bakaikarus

Fifteen, she thinks, is such a tender age, all awkward growing bones and childish arrogance and rose-tinted views of the world. He's only fifteen when he asks her. He asks her for knowledge he isn't ready for, for experience he doesn't have, for something far beyond his years. And she doesn't know it then, but she falls a little bit in love. She thinks about showing him sometimes, about what might happen if she says yes. She wonders what it would be like to teach him. What it would be like to bring that young, nervous mouth to hers and feel his heartbeat stumble and his breathing waver. She pictures him biting his lip, cheeks stained pink

You were all legs and lopsided grins With careful, deliberate, jaunty steps Those deviant, curious, nymphet eyes And wonderful, wonderful skin A tongue most sharp, a biting wit A flap, a wave of your slender hand And then roll your eyes and merely sigh And make known your demand Placating, you beg, you want, you need I spoil you silly with that and more You smirk and let live so that I might give For know that I always agreed Oh sweet, my sweet, my kiddopie Where will you go, where will you fly? Wherefore must thou increase the speed Of poor old Father Time? My darling, my dear, what have you done? Your spell has entrapped me