Claymoreboy0118
Save it for the morning after
- Joined
- Feb 4, 2025
- Posts
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Before you ask, yes this is a true story.
@Pento and @Sceptical can attest to this.
I was the kind of guy who walked through the school halls like I owned the place ,not with arrogance, but with an infectious ease. I was such a confident and amicable guy. I laughed easily, spoke to everyone, and carried myself like life was something to be enjoyed, not conquered. This is where "she" (turkish stacy) comes into frame. She was carved from marble. She was perfect in every way. She wasn't scarily lean, but she was by no means fat either. She was curvy where it mattered. Her turkish roots showed in her sharp features and strict posture. She carried herself with an air of grace. She was the captain of the volleyball team, fluent in three languages, and always on time, she didn’t laugh at the jokes other girls swooned over. I quite literally had tried them all.
But there was something about her seriousness that fascinated me. If you asked around, they'd say she was cold and antisocial, but I noticed the way her eyes softened when she thought no one was looking. She was like a goddess on earth, I felt subhuman in her prescence. it wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep me intrigued. I went through various efforts to secure my future wife. I started sitting near her in classes, finding ways to pair up on projects. She didn’t smile too often, but she didn’t avoid me either. That was progress. Just thinking about it makes me wanna rope. I'm mirin' my past self.
This worked. Over time, something shifted. She started waiting for me after class instead of walking ahead. She even started asking me odd personal questions. She would ask about my home life, my interests, favorite music, and I was all for it. While she rarely shared much herself, she listened carefully. She liked that I didn’t pretend to be deeper than I was when I was with her. I was a jester, yes, but I wasn’t fake. She told me that once, very plainly, and I carried it like a fucking medal.
Our chemistry grew rapidly until it couldn't be ignored. One afternoon after volleyball practice, I stayed outside the locker room. She saw me waiting and she gestures for me to come in. After everyone else had left we were alone in the locker room. She stayed late, and I had made up an excuse to be there. The air was thick with tension. Not the awkward kind, but the sort that makes time slow down. I kissed her first, which surprised us both. I could feel the adrenaline in my veins. The moment spun out into something unspoken and wild, and hands wandered.
As I tugged off my hoodie, she caught sight of my fucking rlbows. Dry. Dull. Small. The ashy skin was a stark contrast to his smooth confidence, and something in her snapped. Her nose wrinkled. She pulled back, fast, like she’d seen a bug crawl across her shoe. “Your elbows,” she muttered, her voice suddenly sharp. “You don’t moisturize?”
I froze. “I mean… I didn’t think it mattered?” I laughed, unsure. But the mood was gone. Her eyes were different now. She was cool, judgmental, like I broke a spell. She gathered her things and left without looking back. I stood there alone in the changing room broken. My confidence dried up completely. Ididn’t know whether to laugh or cry. My night and my life were both ruined.
Word started to spread in small, cruel waves. Someone in gym class asked me if I was “ashy on purpose.” Some random normie called me “soft in all the wrong places.” The final blow came at lunch when I overheard her telling her friend how “Chad’s elbows actually look like they’ve done work.”
I didn’t even know Chad like that. Just some tall, protein-shake-chugging track guy who treated people like shit and high-fived people after pushups. But now I couldn't that fucking name out of my head. She even started sitting beside him in biology. She laughed at his dumb jokes. The same ones that would get me a side eye. Fucking brutal.
now I'm running cjc + ipa/igf-1 lr3 with test e on the way in hopes to ascend
@Pento and @Sceptical can attest to this.
I was the kind of guy who walked through the school halls like I owned the place ,not with arrogance, but with an infectious ease. I was such a confident and amicable guy. I laughed easily, spoke to everyone, and carried myself like life was something to be enjoyed, not conquered. This is where "she" (turkish stacy) comes into frame. She was carved from marble. She was perfect in every way. She wasn't scarily lean, but she was by no means fat either. She was curvy where it mattered. Her turkish roots showed in her sharp features and strict posture. She carried herself with an air of grace. She was the captain of the volleyball team, fluent in three languages, and always on time, she didn’t laugh at the jokes other girls swooned over. I quite literally had tried them all.
But there was something about her seriousness that fascinated me. If you asked around, they'd say she was cold and antisocial, but I noticed the way her eyes softened when she thought no one was looking. She was like a goddess on earth, I felt subhuman in her prescence. it wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep me intrigued. I went through various efforts to secure my future wife. I started sitting near her in classes, finding ways to pair up on projects. She didn’t smile too often, but she didn’t avoid me either. That was progress. Just thinking about it makes me wanna rope. I'm mirin' my past self.
This worked. Over time, something shifted. She started waiting for me after class instead of walking ahead. She even started asking me odd personal questions. She would ask about my home life, my interests, favorite music, and I was all for it. While she rarely shared much herself, she listened carefully. She liked that I didn’t pretend to be deeper than I was when I was with her. I was a jester, yes, but I wasn’t fake. She told me that once, very plainly, and I carried it like a fucking medal.
Our chemistry grew rapidly until it couldn't be ignored. One afternoon after volleyball practice, I stayed outside the locker room. She saw me waiting and she gestures for me to come in. After everyone else had left we were alone in the locker room. She stayed late, and I had made up an excuse to be there. The air was thick with tension. Not the awkward kind, but the sort that makes time slow down. I kissed her first, which surprised us both. I could feel the adrenaline in my veins. The moment spun out into something unspoken and wild, and hands wandered.
As I tugged off my hoodie, she caught sight of my fucking rlbows. Dry. Dull. Small. The ashy skin was a stark contrast to his smooth confidence, and something in her snapped. Her nose wrinkled. She pulled back, fast, like she’d seen a bug crawl across her shoe. “Your elbows,” she muttered, her voice suddenly sharp. “You don’t moisturize?”
I froze. “I mean… I didn’t think it mattered?” I laughed, unsure. But the mood was gone. Her eyes were different now. She was cool, judgmental, like I broke a spell. She gathered her things and left without looking back. I stood there alone in the changing room broken. My confidence dried up completely. Ididn’t know whether to laugh or cry. My night and my life were both ruined.
Word started to spread in small, cruel waves. Someone in gym class asked me if I was “ashy on purpose.” Some random normie called me “soft in all the wrong places.” The final blow came at lunch when I overheard her telling her friend how “Chad’s elbows actually look like they’ve done work.”
I didn’t even know Chad like that. Just some tall, protein-shake-chugging track guy who treated people like shit and high-fived people after pushups. But now I couldn't that fucking name out of my head. She even started sitting beside him in biology. She laughed at his dumb jokes. The same ones that would get me a side eye. Fucking brutal.
now I'm running cjc + ipa/igf-1 lr3 with test e on the way in hopes to ascend
