Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2001-10-02 10:03 am
azurelunatic) wrote2001-10-02 10:03 am
The war goes well.
Darkside, upon hearing about my schedule for the day (one class), beckoned me closer so that he could hurt me. I declined to be hurt, to see if he'd press the issue, but no. If I want to be hurt, I guess I have to put myself in harm's way.
We walk to his classes together. I guess I have to start having him walk me to my classes. While waiting, we started playing martial arts with each other, striking and blocking. He tries striking with feet; I succeed in kicking his ass. He kicks for mine, but misses; I inform him; he re-kicks, and this time connects with my ass.
"Why are you red?" he then wants to know.
Um. What do I tell you, Darkside? My face has turned bright red because I find you attractive and you have just touched me?
"I'm not red!" I declare.
We have a small discussion on this topic. Darkside knows. I know he knows. He has to know that I adore him and treasure his company.
Walking out to the parking lot together to retrieve his books for database class from his car, we had an exceptionally small space between us. Standing by his classroom waiting for class to start, small space.
He's taller than I am. Not very much -- if he's wearing thin-soled shoes and I'm wearing tall sneakers, and he's slouching, and I'm not, I'm taller or the same height. But when I'm wearing my steel toed sneakers and he's wearing thin-soled shoes, and he's not slouching, he's definitely taller.
His body fascinates me. His responses fascinate me. His mind, his body, his soul... all.
He still hadn't shaved this morning. I reached out and touched the rather extensive stubble yesterday; I think I did that again today. He didn't stop me. He didn't push my hand away.
We walk to his classes together. I guess I have to start having him walk me to my classes. While waiting, we started playing martial arts with each other, striking and blocking. He tries striking with feet; I succeed in kicking his ass. He kicks for mine, but misses; I inform him; he re-kicks, and this time connects with my ass.
"Why are you red?" he then wants to know.
Um. What do I tell you, Darkside? My face has turned bright red because I find you attractive and you have just touched me?
"I'm not red!" I declare.
We have a small discussion on this topic. Darkside knows. I know he knows. He has to know that I adore him and treasure his company.
Walking out to the parking lot together to retrieve his books for database class from his car, we had an exceptionally small space between us. Standing by his classroom waiting for class to start, small space.
He's taller than I am. Not very much -- if he's wearing thin-soled shoes and I'm wearing tall sneakers, and he's slouching, and I'm not, I'm taller or the same height. But when I'm wearing my steel toed sneakers and he's wearing thin-soled shoes, and he's not slouching, he's definitely taller.
His body fascinates me. His responses fascinate me. His mind, his body, his soul... all.
He still hadn't shaved this morning. I reached out and touched the rather extensive stubble yesterday; I think I did that again today. He didn't stop me. He didn't push my hand away.