Mark & Sophie

Her eyes were so crisp and bright, but he couldn’t see them. Instead he was greeted by her long brown hair that smelled of vanilla and practically brushed the top of his desk.

He wanted to touch her long locks, to run his fingers through the ends of the hair that sat just above the pencil holder. He wanted so desperately to let the hair tickle his fingers, but he wanted to see her eyes more.

And he wanted to see her mouth.

Taking a big breath full of vanilla and feeling himself harden, he placed his feet on the metal book rack under her chair and rapidly started bouncing them, shaking the chair she sat in.

Her hair bounced a bit but there was no reaction from the girl.

He picked up his pen and placed it between his fingers and started drumming the desk with the pen.

Still nothing but a couple glances from other classmates.

He needed Sophie to turn around.

He stopped playing with the pen and resumed shaking her chair with his feet again as he fixated on the hair that practically tickled his fingers. And that’s when it happened. Finally, her hair brushed his fingers as it swirled a bit before she whispered, “Please stop.”

It happened so quickly, he missed seeing her eyes—her mouth—as she faced forward just as quickly as she had whispered for him to stop.

The fidgeting ceased, but it was as if the whisper was directed at his penis because it throbbed so much that he instantly placed his feet back onto the back of her chair and bounced it with even more vigor.

“C’mon, Mark,” she said turning around to look at him. “Stop.”

He tried pretending like he was looking out the window, but he had to look at those eyes, that mouth. He smiled at her and when she grinned back, he prayed not to explode.

Mark’s feet slipped off the book rack under her seat and onto the floor where he continued to bounce them.

She turned back to face the front of the class and as she did, her long brown hair slowly danced near his fingertips.

Mark sat there looking at his hand and the brown hair that kissed it. He wanted to say something more—do something more—but wasn’t sure what, so he continued to sit there for a minute before his shoes found their way back onto the book rack under her chair and started fidgeting again.

“Mark,” she whispered as she turned to face him. Her mouth was closed and wasn’t grinning.

“Sorry, Sophie,” he said shyly, sitting up straight in his chair, flipping his long blond hair in front of his face as he looked down into his book.

Sophie turned back around more slowly this time, but Mark wasn’t able to watch. He wished they weren’t in the classroom together. He wished the other classmates weren’t around. They didn’t like Sophie. She was the new girl and nobody liked the new girl. But Mark did. And he wanted her to know that he thought of her often, and he wanted to let her know how sorry he was about confronting her with the others when she first started at the school.

But he couldn’t tell her there in the classroom.

So he sat there with his hair in front of his face, thinking of Sophie’s beautiful blue eyes; wondering if she thought about him as much as he thought of her—or at all, for that matter; wanting to rub himself into oblivion but trying to focus on the teacher’s drone in hopes of calming everything down.

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