Polaroid of a Girl [George Daniel]

I Just Love How He Stares At Me, You Know?

Not edited and late as hell. I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while, I've had a million and one things going on. Love you all, please comment and vote and put a smile on my face.

The summer night air was thick and hot, no cool breeze to provide any comfort for George and Charis Daniel as they walked home from Mary Jane Graham's birthday party. The sun had been set for about an hour, and the atmosphere was still violently warm. Though his house was quite literally across the street, George felt so far away from home.

"I think she has a little crush on you," Charis said, her hand yearning to hold her husband's, but he was walking with his own hands in the jockets of his jeans.

"Hmm?" George asked her, his thoughts blurry and quick, skipping from one to the next without any proper ending.

So much had happened today, and George was very, very tired. From this morning, when he and Mary Jane had touched themselves and got lost in each other's eyes. And this evening, when George and his wife had went to Mary Jane's birthday party. The girl had been surprisingly well-behaved, give or take a few slightly suspicious glances and flirtacious statements. It was George who was practically drooling over her; the way she smiled when she opened all of her gifts, how beauitful she looked behind the candles of her birthday cake, how she went for a dip in the pool and then rested on the sun lounger, her legs parting and the wet fabric of her bikini bottoms clinging gorgeously to the lips of her cunt.

"Mary Jane," Charis said.

"Oh," George cleared his throat, "you think?"

George knew firsthand of Mary Janes "crush" on him, and it was growing into more of an obsession than a crush, honestly. Also, for the sake of continuing honesty, George had to admit he was a bit obsessed with the blonde girl as well.

"Come on, honey," Charis pleaded with her husband to be more observant. "She stares at you all the time. And just---I don't know, Danes. How she speaks to you is just a bit much."

"What do you mean how she speaks to me?" George asked, though he knew very well what his wife was talking about.

He considered himself pretty lucky that the worst thing that happened was Mary Jane commenting that he looked good in yellow, and that, while George was staring at her like a rabid dog, her stepfather was staring at George very carefully.

Charis shrugged, all of her insecurities making her feelings seem unjustified, even with how the girl had flirted with her husband. Maybe she was over-thinking things again. Of course, any teenage girl would develop a little crush on her husband. He was handsome and brilliant and charismatic, and the deep, English accent of his was the cherry on top. Perhaps she was being a bit dramatic about it all, though she was trying to tame her feelings with an even tone of voice and a forced smile.

Only, she had caught George, more than once, staring at Mary Jane. It was almost as if he didn't care at all who was watching him. His dark eyes were smoldering and lustful, and though there were only a few setences exchanged between George and Mary Jane, their interactions were enough to make Charis definitely uneasy.

"She's just fliracious, that's all," Charis summarized all of her feelings into a vague statement.

George nodded passively as the two walked up their driveway, a 24-by-24 neat block of cement between the pretty green grasses and all the flowers of Aster Lane. There were rose bushes in front of their house, six of them to be exact. George did not have a greent thumb, but the Daniels had inhereited them from the previous owners and Charis was tending to them well.

Charis slid from her summery sandals and sat them down neatly at the rug of the front door. George did the same with his boots, and then clicked on the television to watch an episode of Family Feud, praying to clear his head of Mary Jane, and that his wife would do the same.