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Sundrop: April 2022

I’m so busy thinking to myself about what a lovely time I’ve just had, as I walk along the street, a bird shits on my head. That’s all it can be, a colossal thud against the crown of my head that feels like it rattles my whole body from the impact. Of course, it can’t possibly be that hard and yet, it felt painful.

Absolutely shocked and startled, stopping me in my tracks. I bring my hand up to check but caught myself at the last moment, I almost ended up with shit on my hand and that… I laugh out loud, just standing there.

I’d had such a great time on this little date this morning and I wasn’t paying attention. My hair of course had been washed and styled, now, I was having to go home and immediately wash it again. My makeup would most likely get ruined. I’d be better going in and showering fully, just taking my makeup off and cleaning my face too. What a mess, what a disaster.

Isn’t a bird shitting on your head supposed to be a sign of good luck? I believe that to be true, I remember being told that at some point or another. I would choose to take it as good luck because honestly, why not? The date had gone well, and I believe that this is it. It was so much better than that last first date I’d been on. However, at least I’d fucked that guy. Cole made no attempt to touch me at all.

If my confidence lacked, I’d worry he wasn’t interested in me and yet his messages always contradict that. He is attracted to me, what he has seen of my body has sent him wild. I can tell that from his replies, the speed he messages back. Then there is the physical evidence, the constant hard-ons, the pictures of how erect his cock is. The videos he’s sent of himself while thinking of me, touching himself and wishing he was touching me. Wishing he was inside of me. I’m daydreaming about him being inside of me right now.

Downside about a date not wanting to fuck, I am going to have to go home and fuck myself because I am horny. After a shower of course, I’m going to have to get rid of this bird shit in my hair before I do anything else.

I can tend to examine everything around me; from people’s patterns of breathing to their mannerisms. I can usually psychoanalyse anyone, but I told myself I would respect Cole. I would let this develop naturally and not push things to go faster than they should. I am impatient, I always have been, but I was determined not to rush. I wanted him to set the pace, and I wanted to let him lead. I wanted to feel safe enough to allow him to lead.

I took a few deep breaths feeling extremely gross with what felt like a mountain of bird shit on my head. Right enough, I was just past a lamppost with a bloody fat seagull perched atop. Fucking bird, I hate birds so much.

Still, today was a new day and I was a new serial killing girlie. Someone who wouldn't get angry at a random bird above me. It shit on me; it’s not the worst thing that has happened to me.

It is a sign of good luck, of all the love and wonder that will rain down on me now that Cole and I are together. Well, we aren't properly together but soon, this is just a first date.

I pull out my phone and laugh again. I start walking to my house. I can now see my front door and my windows and my gate. I like my little house; it’s nothing special but it’s mine and it’s my safe place. Somewhere I don’t have to pretend to others, I can breathe without feeling eyes on me all the time.

I walk along the path and the sun is bearing down on me the way I like. Maybe, I’ll go into the garden and dig up the rest of that flowerbed in the back. It was overgrown when I first moved in, badly and I didn’t think I’d be able to do the work myself. It’s funny how digging up a flowerbed, no matter how deep the roots of the bushes and flowers go, is awfully good physical activity. I can rage dig, using up all the angry force that is just sitting, waiting for release under my skin.

I told Cole recently that I wanted to learn how to grow potatoes. He was interested, he asked me questions and I told him about my plans for the garden. The food I’d learn to grow. I had always wanted to be able to do these things myself, to learn and to grow food and plants. I’d love to be able to grow roses, but I know they require a level of care I’m not sure I could commit to.

I’ve never had a garden like this myself, the possibilities of normality are… Nice. It reminds me of my grandad and his garden. Not my mother’s garden though, never my mother’s garden. Maybe that's where all the nightmares originated from. The wolves that would chase me each night. Maybe.

I walk home, taking out my phone and checking my hair with the camera and just as I had suspected there is a great big dollop of bird shit on my head. Cac, I say out loud in the dialect my grandad taught me as a child. Cac and sneachd are the only two words I remember from sitting in front of his chair at the fireplace and him telling me of his life growing up on the Islands. I think about visiting, they are all long dead now, but I had always wanted to see the places he had spoken fondly and vividly of.

Laughing at my hair and my unluckiness of having to do any hair again, I open the messaging app and send a quick,

Me: Hey, I had fun today. If you’d like to, I’d like to do it again

I put my phone back into my bag and searched for the key with the purple pompom keychain. Before I get a chance to slide the key into the lock, I feel a buzz.

Cole: Me too, yes, I’d like that

I smile and make my way in doors, shutting and locking the door behind me. I can hear music playing, the kind I hear in my head and not out loud. It’s an orchestra; something slow and impactful, but not remorseful. This is a celebration of life, of love. It’s a slow start but it’s mighty by the crescendo.

I did have fun; I did enjoy spending time with him. It was a silly, cute little date, a quiet cafe and sugary drinks. He had a caramel Frappuccino, and I had a cookie and cream one. We sat facing one another at this small table. I could feel the sizzle between us.

I was nervous, I knew my face was red and I was more covered up than I had suggested by the messages we’ve been sending. He’s already seen my tits in their full glory. I can’t wait for him to see them in person while he touches and licks them like he has gone on at length about how much he wants to.

He was sweet, attentive and asked me lots of questions about myself. He already knows a lot but we’re getting back to knowing one another. A lot has changed for both of us after all. Although he kept leaning closer to me, he never touched me. That did bother me, but I’ll respect his boundaries. Even when we first saw one another, I expected at least a hug. It’s ok, I’m quite a handsy person, he just might not be anymore. I try not to think about all the times in the past he had touched me, placed a hand on my arm or my lower back, the occasional hug. He was never averse to touch but I will respect him wanting to take things slowly.

Even if his messages suggest differently. I hear another buzz.

Cole: Btw you looked beautiful today

I squeal out loud, almost stopping and bouncing on the spot in absolute joy.

Cole: I could have done with seeing more of your tits though

Cheeky fucking bastard. Just as well he is cute. My dress is casual, a light grey probably more grown up than he’s used to with me. At least I did wear something nice, I could have turned up in my pjs, or jeans and a fucking t-shirt which is probably more what he would have expected.

I used to be someone who wore either super casual stuff like t-shirt and jeans or would be dressed up; dresses and fully made up. There was never any in-between with me in the past.

These last few years I’ve become more casual over time; I’m a joggers or shorts and baggy t-shirt person now. I barely wear makeup anymore, too many times of being bullied for wearing fun makeup which Graham used to always tell me, “Looked bad.” Once I enjoyed doing elaborate designs of eyeliner, using glitter every day. However, Graham would tell me things like blue eyeshadow didn’t suit me because it made me “look like Pat Butcher.”

It didn’t bother me to begin with but over years? Being told I was ugly and eventually him controlling my finances so much that I didn’t have access to money to buy things for myself? That he bought the makeup he wanted me to wear. What he thought a woman should look like.

Weirdly enough, that seemed to be a carbon copy of what his mother looked like. For all my sexual and daddy issues, I have never wanted to fuck my father. I do judge him for wanting to fuck his mother.

However, I had gotten out of the routine of buying interesting makeup, so I wondered if maybe I could start to have fun with it again.