Will
11:02 p.m. New World Theater. Goshen, Indiana. Friday, March 17, 2000.
I am listening to Will, because he is my friend, and he is talking to me, and he deserves that much respect and attention. However, my thoughts keep drifting around his face, over his smooth cheeks, across his chin, and up around those sweet blue eyes.
I try to focus on what he is saying but it's coming out of his awkward and adorable mouth with thick lips, and my mind escapes once more, traveling down his neck to his broad shoulders, and the whole of his tall, lean frame.
I have to giggle because I can not focus on anything he is saying. I keep gravitating to this pure, animal-like attraction to his body. There is no escape for thoughts like these, so the only outlet is giggling and being unable to explain why I am doing so.
He continues talking after attempting to find the source of my laughter, and I resolve to listen and focus on my friend. He has probably only spoken three words, and there go my eyes again....To that damned gray shirt that's hanging open a couple of buttons, revealing soft, smooth skin. I cringe and try not to giggle, as my eyes rest there a while, and then move back to his shoulders, where an equally damned white v-neck T-shirt keeps getting bunched up between his neck and the gray shirt. I can't stand it, and I giggle all over again.
And the entire process continues until they turn the lights out and the play starts again.
