusted. My older brother, now in his mid teens was always helping himself to my crisps and sweets, swigging at any drink that I may have left unattended, eaten the last cake. And I was never allowed in his room. If I didn’t want to die, I had to stay out of his room.
I expect I’d have been about nine by then. Jack still visited us and although I hated all boys I still liked him. He was different but I chose to ignore my feelings for him because after all, he was one of them; the hated. Although I no longer ran up to him or found some excuse to put my hand in his, I still had something inside me for him.
Of course my brother, being sixteen, had a lot of new friends by then and I positively loathed them all. Yup, big asshole brother had lots of big, asshole friends. And they all used to end up on our front door. And I always ended up having to let them in.
I used to say to my mum, “Mum”, I’d say, “Why are they always round here? Why can’t they bog off round someone else’s house?” She’d just grin and say, “Because they’re welcomed round here. They know they can visit whenever they like. Just like you and your friends. I let your friends come round, don’t I?” What could I say to that?
So we always had a houseful; blokes all over the place, spilling out of my brother’s room with their ever growing bodies, filling up the hallway with their voices and their laughter. And I didn’t like any of them.
They’d always make fun of me, see; called me Sprat or Dinky on account of me being shorter and skinnier than them. They were loathsome, typical sixteen year old boys who had no time for girls under fourteen so I was taboo. I think that’s why they tried their best to make my life a misery.
Jack never joined in with their sarcasm though. He tended to keep out of it when they teased me. Although when it got too much and I could feel the tears pricking the backs of my eyes he always seemed to know and would draw their attention away from me somehow. I never noticed it at the time but looking back there were many occasions where he’d steer them off in a different direction and I would be left alone. And they bugged me. They really used to annoy the shit out of me but I’d get my own back on them.
Oh yes. In stupid ways I’d get my revenge. Like if they phoned up for my brother and I answered it (no mobile phones in those days). They’d say: “Is Sam in?” And I’d simply say, “Yes”. And put the phone down on them. Or I’d be extra polite and say, “Hold on, I’ll go and get him” which I didn’t. I just went back in to watch TV and left them hanging on the line.
:-:
A few years later and I’d gone onto senior school. Fortunately for me most of my brother’s friends had drifted away, except for Jack of course. They’d left school by then and so my brother mixed in a different circle. They were now nineteen and far too busy contemplating women and girls than to take any notice of a twelve year old. And I was glad. Most of them now tended to ignore me, like I was invisible or something which, after the other lot was good.
Mind you, one day one of them asked me when I was going to grow some boobs. I was mortified as I’d been asking myself the same question for months. I’d kept looking in the mirror wondering if they were ever going to put in an appearance but then to have some bloke ask the same thing, to ask me that question in front of everyone, brought me up short and I’d wanted to die. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my entire life.
Of course the others had fallen about laughing especially when he topped it off by calling me Rosie No Tits. I’d wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. I’d felt a deep shame and embarrassment. My eyes had automatically been drawn to Jack. I needed to know if he was laughing too but the usual smile had gone. His mouth was set in a thin line and a muscle twitched in his jaw although he remained silent. And me; well, I’d flounced off; slammed my bedroom door and cried for hours, cursing myself for being flat chested and giving up all hope of ever growing any boobs.
Rosie No Tits became a household name; at least in my household. My brother’s friends were relentless in their teasing and the more they teased the more I secretly checked myself out in the mirror, willing those boobs to grow but it seemed back then that they never would. I couldn’t even be proud of a couple of fried eggs let alone a pair of nicely rounded watermelons.
So the name calling continued. One evening it had been particularly bad. Our parents had been out and so they’d had free reign to torment me. The more upset I became, the more they teased me until in the end I’d burst into tears, telling them all to fuck off and I’d run to my room.
And I could still their laughter and lewd comments even from my bed and through a closed door. My tears came in hot and fast. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand them. Rosie No Tits; how could they call me that? How could they be so cruel? Because it’s true; I have no boobs.
For a long time I cried hot, angry tears into my pillow. When I thought of the other girls in my year; most of whom sported lovely, shapely knockers, my anger turned to jealousy and envy and how, I asked myself over and over; how could I ever attract a guy with no boobs? My life truly sucked.
Well, I must have cried for at least half an hour that night. I’d cried so loud and heartily that I ended up with a sore throat and bulging red eyes and a big, red nose but I didn’t care. As far as I was concerned my life was shite. I was a freak. Rosie No Tits was a boobless freak. Those guys out there had proved it. There was no hope for me so I cried even harder but then all my self pity and wailing came to an abrupt halt when I realised that someone was knocking on my door.
At first I’d a mind to ignore them but whoever it was knocked again so I shouted at them through the door; told them in no uncertain terms to fuck off. I knew my parents would be disgusted at my language but I didn’t care. Being told off for swearing was nothing compared to not having any boobs.
Another knock; harder this time. Of course, I should have known that if anyone would ignore my outburst it would be Jack because it was his face that appeared round the door to scrutinize me. When I saw him I snorted and buried my head back in my pillow, cursing him and the horse he rode in on. I didn’t want to see his face. I didn’t want to know he’d been a witness to my total humiliation.
After a few seconds of loitering in the doorway, I heard the door close and his feet padding across the carpet. I felt the bed dip and knew that he’d sat down next to me. We didn’t speak. I kept my face hidden in the pillow though I knew that he was staring at me. I could feel his eyes on my back.
Eventually, he drew in a deep breath and spoke, his voice extra soft, and he asked me if I was alright. Through my pillow I told him to fuck off again but he didn’t. Instead he spoke; his voice soft as a feather though the words were hard as a rock. “Y’ know that they’re all arseholes, doncha?” He said in that breathy voice. “Don’t take any notice. Don’t let them upset you”.
Of course I’d lied. “They haven’t”.
“So why are you weeping?”
Because my boobs just will not grow... Instead; “I’m just fed up of them keeping on”.
“They’ll stop, baby girl”. And I felt the very light touch of his hand as he moved a thin lock of my hair to position it behind my ear. His fingertips were warm and I liked the feel of them. No one had ever touched me like that before. Well, maybe my mother had but she didn’t count. “You’ll see, Rosie”, He said. “They’ll stop. I promise”. I felt him rise from the bed then so I pulled my face out of the pillow to watch him. For a second our eyes locked. A gentle smile tugged at one side of his mouth and he winked down at me before leaving the room. And you know, I never did hear Rosie No Tits on anyone’s lips again.
:-:
Three years later and my feelings for him had changed yet again. And I never even noticed. It was a case of one day; wallop and I’m like fuck me, who the hell is this? It was as though he’d gone home one day and become sexually attractive to me over night. All I knew was that when he looked at me my breath got caught in my throat and I needed to look away.
And for no good reason, I was suddenly uncomfortable around him. Apparently it’s all part of growing up. My attraction to him seemed to come along at the same time as my boobs. It was like ok; here are your boobs only if you want them, you’ve got to take embarrassment and shyness as well, whilst at the same time, you have to harbor the uncontrollable desire to leer after Jack and think rude and smutty thoughts; but make sure that nobody notices.
It was ridiculous. For some odd reason, I couldn’t even look at him without turning a disgusting shade of crimson. There was no way that I could stand around and talk to him. I felt exposed, like if he looked hard enough he’d see that I was attracted to him. And I didn’t want that. I most certainly did not want that.
If he’d found out and told my brother, my life would have been a total nightmare. All his friends would have got to know and I would have had to run away and become a nun. No; this had to remain a secret.
And you know, once I’d admitted to myself how I felt about him, all my body parts ganged up on me. My heart palpitated whenever I saw him. My stomach squeezed itself into knots. My voice died in my throat or grew too loud. It was like my brain shut down all access to intelligent speech and thought and everything came out wrong. The beginning of one word merged with the end of another and then knowing how ridiculous I sounded, my brain shut off my power of speech completely and I was left feeling that my one brain cell had cut and run.
And it wasn’t only my inner parts that were affected by his presence. It seemed like my skin always reacted to his imminent arrival. Like half an hour before he was due, I’d discover some huge zit had taken over my entire jaw and I was sure that he’d be focusing on that evil red pustule whenever he looked at me.
But, you know, all was not lost. Once I’d admitted to myself how I felt about him I’d find excuses to pass him in the hall. As soon as I heard his voice, I’d be out of my room and casually ambling down the stairs like I wasn’t interested, catching a glimpse of the top of his head before he had time to look up at me. Quite innocently, I’d amble by him on my way to the kitchen. We’d exchange a glance. He’d grin. I’d scowl. And as soon as I placed one foot in the kitchen, I’d hear his voice behind me, “White with two sugars”. I’d throw a glower over my shoulder to find him grinning his widest back at me. I’d pretend to be annoyed but my heart would be beating way too fast.
It went on like that for a very long time. And he was still always there; grinning down at me whenever we passed each other; making me feel an odd sense of giddiness. And there was absolutely nothing that I could do about it. He was always knocking on our front door, always passing me on the stairs or sitting on our front wall. So, even if I wanted not to like him, I couldn’t; not with his mug constantly in my face.
:-;
And over time, without my noticing it I became chief door opener. Suddenly it was my job to let everyone in who called round. No one else, it seemed wanted the job. They were all far too lazy. No one else could be arsed to get up and shift their lazy backsides. So, it was left to me. Not That I minded too much as I got to let Jack in as well but I wasn’t going to tell anyone that. I guess that kind of made up for having to open the door to my all the pond dwellers that came round.
Sometimes, I’d lie on my bed and eavesdrop on my pesky brother and his friends in the other room. There’d be two or three of them and they’d be waiting for the others to arrive. (Jack was nearly always late or the last to turn up).
To keep themselves occupied they’d always be making out that all us girls were desperate for them and me, well, I’d scoff and roll my eyes and laugh at them whilst the anticipation of Jack’s imminent arrival would grow. I cared only if it was him; my Jack. And once he was in, the others could go shite.
I recognized his shape in the frosted glass, you know. Seeing it always made my heartbeat increase. And I’d be in the hallway, running my fingers through my hair in an effort to tame it, which, incidentally also seemed to react to his arrival by taking on a completely unkempt appearance. By the time I got to the door, I knew I’d look like a yeti but there was nothing I could do about it. So, I’d simply pull in my stomach, push out my boobs and reach for the door handle.
:-:
He was almost always dressed in black, although he wore blue jeans too. And he looked so good in those jeans. I always had to reel my eyeballs back in every time I saw him turn up in those. His black jeans were just as good but as I had to be discreet in my appraisal of him, I couldn’t spend too long gawking at bits of him that I wasn’t supposed to even think about, let alone cop a look at.
Of course it was all insane. He’d been coming to our house for years, but you know, for all those years, I never really saw him before, never really noticed how blue his eyes were; how they were so blue they made me think of summer or, how chunky his hands had become. Nor did I notice how he’d filled out over the years, and well, by the time I did notice well, he’d almost turned into a man.
So, when he called, I’d open the door for him and stand back, out of the way like, to let him through and as he went by he always had this beautiful smile. And it was all for me.
Usually, if a guy smiled at me like that, I’d look behind me, expecting some pretty girl to be standing there and then I’d know that he was smiling at her and not at me. It took me quite a while to realize that guys had a habit of smiling at pretty girls who stood behind me. But, as I was in my own house and there was no pretty girl standing there, taking all the praise, I knew that his smile, his look, was all mine.
He was so beautiful with his unruly brown hair and blue eyes; that amazing smile of his which seemed so impossibly wide sometimes. I so wanted to, och, I dunno. Well, yes I do. So anyway, I’d open the door to him and there he’d be, grinning down at me and asking if my odious brother was in. Well, he didn’t actually say odious, he actually said “Is Sam in?”
And I’d nod, probably wearing a stupid face and move back to let him in. And again, there it was; that beautiful smile. It always left me weak. It always left me lusting. And, it reached his eyes! You can tell when a person is being genuine if their smile reaches their eyes and his always did.
When I plucked up the courage to meet his gaze, my stomach always did a little dance and I had to look away again because I knew that my stupid face would be a nice, hot shade of red.
“Is it alright if I go up?” He’d ask whilst I did my best to cover up my stupid nervous laugh.
I’d nod. “Yes”. I’d say wishing that he’d be asking to go to my room instead of my pesky brother’s. And he’d brush passed me, leaving me worn out on the carpet; worn out simply by being in his company.
:-:
Ok, so seeing as I’d reached the age where I appreciated that kind of thing, whenever he turned up I’d find my eyes following his fine arse all the way up to the top of the stairs. And, it was such a delicious arse. And then of course, there was his waist. My eyeballs always moved on up from his arse to his waist. And what a fine waist he had; kind of firm looking. And speaking of firm looking, by the time my eyeballs had reached his shoulders, I’d be positively groaning with the want of him.
And, I’d stand there in our hallway, my eyes glued to that fine and wonderful body, drooling over those squeezable buttocks as they ascended my staircase. Mother would call out from the lounge, “Who’s at the door, Rose?” And I could never answer her. How could I concentrate on anything else with him in the house?
And the stupid thing was I couldn’t even say his name without feeling embarrassed. It was like in simply uttering his name I was admitting my unrequited love for him. I’d always recover myself though. If mother ever noticed, she never said anything.
Each time, after letting Jack in, I’d go back upstairs to my room and close the door over, not tight shut, mind. I wanted to be able to hear his voice; that soft, lilt and all. I came over all warm and contented whenever I heard him speaking in those hushed tones of his. It was such a soft, seductive voice that it drove me insane with desire. If ever I caught him whispering something, I’d feel my insides reacting, causing me to want to do something daft, like throw myself at his feet and declare my undying love to his ankles. But I wouldn’t. I didn’t want be rejected; not by him, anyway.
So, I’d sit on the edge of my bed and listen; silently ache for him, wished desperately that it was me he was coming to see. And out of sheer boredom I’d fall into daydreaming about him; sexual daydreams in which he’d have me for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
...........................
Ok, that's it for now.
Thanks for posting and please keep it coming. I will follow your stories anywhere so please post the link if you decide to post elsewhere. Just like old time 
