This is a very experimental work of mine, so I'm expecting lots of reviews that criticize the narrative structure or any conventions I happen to accidentally break. All two of them. Also, it's my first time seriously writing from a girl's perspective. Should be interesting.
Tarzan Boy
by Dark Sploosh
Chapter 1: Kally Yoap
The lights were off, the door was shut, and the girl was crouched under her desk, balled up in the manner of the first nine months of her existence, and just as naked save for the dark robe draped over her. A pale light drew white lines over her hunched body, highlighting the gentle escaping of her breath as she spoke to herself.
“Lazy, lazy Friday. Nothin’ got done again. Damn.”
Rolling her eyes, she glanced upon her laptop sitting on the carpet in front of her. Upon the blank white page that offended her with its stinging glow. She was supposed to write something on it about an hour ago. Or maybe two hours. Either way she hadn’t done her job.
But what the hell did it matter? Lazy, lonely Friday had passed by like all other lonely Fridays. The girl’s roommate had been there most of the day, but she was out at a concert or something now. The girl was alone with her dark, peaceful room.
And I’m the girl. That 3rd person thing was some pretentious bullshit I figured I’d experiment with. Sorry, won’t work out here as well as first person, but that’s cool. I read that a lot of people prefer reading first person stories anyway.
Okay, before I break the fourth wall too much, let me get back to my huddling. At some point, I managed to groan loud enough to wake the neighbors and drag myself out from under my desk. Pushing my computer to the side, I clawed my way across the room, mumbling to myself and enjoying the sensation of the carpet rubbing against me through the robe. At least until the robe slipped to the side and I carpet burned my left tit.
Actually, that reminds me how much I don’t like the word ‘tit’. Not because it offends me or anything, but because it just doesn’t aurally please me, the way a good vulgarity should. And since I can’t think of anything better, from this point onward I’ll be referring to my and everyone else’s breasts as ‘breasts’. Boob is, for a nineteen year old, a bit too juvenile anyway.
So I rubbed my left breast, trying to make it feel better (maybe not such a good idea), when a tiny bubbling noise issued from my computer. Grumbling, I crawled back over to my laptop and turned it back to me. I had gotten an IM.
“Yay.”
I didn’t recognize the username. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of my lips, so my tongue darted out to lick the smile away as I decided to see what this fella had to say.
CrackMonkeyLegend: Hey, is this JanePotter55?
FatKidEatsCake: Yes it is. Are you a drugged up Chinese folktale?
CrackMonkeyLegend: Huh?
CrackMonkeyLegend: Oh, lmfao. No. That’s a joke between me and my friends.
FatKidEatsCake: It usually is.
CrackMonkeyLegend: What about you? Are you a fat kid who loves cake.
FatKidEatsCake: No. The name is to see how many chubby chasers I can get to e-stalk me.
CrackMonkeyLegend: Rofl.
CrackMonkeyLegend: Anyway, this is Skylarpalooza from Caska Blanka. I liked your work and wanted to get in touch with ya.
For your benefit, I’ll let you know that Caska Blanka is the online forum I frequent. It’s for fanfiction writers who don’t suck terribly, so I figured I belonged there. To my great shame, I have yet to break free from the stereotype that all that fangirls want to write is fanfiction. Give me time, please.
FatKidEatsCake: Could have just sent me a friend invite.
CrackMonkeyLegend: just did.
A quick check revealed that he had indeed. Guy had his bases covered at least.
FatKidEatsCake: Fair enough. So what’s the story behind Skylarpalooza?
CrackMonkeyLegend: My name is Sky.
FatKidEatsCake: Charming.
CrackMonkeyLegend: What’s your name?
FatKidEatsCake: Won’t say. You might rape me.
CrackMonkeyLegend: Lmfao. I think.
FatKidEatsCake: Rape isn’t funny sir. Goodbye.
I wonder what the look on Skylarpalooza’s face must have been as I signed off. Did he think I was genuinely offended? The thought was funny. Actually, I had browsed through his entire profile in thirty-seven seconds and determined that I wouldn’t like him. In addition to his reviews of other stories indicating his terrible taste in fanfiction, his own works looked like uninspired drivel that only could only be classified as hipster garbage. As if that weren’t bad enough, his bio claimed he was fifteen years old. Screw that.
Seventeen seconds later I already felt bad about what I had done, and maybe a year or so ago I wouldn’t have done it. But now, well, what the hell do I need new friends for anyway? I’ve got plenty of good ones, any more will just complicate things. Especially some fifteen year old douche who thinks he can e-score with an older girl. How do I know he wanted that? Easy. In the twenty-three seconds after he introduced himself and before I read his profile, I was hoping I could e-score with him.
“Meh. Feck it.”
Closing the laptop, I sunk the room into darkness. I gave the moon outside the window a few seconds to do its job before I wobbled to my feet to look around me. The double was fifteen by eighteen, way bigger than any of the others I had seen in the building. Word was it as big as the triples, but I had never seen any of those. Everyone in the building was too much of an antisocial fool to let me see what their living space looked like. Not like I’d give them more than five minutes if they weren’t exactly what I was looking for anyway.
I heard rustling outside the door, and I really hoped it was just someone passing by, but I’m never that lucky. The doorknob jingled as the door flung open and Janine strode into the room. All I could see was her silhouette of bushy hair before she flipped on the light switch. I got to see maybe a split second of happiness on her olive face before my eyes clapped shut because of the light.
“Might not want to stand so close to the door in that, girl,” Janine said. I nodded, shrugged, didn’t give a crap.
“You’re naked, dear,” Janine said, as if I wasn’t certain of the reason she wanted me away from the open door.
“Am not,” I replied as my eyes finally stopped being cowards and let me frown at my roommate.
“The robe doesn’t count when you have it open like that,” Janine said as she turned around and finally closed the door, something which she really should have done earlier if my modesty was so important to her. “Thank God you’re wearing panties at least…wait, you are wearing panties right?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Well, where’s your bra? I know a guy didn’t take it, so what’s up?”
I looked down at my own chest, unable to see the problem. The black robe was open, yes, but it covered up my breasts well enough. Besides which, it was an all-girls floor. I thought women were allowed to look at each other’s nudity like it was no big deal. Or did times change again when I wasn’t looking? Bob Dylan really needs to learn to give advance warning.
“Didn’t wear it.”
“Obviously.” Janine dropped her bag on the floor and walked by me. She smelled like citrus and liquor and cold (I maintain that temperature has a distinct smell), but she looked perfectly sober, so I held my tongue.
“Yes, I did have fun,” Janine announced as she flopped down onto the futon and hung her head. “Thanks for asking.”
Was I supposed to dignify that with an answer? Anyway, seven seconds passed before I could even think of an answer, meaning the silence would only become more awkward if I even tried to respond. I was let off the hook, as it were.
“Met a couple of cute guys,” Janine purred. Now she was baiting me, but I was used to it.
“You always do,” I said as I picked my laptop off the floor and crawled into my bed. Janine gave me a dangerous glance, which I returned with a wide smile. As soon as she looked away I dropped the grin and pursed my lips as I stared at my reflection in the computer screen.
No, that’s not an invitation for me to now describe myself to the reader. However, if it will set your mind at ease, I was not lying when I told Skylarpalooza that the FatKidEatsCake moniker is merely facetious. I’m rather slender, in fact, so now all you boys can breathe easy. (Contrary to how it may have sounded in your head, I wasn’t saying that in a patronizing way. Actually, I’d be thrilled if any men read this. It would be the most attention I’ve ever gotten from them. Also, I apologize to the chubby chasers who just left to find a story with a rounder heroine.)
A few minutes passed as I tried to find something to do online, to no avail. According to my clock it was now beyond two in the morning, which meant it was about time for me to go to sleep. Luckily it seemed as if Janine agreed with me, because she finally got off the futon, hit the lights, stripped to her skivvies and slinked under her sheets. The brief glimpse I had at her in her underwear reminded me of the same thing that it always did.
“Janine,” I whispered, “why do guys like huge breasts anyway?”
“What the hell kind of question is that?” Janine asked as she messed around with her pillow. “Because men are idiots. Are you fifteen or something?”
No, but had that been the case I might have considered giving Skylarpalooza a shot. Also, Janine was being very unfair to men. Where was the optimism towards the Y chromosome?
“No,” I said, “but you have huge ones, and…did you get laid tonight?”
“No. Yes. None of your business, dear.”
“It’s okay Janine, you can tell me. It would help me get a better understanding of the world around me.”
A pause that was normal to me and probably very awkward to her followed (thirteen second pauses are generally that kind) before she exhaled an answer.
“Whatever. I almost slept with this one guy who was pretty cute, but his muscles were bigger than his brain, so I reluctantly pulled myself away. But shit he was hot.”
“Fear of date rape?”
“I guess. Or maybe that someone like him had probably screwed a ton of other girls and was carrying something foul in his sack.”
“Ah. Well, I think you did the right thing.”
Janine gave me a short, loud laugh that made me feel like what I had just said was the cheesiest thing in the world.
“Glad one of us does. Honestly, I just wish you weren’t here so I could play with myself.”
Sometimes part of me really wonders if Janine is unique or if most women are like her when they’re in private. You’d think I would know being a girl and all, but my constant ignorance of both sexes always finds new ways to screw with me.
“Anyway,” Janine went on, “don’t worry about it. Your boobs aren’t your problem. I mean, yeah, mine are bigger, but yours are better shaped. I think. Anyway, the point is…go the hell to bed.”
“Good night,” I said, and then that was the last of that. I closed my computer and set it aside, then slid my arms out of the robe and tossed it onto the floor. I loved that thing, but it was uncomfortable to sleep in, so it had to go.
I knew it would take me about an hour to go to sleep. It always did. Since it’s impossible to be aware of the moment you fall asleep, the average time it takes me to get there is one of the few things I haven’t counted out. Sheep don’t work, you know.
I had a big blue body pillow that I always snuggled to death as I tried to sleep. Some nights I just liked to hold it and rest my head on it. Other nights I got a bit more desperate, wrapped my legs around it, and nuzzled against it until my face went numb. No matter how it went down, I usually just wore panties and that was it.
Guys, get your hands out of your pants.
I’d been doing it for years, and couldn’t stop now if I wanted to. It helped simulate my most desired scenario in my head, that post sex state of (I assumed) bliss where you just nuzzled your man and whispered to him and tried to remember what was so wrong with your life. I wasn’t sure what the guy in my head looked like. That always changed depending on my mood. Strangely enough, there was one detail that I had first imagined about a month ago, and had always been there ever since.
My ideal man wore a woven necklace that ended in a crystal. The fastener on the back was a tiny bronze shield with a turquoise stone attached to it. He never took it off, even when he made love with me.
Girls, stop laughing at me, you damn hypocrites. Please.
Please.
