Sex Du Juor: Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!

Sex Du Juor: Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck! Sex Du Juor: Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!

Status: Finished

Genre: Romance

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Romance

Summary

It is now fuck, fuck, fuck time...

Summary

It is now fuck, fuck, fuck time...

Content

Submitted: January 31, 2015

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Content

Submitted: January 31, 2015

A A A

A A A


Every lapsing by Halloween, Stian and I have what we label and describe as ‘daggy and eccentrically out-of-the-way sex.’ In other words, this is the same as outré and uncommon and bizarre sex. Yeah…sex and screwing and matters of lovemaking and fucking that are too weirdie and grotesque and spooky and eldritch to relate and put up in words. This Halloween, we are going to fuck each other in ponderous and mammoth and substantial coffin that duly and absolutely tailors and fits to be adapted for the big silver screen in some horror and devil movie. Say one that bears the title ‘When The Heinous Dead Make Love In A Coffin.’

 

The coffin is burly and bulky and gigantic and spacious and sumptuously and lushly decorated and furnished and purveyed inside. Its ceiling and roofing has got splendid and dazzling and ablaze amber lights and lanterns tacked and annexed to it; its walls and barricades and bulwarks are wholly and in every respect white like death warmed up and snowy and pale hued and tinctured. There are cushy and soft and comfortable and overpriced hassocks and headrests and squabs and bolsters arrayed and jacked up sleekly and neatly inside there. Yeah. So, so spick-and-span and shipshape and well-kept and spruce to the very heart and crux indeed. Is this not Promised Land and Zion itself? Hell yeah…you know what? The majority of the dead and deceased have lavish and flourishing and palatial and overpriced homes than the ones that we settle in, don’t you think so? Yeah. I do believe and in fact assume so myself.

 

The outward and surface and intact exterior of the large, massive coffin is this grand and sumptuous and ornate too. It is formed and built and fashioned of the most excellent and masterly and exceptionally imperishable and immortal wood itself. Yeah. I desire and wish that this was my very own home and Eden. But then come on, I am still alive and kicking and breathing, am I not? Duh!

 

Tonight, with all the lights in our house flicked and flipped and switched off, and the darkly and shadow-ish and dingy candles twinkling and glimmering and glistening ablaze, it is all calm and serene and hushed and inaudibly low-pitched like there is not any small creature or being breathing and animate and kicking in our house—or is there?

 

I am robed and frocked and gowned like a vampire femme fatale or Lorelei or enchantress all in all. A vampire cocotte and streetwalker even. My dress and apparel and raiment is blood coral and red and roseate in tint and shade. All my jugs and boobies and large, sensuous, and kissable breasts are uncovered and unclothed and fully starkers in this good-looking, cutely, and beautiful vermilion dress that I am putting on. At the heads and points and nibs of my nipples is smeared and spread on frozen and glaciated ice cream. Yes. While it melts and unfreezes and defrosts, it surges and drifts and tide-ways down my bulky and chunky breasts themselves, stimulating and whetting and whipping me up sexually as I think up and envision Stian’s hands haring and loping and creeping down them. I swallow and slurp down hard as that comes about.

 

The dress and raiment I am having on strips and bares my bums and hindquarters and big, massive, and prepossessing arse behind. Yes. It is all bare and uncovered and buck starkers. I grin and twinkle and beam to myself when Stian Elberd slap bangs and smacks and spanks and clobbers it with his macho and well-built hand while surveying and reccing and poring over it. Yeah. It all feels so delightful and pleasurable and lekker indeed, doesn’t it to you?

 

Whenever I take a stroll and tramp and traipse about, my very large, mega eye-catching and cumber fuckable ass behind wags and jiggles and squirms and wiggles on carnally and erotically and voluptuously. Stian loves and adores it whenever I do that. It makes him lap and brush and thrash his ravenous, puckish, and sharp-set tongue over his famished, starving, and athirst lips. Yeah. So, so delightful and delectable and to my liking indeed.

 

Other than this, my vagina and pussy and clitoris and thighs are one hundred per cent and from first to last stripped bare and nude and scuddy naked altogether. Yes. Stian even goes on to feel and finger his hand in my pussy nicely slow and sluggish and laggard and dawdling. Don’t you like that? Of course, love and appreciate and relish it.

 

Arghhhhh! Stian is super and mega hot and enjoyable. This man is the awesome and cracking top and smashing boffo example and specimen and representative case of what it means to be sexy and come-hither and beddable. His blooming and robust and in-fine-fettle muscles are powerful and vigorous and hard-wearing than ever before. I can picture and conjure up them sweating and drudging and laboring intensely hard to cheer and satisfy and gratify and give uttermost pleasure to me. Oh yes! They assuredly and certainly will be doing that. Without a doubt indeed!

 

Stian is arrayed and rigged in a superman like robe and gown. It is not that very extensive and far-reaching and stretched and extended; it nips in the bud and ends somewhere about his backside and butts and haunches. Worn over the pitchy robe that is snapped and torn and rent on either sides is a very snug and cosy and tight-fitting shirt. This one is pitch-black and pitchy too, but it is very much seductive and eye-catching and irresistible than the pitchy robe. Down there on his legs he dresses in nothing but very sensuous and suggestive and titillating underwear and smalls and undies. I love them. Just the sight of them makes me want to touch and entertain myself with his giant, elephantine Willie and plonker—who even now when he is still fast asleep and napping and so dead to the world, is still that ginormous and fuck-off big enough to scare and frighten the hell out of my hole and cunt—and cutely and exquisite balls and family jewels. Oooh! Blood is thrusting and pressing and jamming faster and more faster into my veins, piercing and jabbing and ballooning me with just too much licentiousness and concupiscence. Yeah…

 

And action time…

 

First. We take the first step and put our hand to the plough with the snogging and kissing and canoodling thing. Arghhh. It feels so enjoyable and fun and congenial to snog and kiss and canoodle and smooch, doesn’t it? Yeah…it hell sure and fire surely does. Stian and I peck and snog and buss while grazing and caressing and stroking each other until we both tumble and plummet down inside of the commodious and roomy and homely coffin. As it shuts and seals up by itself, we press and carry on with the kissing and snogging. Of course! There is oxygen and air here, which is doubtlessly a good thing indeed, or is it not?

 

Stian is on top of me and the way he is snogging and stroking and necking me expresses and reveals to me how so much in love he is with me. Arghhh. I heave and buoy and hoist up my head whenever he smooches and busses and pecks and brushes my throat and chest and breasts themselves, gratifying and cheering and tickling me to the very core and hilt. I am so in love with him and all this…I idolize and think the world of him and everything that he is doing to me right this very moment.

 

While he kisses and snogs and caresses me, he shifts and switches and stirs one hand to my clitoris and punani, where, once he has stroked and caressed and patted and petted it, he pokes and jabs and prods and nudges his fingers deep inside it, tickling and tantalizing and arousing me high and higher and more higher each time that he does that. Yeah. I don’t want him to break off from accomplishing and performing this. I don’t want him to do that. Not ever!

 

With my ecstatic and stoked so as to float on air hands, I make it to his underwear and smalls so as to lug and wrench and wrest them off until I have his tool and knob and John Thomas and cojones and family jewels in my very own seize and grip and clinch. I don’t clinch and clutch them painfully though. I do it all properly and nicely and beautifully in a fashion and style that does not hurt and bruise him but amuse and gratify and gladden him instead. Hell yeah. I can hearken to him whinge and groan and moan out happily and with joy and the more punch-drunk overjoyed and chuffed still. Aren’t you carping and bitching and whining along with us as well?

 

Our lips and mouths come across and stumble upon each other…and as that ensues, we both osculate and snog and smooch and kiss exceedingly and greatly till we have made it past the topmost nth degree. I split and disjoin and disunite my legs just in time enough for him to make an entrance and cross the threshold into me. Arghhhhh! While he gets and slumps into me steadily and at his own leisure and sweet-most lackadaisical pace, I grasp and hold on to both sides of the shut giant and titanic-resembling coffin, all on a grand scale and by leaps and bounds stoked and floating and on cloud nine. Is this not what you call sugar and rapturous sex inside a glorious and ravishing coffin? Is this not it?

 

Once he is every inch and heart and soul inside of my vagina, Stian starts to blow up and rump up and aerate into me, heightening and jacking and putting up more and more speed and tempo and momentum as he goes on. I am so over the moon and in seventh heaven and overjoyed and rapt about it. I genuinely and verily am. I bellow and bawl and hollo out, all the more boisterous and obstreperous and clamorous and riotous as he thrusts and bulldozes and prods and jostles into me all the more harder and faster. I am sweating like a pig ad sticking it out like no man’s business. My hands ploddingly but in good time make it to his butts and hindquarters. I nab and seize and capture and entrap them like nuts and crackers. Yeah. They are fleecy and smooth as a baby’s bottom indeed. So, so downy and velvety like nothing more pleasurable and delectable to pat and pet indeed. Holy goodness! I am going bananas and batty. All because of his baby smooth bottom and arse?

 

Arghhhh! Stian is thumping and thudding and clanging and buffeting all the hell lot faster and harder into me. I adore and cherish and treasure it so very much. Not solely does that gladdens and gives me so immensely and exceedingly a pleasure. It is as well to some small degree or extent sore and hurting and aching and excruciating. But the sweet-most and saccharine delectation way far high makes up for the slight and minor soreness and trouble and throe that I am undergoing and feeling right now, or does not it? Yeah. It hell-flames-blaze-up and come the fire and brimstone does!

 

As Stian shoves and bulldozes and impels and jostles his Willie deep and more deeper into me, I proceed on to clutch and snap up all the tighter and more firm his Brobdingnagian, silky like a baby’s bottom, and flawlessly and impeccably curvilinear and full-fleshed bottom and bums toward myself. Yeah. I am rejoicing and reveling and delighting in this so, so, so very much unquestionably. What could be any and inexorably better than having sex and screwing and shagging and humping up each other in a goddamn and god-doomed coffin? What, huh? What methodically and literally? Make it also known to me please!

 

 

DANGEROUSLY FALLING IN LOVE

 

For a moment or two, I could not breathe. No matter how hard I tried to, my lungs stiffened and they could not endorse any air to freely make its way in or out. It was impossible to go about. While I sat still in my seat, frozen and iced up like actual ice itself, I processed everything that had happened as quickly and orderly as it had come to take place.

 

What had I just done? What was I thinking, inattentive and careless enough to smash into another car that was moving backwards toward mine? Was I prepared and able to meet the consequences of this accident, costly and high-priced they were? Was I really prepared to meet and fulfill them?

 

In no time, the door of the car that I had just slammed into swung open and a tall and potent-looking boy came out, seeming every way infuriated and nettled. His brow was creased and rumpled up, just like the skin beneath his eyes right above his nose. Shit! I was doomed to death! I sure was. The young man would without doubt kill me. He sure would.

 

Having made it to my car, he threateningly slapped a furious hand on the window of my vehicle. I blenched in my seat as I looked on at him. As my car had dark-tinted windows, he could not see me. But I myself on the other hand, I could discern and make him out very well. Very well indeed.

 

“Get the hell out of this car right now!” The man bellowed out, shaking and vibrating continually from excessive fury.

 

 

I quickly wound my window down and peeked out at him. He glared down at me instantly and our gazes locked, instantly and never-endingly. I was the one who first stirred—blinking my eyes and shifting about while declaring, “I am really sorry; I was just about to come out.”

 

Without hesitation, I slung the door open and stepped out, restless and anxious. What was going to happen to me? What would precisely come off to me? What? What exactly?

 

Once I had took my stand in the faint glimmering sunlight—it had shortly just ceased to shower—I faced the man and uttered in a trembling voice, “Sir, I am really sorry for what happened. I truly am.”

 

Something had changed. No, not the weather; not the slight and yet existent sunlight; not the surrounding or environment about us. The glare in the man’s eyes—recently fervid and murderous—had been replaced by a gentle and short -lived ogling. In a matter of minutes, the man shook off his head to regain back his senses. He looked startled and bewildered at the same time. And for a time I stayed quiet, expecting harsh and ill-natured words from him, which, fortunately, he did not come to voice out.

 

To my shock, his foremost words were, “Is this your first time driving? I mean are you new at this? Steering a vehicle?”

 

What a great difference and contrariety to what I was expecting! Instead of receiving cruel and inhuman words, I got sweetly and caring words. My heart was so melted and stirred by that. It was as though my very own ears had deceived me. Had they?

 

“This is not my first time driving,” I answered nevertheless.

 

The man narrowed his eyes at me as if intending to glower. He didn’t do that in any case. It was shock and dubiety on his part which had triggered that behavior, I later on found out. That was what it seemed to be. Sure.

 

“I am really sorry.”

 

“There is no need to say that. We all do make mistakes you know. Big mistakings like this one.”

 

I uplifted my eyebrows. “You mean you are not offended by me—”

 

He cut me short straight away. “I am not. It was just the tail-lights that got ruined. I can fix them easily and cheaply.”

 

“Are you a mechanic?”

 

“Sort of. Stian Elberd is my name, and I am in my third year of studying Engineering at this university. May I know your name and where you come from?”

 

“I am Ragnhild Ascwin; I am new in this town and the university itself.”

 

“You are quite a charming lady, I must acknowledge, Ragnhild.”

 

 

I smiled weakly and shyly, dreading where our conversation was heading to. Would he not estrange and alienate all of a sudden without a sound reason? To be upright with you, I was the one at fault here, and for that reason, I had to accept whatever it was that was going to come my way. Anything at all. “Thank you, Stian.” My response was weakly and unsound and shaky, just like I had meant it to be.

 

Following that, Stian looked at my bonnet. It was so…damaged. But not overly wrecked. Each time that I would drive from now on, it had to go on yawning and gaping wide open. Like a slit and mangled shoe which you have put on while walking. People would obviously stare and deride my car, which I was averse to see happen about.

 

“I may fix that as well,” Stian added on.

 

What? No way! I would not let him. I was fortunate enough that he was not going to let me handle responsibilities for the damage of his car. That was enough, wasn’t it? And now I let him furthermore be accountable for the repairing and mending of my car? It was so unfair and insincere. Yes, it was.

 

“Stian.”

 

“Yes.” His eyes immediately veered to me.

 

“I can’t let you…I mean I cannot let you bear the accountability of the piecing of my car. It would be too much and unjust and one-sided and insulting of me, don’t you think so?”

 

“I don’t.”

 

“You don’t?”

 

“Yes, I don’t.”

 

“But—”

 

I was cut off before I had ventured any further. “I am a mechanic, Ragnhild. Not a professional and schooled one to be truthful. My father is the schooled and familiarized mechanic, and I learnt everything from him. If I ask him out, I am positive that he will give me a helping hand in the fixing of your car. I am not asking you to pay anything for it.”

 

“But—”

 

“Let us do this. We will swap cars right this moment. I will go home in your car to repair and make adjustments as they are needed. I will come with it tomorrow, fixed and new-looking. You yourself on the other hand will take my car and bring it back tomorrow. I will fix the shattered lights lastly and finally. And to prove to you that I am no cheat or trickster, I will have you seize my identity cards just so you will be confident that I can be easily traced and followed should I make a go at fleeing away. You car looks a bit modern and quite expensive than mine, don’t you agree?”

 

“I have no arguments or queries with that.”

 

 

“Which is a ‘yes’ as I take it, isn’t it?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Stian smiled at me warmly. His perfect smile…it dazzled my senses and swirl of emotions altogether. If I had not confessed it before, then now is the precise and rightful time. Stian was one such nice-looking and gorgeous guy. The kind of guy who, with his handsome face and energetic and well-molded body, would drive just about any woman insane and out of her mind. He had dark hair and dark eyes and olive skin and shady-like brown lips. At the moment, he was dressed in blue jeans and an immaculate white shirt and brown canvas shoes. He was ravishing in this in-complex and yet ingenuous attire. Like some bold and athletic model posing for a garb advertisement!

 

That night before I slept in my bed, lying down wide- eyed and wide-awake, I thought back to the moment when I had run into him. It was strange. But already I was starting to become attracted to him. Oh my! What nonsense and bull-sh*t was this?  It sure was! Was it normal to go bananas and irrational over some boy that I had just met hours ago? Was this actually some undeniable piece of bull-sh*t?

 

My interview had been awesome and hilarious and brilliant, all thanks to this boy called ‘Stian Elberd’ whom I had just happened on. As I had took my seat down, glowing- looking and vivacious, I had by that moment been flown off into very high spirits, where I tarried and remained until after the interview was through. As I spoke with the interviewee, a tall and neatly-dressed-in-black woman named Vivian Sutherland, I had been this continually confident and smiling. Laughing and serious-behaved even. After the interview was through, Vivian had shook hands with me and eventually bid me farewell.

 

I walked away from the interview still in my glowing and luminous mood, which made those who were seated and lined outside marvel and wonder at what was going on in there. Some group of three blond-haired girls asked me straight, to which I replied that nothing scary or intimidating was going in behind that closed door.

 

Stian’s car, a Jeep Cougar, was great fun and amusement to drive and ride. Although one of the oldest cars still around, it was the fastest thing that I had ever driven. Fifty minutes I had driven to the university in my car—a Ferrari Cordon. Thirty minutes I had driven from the university back home in Stian’s red-painted vehicle. The load of traffic was still much the same, free and unfilled.

 

Yolanda had gone out to shop vegetables and onions and tomatoes and the like when I arrived home. I picked up on it in the note that she laid on the wool carpet, straight after opening up the door. She would return in an hour or so, she surmised. That dinner, before I had packed off for bed that is, our conversation, in between boiled eggs and fried sausage and fried rice and carrots and boiled potatoes and glasses of juice, had been:

 

Yolanda, sipping steadily her glass of orange juice. “I noticed that you came back in a different car. One with the tail-lights broken and shattered. What happened to your legitimate car?”

 

I looked up at her suspiciously. “It got damaged. In a trivial accident that is and I sent it off for repairing.”

 

 

“A trivial accident? Why didn’t you tell me about it, Ragnhild?”

 

“I didn’t want to annoy or worry you. You were so pre-occupied with the cooking and cleaning up and rearranging of things. I didn’t want to disturb and bog down your high-flown spirits with my stupid account.”

 

“Suppose you had got hurt?”

 

“I didn’t, mom. That is the fortunate part of it all, isn’t it?”

 

She shook her head. “I don’t want you involved in anything like it again, Nevada, do you hear me?”

 

“I do.”

 

“So whose car is that anyway?”

 

“Alice’s. She is my newest friend. I met her today and we became great friends instantly. She was kind enough to lend me her car to drive myself here home. It is a long drive from school, remember, and she wouldn’t have me walk or board a bus all the way here.”

 

Yolanda merely frowned and scowled. “You are lucky to have such type of a friend. Be good to her always and make your friendship last as long enough as it possibly can. Anyway, how did your interview go?”

 

“Perfect. With Alice around, it was just amazing and heavenly. It all went smoothly and appropriately.”

 

“I trust that they will take you to be one of their first year students this semester.”

 

“They probably will, mom.”

 

“Tell me one question they asked you?”

 

“Why I want to study Fashion and Design.”

 

“And your response? How was it?”

 

“I showed the interviewee some pieces of clothing that I designed personally. She fell for them helplessly and even remarked that I have great talent. This is something I have wanted to do all my life. A dream I have worked hard for all these long and painful years just to accomplish and fulfill. I want to designate and style clothes that are health-giving and hygienic and which people of diverse and unlike cultures can embrace and accede to. I want to dress humanity well and efficiently.”

 

For a second, Yolanda looked at me wordlessly and taken aback, as if wanting to say something but then lacking the efficient strength and zeal to do so.

 

“What do you think?” I asked her.

 

 

She blinked instantaneously. “That was sublime. I wasn’t expecting to hear that from you to be clear-cut.”

 

“You weren’t?”

 

“Yes, I wasn’t.”

 

 

It was strangely cold and unwelcoming in my bed. Maybe because it was raining outside. Hard and never- endingly. The roof above rattled and reverberated, the windows beneath it spattering and splashing up. Not that the roof on its own was rattling and reverberating and the windows themselves spattering and splashing. The rain was the agent and force behind these sounds. Without it, the sounds themselves would be non-existent.

 

I don’t know how I fell asleep; I just did; and when I woke up, morning had already dawned and broke forth. Flashes and streaks of sunlight filtered through the cream white curtains into my enormous room, newly-looking and a bit dazzling at first sight. The feelings themselves about me, they were sickly-like and shallow and sleazy-like.

 

I had no schooling to go about that precise day. No tutorial or teaching at all. Still, I managed to convince Yolanda that I would be out to meet Alice and return her car to her. In fact, it was Stian Elberd I was meeting and no un-existing Alice. Yolanda didn’t interrogate me much about it. She kindly asked me to express her deep- felt and sincere gratitude to this goodly Alice that had helped her one and only daughter. Who was me without doubt.

 

The traffic was severe and strong that morning when I left. I arrived thirty minutes late at Brock, the ground and lawn of the institution being this highly drenched and wet, to the point that each time that I made my way on the non-paved walkway, I had to be meticulously careful and attentive of where I stepped and how I made that particular step. I put on a blue sundress and blue flat shoes and fastened and secured my hair behind me with a lovely-looking blue ribbon. Simply put, I was graceful and neat and flawless in consummate blue.

 

Wherever I went to, the boys had a ‘you-look-so-magnetic’ expression in their eyes. Not a loudly voiced one. But a silenced-uttered one. That was also equally true with the girls.

 

I found Stian waiting for me on a wooden bench sited under a giant tree, where he was seated and relaxing. Like boys are fond of doing, he was busy checking out the strolling by girls and ladies. It seemed he hadn’t been intent on going about that. But with nothing more to do and occupy his mind and senses, he had no alternative but to go on sizing the walking by chicks. Did I say ‘chicks’? Boops! It should be damsels!

 

The moment he noticed me, while I was still half-way away from him, he gave me that overwhelmed and overpowered look that the other boys had given me moments back. His mouth opened slightly, his eyebrows widening, his expression softening and tenderizing. What? Did my mere presence had that power and ability to quell and make people become overwhelmed that way?

 

I sat down on the bench just next to him, and having looked up at him, smiled slightly. “Stian Elberd, how are you doing?”

 

His eyes tarried and lingered on my face. “Fine, Ragnhild. And you?”

 

 

“I am equally fine as well. Sorry I am late. The traffic was this heavy and cumbersome and annoyingly very slow. I should have called you, but then I don’t have your number.”

 

“Do you need it right now?”

 

“Uhmnnn…no, I guess. I am already here and that is what is important, isn’t it?”

 

“Sure!”

 

The air gusted past me, pushing off loose threads of light brown hair into my face, ones which I had not tied and made fast. I tossed them away in that girly and delicate way that men cannot help but lift eyebrows at and wonder in silence, inwardly enraptured and delighted and transported off into alien and yet entrancing thoughts.

 

“Are you not having classes today?” I checked the time on my phone. It was spot-on ten thirty.

 

Stian sighed in relief. “I am free and readily available. All day that is.”

 

“What do you connote by that?”

 

“Nothing really. I was wondering if you would join me for…a snack. What do you say?”

 

I thought about it for a while. “No problem.” To be upright with you, all I wanted right now was to catch a glimpse of my car. Had Alan really fixed it, with the help of his mechanic father? Or had he failed to? Maybe not done anything at all?

 

He led me straight to my car. There it was parked, new-looking and repaired and faultless. The bonnet looked ideal and whole. No damage on it; no any slight flaw or defect or fracture. My goodness! Stian had done such a good job indeed! While I surveyed the car, I became this breathless and entranced and so overjoyed. Words are not adequate to explain the surge of emotions that I was undergoing that very moment. No, they are not sufficient enough.

 

“Stian.” My eyes drifted to him, startled and thankful at the same time. “Thank you so much for repairing my car. I wasn’t expecting it to be this wholesome and perfect. You did everything right and beyond what I was foreseeing done. Thank you so much.”

 

He smiled steadily at me, a winning and well-performed smile. “It is my pleasure, Ragnhild, to hear that; it assuredly is.”

 

I breathed out quietly at my own desired pace. “So tell me, did your father give you a helping hand in the fixing of my car?”

 

He wavered a little bit. “He did.”

 

“You haven’t yet told me his name, have you?”

 

“No; I probably will anyway. He is Stian Elberd Senior.”

 

 

“Hmmnnn, so you are junior, right?”

 

“I sure am.”

 

“Pass him my best wishes and deep-most appreciation, will you?”

 

“As you wish.”

 

We drove to a cafeteria in my car. I was not the one who drove. Stian did. Unlike yesterday, his clothes were in some way mucky and soiled. I noticed it while stealing a glance at him from the comfort of my seat. He took notice almost immediately and resolved, “Sorry that I have to go out and eat with you looking this filthy and foul. I had to give Stian—I mean dad—a helping hand with some engine clean-up before I started off for Brock. Are you offended by me being this dirty and unclean?”

 

“No. Why would you even say that? I understand the sanity of you being this way.”

 

He smiled solely.

 

I looked away from him that instant, fearing that should I stare at him longer than was necessary he would think that I was examining and checking out how dirty and despicable he was. Which was far off from the actual truth. I didn’t care that he was dirty and soiled up. I didn’t care that he was not clean and spotless like I was. I didn’t care that he was dressed in humble clothing while I was this richly and neatly garbed. I didn’t care about anything at all. Oh yes, I did not give a damn whatsoever!

 

That moment I stared away from him, Stian had his eyes on me. I first felt it and then discerned his watchful eyes from the corner of mine. What was it with me? Or anything about me that was worthwhile looking.

 

Having noticed how so quiet we both were, Stian put on some music, making my heart dance and my soul stir up to the rhythm and enticing slow beat itself. Yes, he put on some unending tracks of slow romantic music. One that I was keen on and would listen to with all my heart and soul and spirit altogether. Stian! How so sweet and charming he was!

 

The third song, which repeated twice, and which I happened to fall for the most, went like this—it was a man who was singing, by the name of Christopher Mooning, and to me, it felt like Stian himself was caroling out to me:

 

Baby, baby, my sweet angel

Baby, baby, my perfect angel

Baby, baby, my amazing angel

 

Baby, baby—the one who has stolen and seized my heart

 

There is something special about your lovely eyes

Something special about the curving and shapeliness of your lips

Something golden about the way you smile

Something brilliant about the way you talk

 

Baby, baby, I am falling so madly for you

 

Baby, baby, I can’t go on without thinking about you Baby, baby, you are my heart and my breath itself

 

Baby, baby—you are the one I live to see and eternally hold in my arms

 

Baby, baby, I like the way you look at me

Baby, baby, have I told you

That I fell for you that very second

 

I laid my eyes on you

 

Have I told you that

 

No matter how hard I tried

I could not forget that picture of you

Smiling and looking so quiet and so grave

 

Baby, baby, you are my sweet angel
Baby, baby, you are my perfect angel Baby, baby, you are my amazing angel

 

Baby, baby—you are the one who has stolen and seized my heart and breath itself

 

That is not the entire song. Just a part of it I included here so you can get a taste and feel of how the spectacle was. While the song played on and on, Stian would glance at me every once in a while, enchanted and fascinated by what his eyes were seeing. I had no doubt or misgiving that the guy was so attracted to me. He definitely was. And I was drawn toward him as well on the other hand. Yes, I was. I sure was.

 

The cafeteria we had our snacks at was ‘Sam’s Lobelia.’ That was its simple and yet marvelous name. At the entrance, there was a sketch of blue and scarlet colored lobelias grouped and bundled together. Brilliant and delightful to look at flowers.

 

Inside, the tables and chairs were white- painted and plastic-manufactured. The floor was mahogany and polished and shining. The ceiling was mahogany-fashioned too and sited high and farther above with scarlet and blue colored lights illumining and shimmering up. It was a nice and wonderful place to be. How I wished I had dragged my camera with me so as to snag a photo or two of Alan and I munching and whooping it up!

 

We had ensconced down, waiting for the menu that we had just ordered to be delivered, when Stian, on the spur of the moment and unexpectedly, observed me looking about in fascination and enrapturement, and he remarked, “I have noticed that this cafeteria happens to bewitch and charm you, isn’t that it?”

 

I blinked at him rapidly—an unforeseen and unplanned movement. “You are right, Stian. I turn out to like and revel in this place, you know.”

 

“I can positively tell. Would you mind taking photos? Of us? I have my phone with me and its camera is this matchless and unrivalled. What’s your say on that?”

 

I breathed in and out, mystified and robbed of any words. How was this guy able to do it? It seemed that he was an expert at amusing and cheering me up and giving me what I really and deeply wanted. Yes, he was fantastic and ideal!

 

 

“Is there anything at fault with it, Ragnhild?”

 

I answered immediately. “No, no. I didn’t suggest that. It is an excellent and wowing idea. I mean it. Honestly.”

 

 

 

 

 


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