Tag Archives: cute bottom

There is a moment as a schoolgirl when you have a crush,  an odd kind of crush.

It is a longing, a very intense longing. It is the kind of feeling that wakes a girl up at three in the morning with a desire that makes her confused at her dreams and bewildered. It is wanting to touch the object of your affection, wanting to trace an outline of lips with your fingers but at the same time it is wanting to be the person you desire. It is a silent obsession, a hushed soliloquy to a feminine temptation.

My school days are behind me but I have a schoolgirl crush. It is part erotic desire and part wanting to be who it is that I adore. I am amazed at every picture. I sit open mouthed and quiet. I want so much when I see her that I don’t know how to say what it is that I want. The object of this schoolgirl crush is Rosaleen Young. I do not know anything about her and I do not need to. I only need to know what she has conveyed.

I think she might be the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. It is not just that her face has symmetry or that her eyes are large. It is that her beauty reminds me of the love I have for Victorian literature. It is that she shows a balance between lust and innocence. She is all at once woman and childlike. I don’t know if I want to be her or if I want to kiss her. I want one, I want both. I want, want, want.

I will try to explain what I like about her so much but I am aware that by deciphering this longing I may, by scattering the pieces on the table before you, reduce its magic.

I like her hair. It is long, like a child from a book that was written in raised font with thick, gilt pages. It is hair that gets brushed a hundred times before bed and looks best with a ribbon in it. It is hair that trails down a body, that turns and squirls, a tale before bedtime. Her eyes are wide as disbelief, open as Becky Thatcher’s straining to find her way home. They express impatience, sorrow, fear, joy. They show everything that I have to express with written words, everything I am ashamed to say out loud. I have heard her voice only a couple of times. I do not want to hear it too much. I am scared the spell might be broken. But it was petulant without precociousness, aware without self conciousness. I want that. I want to be that. I saw her argue in a way that I would never dare to. She was funny and light, as bright as playing in the garden. I want to be as brave as her. I want to have that touch, that interplay with others.

Her bottom is so pretty and perfect that even I would want to see it bared. But then I get overwhelmed and confused because that leads to the “sp …” word and I do not want that. She creates such empathy that when I see a hand strike her I feel it.

I think she is beautiful. She is the girl of my dreams. I want to be near her. I want to be her.

Would you like another?