True Friend
A girl asked a guy if he thought she was pretty,
He said...no.
She asked him if he would want to be with her forever....
and he said no.
She then asked him if she were to leave would he cry,
and once again he replied with a no.
She had heard enough. As she walked away, tears streaming down her
face the boy grabbed her arm and said....

You're not pretty you're beautiful.
I don't want to be with you forever,
I NEED to be with you forever.
And I wouldn't cry if you walked away...I'd die...

True Friend

by StoryJunkie

Chapter 1: Diana of the Hunt

Geraldine read the e-mail sent by her girlfriend and cried. She wished that a boy would say something as romantic as that to her. She re-read it, and cried some more. She thought for sure that she had to be the loneliest girl on the entire continent: shedding tears at such sentimental crap. She sighed and typed a reply, sniffling and wiping her eyes so that her glasses wouldn’t fog up.

With some exasperation, she removed the offending spectacles and gave her eyes a good wipe, trying to reign in some of the emotions. She breathed in and out, polishing her lenses and sighing deeply for the third time, reinstalled the glasses onto her nose. She finished typing the reply and clicked send/receive. Damn, Amy knew her well. She forwarded a copy to both her sisters and a few other on-line friends who she knew would appreciate it.

She stayed online for a little while longer, then sighed again. She had to gear up for the next day. Not something that she was looking forward to. She didn’t want to start thinking about her looks at the moment, or her lack of social life. “I’m a nice girl,” she repeated the oft said description, muttering it under her breath like it was a curse she didn’t want to say aloud.

She undressed, sliding out of her track pants, kicking them across the room into the laundry basket. Her underwear followed. She lifted her soft grey t-shirt off, and quickly stripped off her bra, balling the two items of clothing together and tossing them in the same direction. “Six points,” she hissed.

She liked competing. She could run like the wind if she wanted to. She loved running. The feel of the wind in her hair, the movement of her limbs, the smooth form she practiced. It kept her body toned and her mind off of other things. She loved all kinds of sports. The vibration of the bat as she whacked the ball out of the field was one of the most satisfying feelings in the world. The slow triumphant jog around the bases with a fool’s grin on her face…She sighed again. Not too many guys liked such a competitive woman.

She had known countless soft, buxom schoolmates who cared nothing about fitness or competition. The guys seemed to go for their feminine attributes. Geraldine was nothing like them. She was all angles and sinew. She was tan from constant outdoor exposure. She kept her hair short and spiky, because it was easier to care for that way. The guys at school called her a dyke, but she knew that Brian had been the one to start that particular rumor.

She had beaten the pants off of him in the sprint, to which he had challenged her. Since she had made him taste bitter defeat, he had glowered at her. After that, she had heard the rumor. She never confronted him about it, since she was never absolutely sure, until one day, passing him at his locker; she glanced up at him at the same time he looked at her. “Hey dyke, need a finger to plug that hole?” he had sneered, his light-colored eyes sharp with contempt.

His friends had laughed, but she had turned a bright red and said nothing, feeling her back become rigid. He had said it loud enough for at least twenty other students to hear. Some laughed raucously. Others merely turned their heads to stare at her.

That, and on top of it all, she had to wear glasses. They were small, oval; golden-rimmed, and made her eyes look tiny. One of the first things she wanted to save up for was laser eye surgery, just so that she could fit in.

She pulled on the loose cotton pants, tying the bow so the waist hung on her hips. She pulled a snug fitting tank top over her torso, smoothing it down. She had never considered taking another woman as a lover. Sure she had needs that wanted satisfying now and then, but her fantasies always were about guys. She tried fantasizing about women, but didn’t even know where to start. It was too weird. She often wondered where Brian had gotten the idea that she was a lesbian. So she could only conclude that she had utterly humiliated him that cold foggy morning on the track field. She was determined not to let it occur again. Male egos were too fragile.

Although, she thought as she snuggled underneath her comforter, had she been a guy, perhaps he wouldn’t have been so hurt. She pushed away the ugly memory, turning her body on the soft mattress, gathering the pillow in her arms, and leaning her head upon its comfort. She allowed her eyes to close, and she drifted off, erasing her mind of all that was disturbing. She could feel a heaviness drift over her limbs, stealing into her body. She twitched violently, coming awake for one or two heartbeats, and then eased back to sleep. God, that was annoying when that happened!

a/n: should I go on?

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