Post by Raquella Sawamatsu on Jun 23, 2006 23:56:13 GMT -5
After a considerable amount of arguing, the favorite Sawmatsu child was forced into the unimaginable: An honest to God date, with the son of dad's business parter, a kid named Yukio Takahashi. There wasn't much wrong with the boy. He was fairly good looking, and well dressed. If you ignored his character there was nothing wrong with him. He was a real slut who liked whores, money, and drinking, and although she could enjoy a good time he was not somebody she would usually be caught dead with, if everyone knew what he was really like. Reputations.
Raquella was dressed more concealingly than her date would have liked, but a lot more revealingly than she felt comfortable in. It was only a night. Red and lime pumps covered her size 7 feet, with a jumble of knitted and silver ankle bracelets. A white lace skirt ending about two and a half inches above her knees (fearfully, she'd measured it's exact length on her body) which puffed over black nylons. A very tight, thin pale blue sweater that flaunted the fact she was a woman with breasts had it's cuffed sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hair was in black, sculpted waves and perfect curls pinned up carefully with glittery lime, pink, purple and orange pins. A yellow wool scarf, which hung from her neck, ended at her waist. Pink lips, subtle light green eye shadow.
She sat next to Yukio at a pleather bench at the entrance of the Regal Magnolia 14 theater. A movie date could easily turn catastrophic with him there, and he'd chase any skirt, even if a man was wearing it, her friends had joked. But today was not a joke. She was stuck. He looked into her wide, dark eyes, and put a hand on her knee, moving it up to the hem of her skirt. She didn't slap him, or use her can of bear spray, or anything like that. She simply guided his hand away and smiled, as he stood up, grinned back and let go of her.
"I'm going to get popcorn, babe."
She'd been seized. Detained. Honestly, she would've preferred being a prisoner of war. Tonight, the shotgun date, and she knew there'd be more, if he didn't impregante her now. And there was nowhere to run or hide as he walked away to buy snack foods and left her with his voice, sitting on the bench, evaluating the list of movies, her skin still cold but burning from his touch, brain thudding: This is hell.
Raquella was dressed more concealingly than her date would have liked, but a lot more revealingly than she felt comfortable in. It was only a night. Red and lime pumps covered her size 7 feet, with a jumble of knitted and silver ankle bracelets. A white lace skirt ending about two and a half inches above her knees (fearfully, she'd measured it's exact length on her body) which puffed over black nylons. A very tight, thin pale blue sweater that flaunted the fact she was a woman with breasts had it's cuffed sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hair was in black, sculpted waves and perfect curls pinned up carefully with glittery lime, pink, purple and orange pins. A yellow wool scarf, which hung from her neck, ended at her waist. Pink lips, subtle light green eye shadow.
She sat next to Yukio at a pleather bench at the entrance of the Regal Magnolia 14 theater. A movie date could easily turn catastrophic with him there, and he'd chase any skirt, even if a man was wearing it, her friends had joked. But today was not a joke. She was stuck. He looked into her wide, dark eyes, and put a hand on her knee, moving it up to the hem of her skirt. She didn't slap him, or use her can of bear spray, or anything like that. She simply guided his hand away and smiled, as he stood up, grinned back and let go of her.
"I'm going to get popcorn, babe."
She'd been seized. Detained. Honestly, she would've preferred being a prisoner of war. Tonight, the shotgun date, and she knew there'd be more, if he didn't impregante her now. And there was nowhere to run or hide as he walked away to buy snack foods and left her with his voice, sitting on the bench, evaluating the list of movies, her skin still cold but burning from his touch, brain thudding: This is hell.
