Allison was a young woman of 22 years old, and average was all she had ever know. Average height, average weight, average grades, an existence she considered “average”; sometimes she wondered what she must have done in a past life to feel so boring.
She was prettier than she gave herself credit for and she didn’t notice the guys that liked her; probably because she was too busy daydreaming and being ignored by the guys she was attracted to.
Her hair was light brown and typically pulled into a low pony tail which lay along the back of her neck, contrasting softly against her pale skin. She owned some makeup, but was too afraid to use it. The thought of others laughing and snickering at her had crossed her mind more times than she could count; more times than she cared to admit to herself.
Working as a waitress and being a student in college, she lived in a studio apartment that might as well have been a closet. Allison felt like it would be an eternity before she would be able to break out of her shell. She wanted to be a designer, or a chef, or a museum curator – anything, anywhere other than what and where she was right now.
The muted tones and style of clothing she wore did not do her any favors in the “finding Mr. Right” department. She could always rely on the guys at the bar in the restaurant she worked at for a whistle, or a stare that made her feel like “men are the absolute worst”. Maybe this was why she hid in plain sight, a camouflage of sorts.
There were many days that Allison looked in the mirror and told herself “Today. This is the day that things change for me.”, but it was always just more of the same. School, work, home. Study, minimum wage plus tips, sleep. Blah, blah, blah.
What was she doing with her life?
She was committed to getting a degree, but hadn’t yet figured out what she wanted get a degree in; working now on general education classes. More of a book-worm than anything else, but she had trouble focusing, particularly during exams. The pressure got to her and diminished her grades, perpetually.
As for dating, she had dated so many of the wrong guys that it was starting to feel impossible. Mr. “I’ll pick up the check after being a jerk for an hour and you know what that means?” “It means you’re going home with less money than you started the night with” she laughed to herself. Nerds, jocks, even the guys who seemed like they might be “perfect”; they had baggage, or they were liars, or rude, or angry at the world, or angry at themselves. The list goes on.
Her most recent date involved meeting online and talking for weeks before meeting in person. Immediately after meeting this guy, she wished that she hadn’t. He was even more self-conscious than she was and she got the distinct feeling that if he made a move, it would be very awkward to say the least.
With regard to sex, it was like a foreign subject. Guys never knew where to touch or what to do so that she felt pleasure. Her experiences told her “They don’t even really care”. “I’m in, I’m out, I’m done with you.”
One particular experience she had was during the summer between high school and college, years ago. There was tension and excitement in making out and having sex with one of the better-looking guys she had been in school with. A writhing ball of heat and flesh, hands grasping wildly and exploring each other’s bodies. He finished before she even felt an orgasm beginning to dwell; wet and juicy, but not yet satisfied. She never heard from him again.
It’s not that she had never orgasmed, but it was almost always her “helping” herself.
She would lay awake at night staring at her ceiling and imagining what foreplay must feel like. Softly running her hands over her body wishing that a man would come along and be that person for her. Imagining movie stars or guys she had seen and was attracted to then inserting them into her memories of the better sex that she had in the past.
Sometimes it was almost like a ritual. The lights turned low and music playing softly in the background. Her favorite pornographic movies on her cell phone. Listening to the women moaning and wishing just once that she could feel what they must feel to make the noises that they make. Her belt unbuckling itself and her pants being pulled off. A hand caressing her stomach and ribcage on its way to her breast and grasping it. A finger lightly teasing her nipple until it became hard. A second hand finding its way into her underwear causing her to bite her lip.
What must that be like?
Today was an ordinary day, nothing special. Allison found herself at the mall alone walking around and people-watching. She did this from time to time as kind of a hobby, maybe she would meet someone, or maybe she would find herself in an interesting situation. One time a person collapsed and paramedics had to take them out on a stretcher; it must have been horrible for that person, and it wasn’t the most exciting thing in the world but at least she wasn’t at home, on her fold out couch, again.
As she was walking, she noticed a couple. She guessed that they were somewhere in their 30’s, and something about this man and woman just seemed different; she couldn’t put her finger on it exactly but something about them drew her attention.
The man was handsome with short dark hair, wearing dark jeans with a button up shirt and dress shoes. The vibe she got from him was that he was kind, but not a pushover – just something about the way he was treating the woman.
It was the woman though, who Allison found herself staring at. This woman was pretty, wearing cute wedges, a frilly skirt, a tank top, and a collar. A collar. Her makeup looked effortless, like her face naturally contoured itself in all the right places, and her wavy shoulder length hair looked like it was professionally colored; black with bright purple highlights.
The woman noticed Allison staring, and smiled. Allison immediately felt herself blush and turned away for a moment. When she looked back, the woman was talking in the man’s ear and then they were both looking at her. Allison felt butterflies in her stomach as intense as she has ever felt them. Part of her wished that she could absorb herself into a wall and that they had never seen her, but she also couldn’t help but feel curious about them. She stood around faking interest in the scenery and the products in the windows, glancing back at the couple every now and then.
The woman must have known exactly how Allison felt because the next thing Allison knew, the woman was walking in her direction. Even the way this woman walked seemed like she was controlled and intentional but at the same time like she was floating. The woman started talking about the soaps and candles Allison was pretending to be interested in. After a few pleasantries, the woman introduced herself as Lacey and handed Allison a black card with silver writing on it. Lacey said that this card was for Allison and no one else. If Allison was interested in meeting up or just talking some time, she should contact Lacey and tell her they met at the mall.