Sophistication [Engels verhaal, 18+]

Lieve iedereen,
Dit is mijn eerste verhaal hier en ik vind het best wel spannend. Het is compleet in het Engels en er zal seks zijn. Yes. 18+ is geadviseerd, maar slechts geadviseerd dus voel je vrij om het verhaal toch te lezen :wink: Ik zal verder niet teveel verklappen over het plot zelf, maar het verhaal gaat in grote lijnen over een jongeman die in zijn laatste jaar op de middelbare iemand ontmoet die zijn leven compleet verandert. Veel plezier met lezen en laat me ook vooral weten wat je ervan vindt! Het eerste stukje is heel kort en echt inleidend, maar het laat wel mijn schrijfstijl zien & ik denk dat jullie wel een idee krijgen of jullie verder willen lezen of niet, dus laat het me weten!

Preface

It was one of those magical High School Movie moments. The ones you see in romanticized Hollywood representations of teen life. As she walked in everything seemed to disappear, all motions stopped, except for her gracious walk… one high-heeled foot placed precisely in front of the other. Slowly, her hair dancing in the wind, the little curls bouncing up and down. If there’s any perfection in nature it would be her. Her bright green eyes and hazel hair. The Lolita to my Humbert Humbert. The Francesca to my Kincaid. Oh… what she did to my world by simply being. The pleasure she brought to my life by granting me that wondrous smile. If only we were to share more than the air we breathe, if only she would let me touch her, if only I could show her how beautiful she truly is.
I was well aware that the new girl was not only admired by me, that the brightness of her being did not only enlighten me. I heard the way the other boys cringed when she quietly brushed her hair behind her ear, leaving her neck a bare path towards her gracious landscape… How I despised being a teenager so full of anxious self consciousness and pretentious sexual desire. But I desired her… wholly… holy. To be truthful, I did not want her body or her mind, I longed to consume her. Until it would destroy us both.
Her name, as poetic as her presence, was Sophie, and she was everything. All the good and the bad. All the prayers and the sins. Life and Death, as she would become of us.

I follow you! Ook een goede oefening om mijn Engels te verbeteren

Ik houd van Engelse verhalen :slight_smile:

En je schrijfstijl is heel mooi!

Ik volg, je schrijft leuk en zo kan ik mijn Engels oefenen haha

Ah, leuke reacties <3 Dankjullie! Hier het eerste deel van het eerste hoofdstuk:

Chapter I

Sophie came in my life on the first day of my senior year. Up to that point, high school had been a stagnant flow of predictability and failure. I spent most days contemplating the lives of the likes of Amory Blaine, and forgetting that reality is a precondition for the construction of our adulthood. I went to a house party or two, but soon found myself dulled by the simple nature of teenage thrill. But that might as well be the plain excuse for the unlikeliness of my character. I did not do friendships, nor did I truly participate in the social hierarchy of teenage society… however, for anything else I had a deep desire to be popular. A desire that was never truly satisfied. Whenever I reread another Fitzgerald novel I was grounded again in my aspiration to be part of the crowd. To sing and dance and drink and love and break and bend.
I did in fact indulge myself in popular culture too, since only so many universal values can be inferred from the outdated works or yesteryear. I watched The Breakfast Club, and felt somehow let down by what they call one of the classics. However, I do sometimes find myself enjoying the tunes of that one likable Taylor Swift song, although it is no Wild Horses or Africa, of course. Sophie reminded me of popular culture a lot. She had one of those rare faces that made you instantly smile, even if you had no kind words for her to hear. And if she would be popular culture, she would be a Lorde song, being part of it, but only on a superficial level. Her roots would run so much deeper, her true meaning would be in the thoughts of whoever listened to her.
Unlike Amory Blaine, I was never good with words. I had a passion for Fitzgerald’s writing style, but could never seem to fully grasp it’s complexity. My forte was undetermined. I was mediocre at everything, which is a terribly sufficient situation. But that static decency awarded me three classes with Sophie. History, English, and Biology. It was in English class, on that first day of my senior year, that I first caught a glimpse of Sophie, and the world stopped turning. Sophie sat one row in front of me, to my left, so that I could almost taste her perfume and touch her bare neck. There was a raw element to her beauty. Timeless, graceful, but never tender nor sweet. Her eyes could move you as a pawn in a chess game. Her beauty was danger and I had deliberately put down all defenses. I watched her, for the entirety of that English class. I watched her whispering introductions with her neighbor, swiping back her hair and playing with the buttons of her sweater. No other sound than her muffled laughter and soft whispers entered my head, no other sight than the soft outlines of her profile, no feelings but the raised heartbeat of a high school boy yearning for a high school girl.

I wanted to talk with her. A simple conversation. “Hey, how are you?” would have been sufficient. But I could not say anything. I was at a loss for words and voraciously wished Fitzgerald was narrating my life. Unfortunately my lack of real life experience left me with all the world to say to her but none of the words to speak. My nervously devastating plan was then to follow her around. Circle her like a predator, looking for the weaknesses of it’s prey. Sophie had her lunch in the cafeteria, surrounded by the popular kids, of course. I did not had any other expectations, but deep within me there was a silent hope that Sophie would be nothing like the popular kids. That she would be more like me, an outsider, ill-fitting and solitary. The way Sophie fitted in, however, was as if she herself was constructed within the frames of this high school. She seemed to be perfectly in harmony with everything that influenced her, and for that I admired her even more.
We had History together next. I honestly cannot remember if this was even the same day, or if time had parted me from her for a while. Sophie was one of the last persons to enter the classroom, and amusingly seated herself right next to me. I can still recall the scent of her perfume, a soft wooden smell, with a touch of sweetness. Our bodies were parted by mere inches, I could almost feel her skin touching mine. I looked at her and oh, how beautiful she was… Nothing more than her natural self, my Sophie, with her bright green eyes and hazel hair. She noticed my watching, although I would have called it admiring, and I was well aware of her noticing. I consumed her beauty from the small freckles on her nose and cheeks to the soft outlines of her collarbones, the light brown spots in her eyes and the small curling of the corners of her mouth. I relished as she smiled, and looked right into her eyes. In that moment, I could feel everything.

Wow mooi geschreven, verduurrr

Thanks! Ik zal vandaag nog een stukje posten :slightly_smiling_face: !

Beetje laat, maar goed! Verder in het eerste hoofdstuk!

-

“Sophie,” she said, as she gave me an excuse to touch her gentle skin. Her fragile hand and tender fingers, which felt so soft on the skin of my own hand. I opened my mouth, never before had I had particular problems regarding talking to girls, but Sophie was something else. I closed my mouth again, fully aware of how stereotypically stupid I must have looked, but her smile and the sparks in her eyes redeemed me from whatever doubts I had. “Spencer Lance.” I said, or at least mumbled. Sophie let go of my hand again, and I felt my cheeks glow and the hairs on my skin rising. Her voice had been as sweet and treacherous as her beauty, calm and soothing but with a harsh determinism that could persuade you to anything.
“Spencer Lance,” she whispered, and never had I loved my own name more, “have you been following me?” It thrilled me to learn she knew. It thrilled me to see how her face did not turn into a predictable disgust, but rather seemed to hint at an enchanting wickedness. At that moment I was not sure if what I felt for Sophie was textbook love, so broadly defined by every love song, every romantic blockbuster, every dictionary definition and every lonely soul’s Tumblr post… but never broad enough. Sophie destroyed me and everything I thought I knew. She challenged my convictions and rattled my beliefs. She threw me in a deep dark ocean of ecstasy and lust, filled me with darkness and murdered me with every stolen breath and heartbeat. Sophie was not someone you could love. She was wicked and cruel and devastating. I admired her. I desired her. She was a need, a necessity. And I was devoted to her, I graved her, I… Sophie was my god and I let her tear me apart and lift me up.
“I have been pursuing you,” I said. Her eyes looked inside me and I wondered what she would see. I wondered if she could feel my admiration and desire. I wondered if she could ever marvel in my destruction, the same way I wondered in her creation.
“Now that you got me, what will you do?” She asked, her lips never meeting after that last word. Her mouth never fully closed, so inviting… But was she inviting me? Or simply daring me… Or was it all a test? All I knew was that I lost myself the moment she walked into my life.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “you would do no good associating yourself with me.”
“Why would you say that?” Her whispers were smoky, honeyed… never unpleasant.
“I am Nobody”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Everybody.” It was her slightly raised chin, her straight shoulders, the soft curl of her lower back. The way her eyes never let go of mine, her hands never left her lap. Her face was in a constant, controlled expression, somewhere between sincere curiosity and wicked domination.
“That’s a terrible arrogant thing,” I whispered, my own expression in a constant debate between admiring smiles and terrifying frowns.
“Arrogance is not always a negative thing, mister Lance.”
“Anonymity neither.”
“Everybody desires to be Somebody,” she said, her face tilted slightly to one side. Curiosity.
“Who do you desire to be?”
Sophie’s silence was as breathtaking as her voice. She closed her eyes for a moment. Lost in the comforting dark of her mind. I graved to hear her thoughts, to understand her deepest desires and wishes. I had a screaming curiosity that could not be stilled. Sophie could be anyone or anything she wanted by simply being.
“Anonymous,” she finally said, as her eyes met mine again. The one thing she could never be. She smiled and I smiled back at her. She had a fragility that empowered her. Wickedness, as Oscar Wilde once said, is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others. I never claimed to be good by any societal standards, but my attraction for Sophie was curious. I worshiped her arrogance while I despised my own.

Wauw, dit is echt leuk! Supergoed geschreven!

Dank! :grinning: :grinning: Dat maakt mijn dag helemaal goed! Ik zal morgen weer een stukje posten, heb vandaag een compleet essay zitten typen dus niet érg veel zin meer om nog meer te schrijven haha!

<3 <3 Bedankt voor de lieve reacties! Hier is het laatste stukje van hoofdstuk 1, wat een kort inleidend hoofdstuk was!

-

Our conversation ended there. I wanted to touch her, close as she was. I wanted to grab her and kiss her and cherish her. That beautiful, wonderful Sophie. How I damned my soul if she would never be mine. History class never got my attention that day, nor did any other classes. At the end of the day I found myself enjoying sunshine more than usual. I felt the warmth on my face, my sight blinded by it’s clarity. The warm glow of that late summer sun lighted up that dusty old building that had been my high school for three years now. I often wished I could describe to you the gardens of Princeton, but alas my unfortunate soul found me in a gray town, with gray people and gray buildings. Somehow today the blue and golden banner welcoming us back seemed to be more colorful, more vibrant, more appealing than ever before. So I smiled, something I rarely did, but today there was plenty reason to smile.
It was a welcome delight that Sophie found me again after my short peaceful moment in the sun. The more I saw of Sophie the more I appreciated her beauty. As I wondered in her presence the sun lit up her eyes and kissed her hair, golden and shining and warmth. Oh Sophie, my Sophie…
“Spencer Lance,” she said, “what is wrong with you?”
I snorted, as pretensions lawyers do when someone kindly reminds them of their lacking integrity. Everything was wrong me, and even more since Sophie destroyed my world.
“You are very handsome,” she continued, and I smiled, “very well build en that jawline with those baby blues would drop any panties at any given time… How come everyone seems to avoid you like crazy?”
“I am highly unlikable, Sophie,” even saying her name made my skin glow, “I am truly no good.”
“Good,” she replied, “I don’t like decency. I like mysteries, Spencer Lance, and I like to solve them.”
“I don’t like to be psychoanalyzed”
“Oh stop it Will Graham, I merely have a tender curiosity in you.”
I smiled as she batted her eyes at me. Her attention drove my thoughts to madness. If crazy is to mean senseless it is never senseless, as her beauty never blinded me but elevated my sight, as her voice never deafened me but intensified my hearing; if crazy is to mean mentally deranged I never valued stability nor sanity; and if crazy is to mean intensely and passionately excited it is scarce of adjectives describing my yearning for her. I could feel every fiber of my body longing for her, as she stood there in her high waisted shorts and her light gray sweater.
Sophie turned her curls around her fingers and smiled that wicked half smile of hers. We slowly started walking and I mindlessly followed her to wherever she would lead me. “There’s a party tonight,” she said, “but you never go to parties I heard. You should try this one. It’s at Kendra’s.”
I could sing and dance and drink and love and break and bend. I could be with her.
“Will you be there?” I asked, slowing down our pace, desperately trying to stretch the time I had with her.
“Yes,” a whisper, a hiss, a sigh, all at once… Oh, Sophie… With one word she promised me everything I ever wanted and everything I could ever wish for. She turned my hearing into overdrive, I could hear every little breath she took, and I adored every word that came from those perfectly pink lips.

Ik had gister weer eens lekker de tijd om te schrijven (in de trein, met een meelezende vreemdeling, net toen ik bij het allereerste sexysexy gedeelte kwam… Jes. Awkward), dus zal vanmiddag als ik terug ben van college een nieuw stukje posten!

na de eerste zin ben ik al afgehaakt, want je hebt “magic high school moments” terwijl het “magical” moet zijn. dit is een grammaticale fout en als ik dat al zo snel vind haak ik af, maar ga nog even verder lezen.

Oeh bedankt voor je reactie! Ik had daar helemaal niet bij nagedacht, aangezien “magic” als adjective op zich gewoon grammaticaal correct is (bijv. “magic wand”) maar hier klopt “magical” inderdaad beter! Ik ga het aanpassen :grinning: thanks!

Hier een klein stukje van het tweede hoofdstuk, ben op het moment erg druk met de studie maar zal proberen sowieso eens in de twee/drie dagen iets te posten!

Chapter II

My childhood home was a vast collection of stones and wallpaper, negligently constructing no more than a mindless distance between childish desires and the realities of life. Empty, hollow, worthless. But always present as a constant reminder of the constrains of coming of age, the confines of frailty. A less eccentric version of Count Olaf’s mansion, but a skeleton in every closet no less, and the events that had unfolded here just as unfortunate. There hadn’t be a soul but mine living here since that unfaithful morning of the nineteenth of November three years ago.
The stairs squeaked, the doors screeched and every surface was covered in dust and spiders’ webs. Only in one room, it’s large windows covered by dark curtains, was there no dust nor webs. I never turned the light off in that room. My room. It used to be our old living room, oh how glorious it had looked once. The golden chandeliers and the grand paintings, the light dancing through the stained glass, waltzing around the sofas. The crystal in the wooden cabinet, the fire burning and even that damned cat that left her white hairs everywhere on the tapestry. Mother always made sure that the tray on the side table was completely filled with chocolate, and in one distant memory I could still hear my father reading me The Great Gatsby from his armchair close to the fire. Alas as the house fell in further decay, so withered those memories of happier times. More than once I had found myself standing in front of the fireplace that had burned out so many years ago, reciting one of the phrases my father had read me when I was still so young and innocent, as if he had known what was ahead of us. “The loneliest moment in someone’s life,” father had quoted Fitzgerald, his voice strong and dark, determined, but inviting, “is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.”
Helpless and hopeless are never the same, but damned be how often those two walk hand in hand. Now all that was left from that noble extravagance of yore was a burgundy red sofa stained with spilled liquor and dribbled grease, and a forty inch flat screen that received no channels. But it was home nonetheless. I spend most time here reading and writing, not that I have any particular gift for writing as I already suggested, but it helped me understand things. More specifically it helped me relate events that seemed unfortunate and troublesome. However, that specific day, the day Sophie turned my world upside down, I had no appetite for books or writing, I felt as if my own life was novel enough, and as I laid myself down on the stained burgundy sofa I closed my eyes and thought about Sophie until it was time for that dreadful party.

Ik las net de beginpost opnieuw door, en op de een of andere manier waren er allemaal random woorden verdwenen?!?! Echt om de zoveel zinnen gewoon een paar woorden weg. Super raar. Maar goed, ik heb zover ik gaten kon ontdekken alles weer teruggezet, maar als jullie nog een zin vinden die niet klopt laat het me dan weten! Nog een stukje hoofdstuk 2! De eerste sexy scene komt er snel aan :grinning:

-

Kendra’s house was a lot less similar to a mansion from a children’s horror story, it was rather civilized, not in the case that “civilized” depicts a sense of cultural superiority, but rather a sense of societal adherence, as their house was the archetype of the WASP family home. Kendra herself was civilized in the same sense, but never in the other, as Kendra was rather font of everything sex, alcohol and misbehavior. Then again it could be argued that sex, alcohol and misbehavior are all cultural superiority is about. That night I found myself on the steps of Kendra’s civilized house, clothed in my most civilized outfit, semi-ready for a civilized party with my civilized schoolmates. The noises from inside made me shiver, I could hear an ancient rap song coming from the stereo that should have never survived it’s downfall, but nevertheless I rang the doorbell. Twice.
Did I ever mention how I never really did that whole friends-thing? Well, to be honest, I actually did, for a brief moment three years ago, before the unfortunate events of that dreadful day in November. During that time I felt rather synchronized with the teenage thrill that I came to despise so soon after. It was not surprising, thus, that Kendra welcomed me home as a prodigal son. I wish I could say that it felt as if I never left, but the, very much sober, sight of bodies entangled, beer spilled, school girls dancing (or at least moving) and school boys fighting (or at least trying), made my heart grow weary of this place. Kendra pulled me in and closed the door. There were whispers. Inaudible but yet so clear. I reached for a beer, Kendra sighted disapprovingly, and I walked aimlessly around the house. I knew nobody. I knew their names and their faces but I never knew them. The first beer was finished by the time I left he kitchen, and I could already feel the promises the alcohol made me, drink boy, Sophie would be here soon. Drink boy. I had been in this house before, drink boy, I had partied in this house before. Kendra had greeted me so kindly that I figured she remembered that I had been here before too, and I wondered if her memories were as fascinatingly shattered as mine. Drink boy.
The garden was filled with slow moving, ill talking, sincere laughing and odd tripping youngsters who were in ecstasy with themselves and each other. It was a marvelous sight that went in and out of focus, shaking, thrilling, wobbling, trembling, shivering. Drink boy. Kendra was looking gorgeous tonight, dancing under the stars in her white lace dress, her golden hair following her every move. There was no music, but somehow Kendra’s movements were all so… in unison. A graceful alliance of tender moving and passionate promise. My breathing was heavy as I caught Kendra’s eyes, she stopped in the midst of her dance and stared back at me. Remember, Kendra. Drink, boy. Sensuous vows of mutual recognition. Her gaze parted from mine and I followed it, wanting it back and curious for more. Sophie. She was here, standing on the porch, smiling that wicked half smile of hers. She was a vision of pure perfection, eternally elusive as the stars that embraced us and the moon that kissed us goodnight, a magical mystery as dark as the whiffs of night between the promises of tomorrow. My breathing stopped when our eyes met, oh Sophie… Hers was a beauty beyond compare, with her bright green eyes, her hazel hair, the small freckles on her cheeks, the tiny curling of the corner of her lips, the way her body moved weightless across the garden, such elegance, such sophistication. I lost sight of Kendra in my clouded mind, but Sophie’s being shined as bright as a thousand stars, and she moved slowly toward me, and I crawled back against the far corner of the walls, capturing her image in my mind. Drink boy. But the alcohol was gone. Sophie smiled and sat down against the wall I tried to push my body through.
“Sit with me Spencer Lance.” I looked at her and her gray sweater, even without trying she looked so marvelous. She had loosened the top buttons, showing a bit of cleavage, leaving the rest of her body to my imaginative fantasy. I let my body slide down the wall.
“I’m glad you decided to come,” she said, with her silk voice that made me shiver, “you make for good company.” I smiled, quite unknowing of her intentions, naively enjoying her attentions.
“How could I refuse,” I said. I craved for a new beer, I seemed to have forgotten how much fun parties were when one is drunk. Or at least intoxicated.

Lekker veel tekst al! +1 follower :slightly_smiling_face:

leuk verhaal en goed geschreven, ik volg! :slightly_smiling_face:

Ah thanks meiden! Ik zal morgen weer proberen een stukje te posten!