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From Fortnite to Hearthstone and everything in-between, we have you covered with our gaming tips and guides. Cultured Vultures as we bring you some of the biggest news from the world of wrestling. She blinked her eyes against the gray light that seeped in through the rain-streaked window, the dream quickly slipping away, and let her vision focus on the familiar surroundings of the bedroom in her tiny apartment.
The prints of Tamora De Lempicka paintings tacked to the wall, now only sleek lines of flesh and chrome in the pale morning light. Her laptop open on the desk in the dark, hazy corner, surrounded by a clutter of notebooks and oversize art books. The rain pummeled down against the window in a steady beat as she stretched and slowly pulled herself out of Tall strong women stories, padding barefoot over the cold floor to the bathroom.
She showered, brushed her teeth, and dressed. She puckered her lips in the mirror and coated them with candy-apple red lipstick, applied her mascara and eye shadow, and busied herself for class, gathering up her notebooks and laptop, pulling on a black overcoat and black beret before wrapping herself up into a purple scarf and ducking out into the rain, heading off for the campus, the dream and whatever it had meant as gone from her mind as gone can be. But she had somehow become friends with her on Facebook. Now she knew so much about this woman. Too much. Favorite group: Cold Play.
Favorite Drink: Cosmopolitan with a twist of orange peel. Melody knew that she had vacationed in Hawaii with her sister this winter. That she was taking the bar exam in the spring. And that she was still single. How had it happened? Well, one night, after maybe one too many glasses of Petite Sirah, when the names and influences of lesser known Dutch masters became a blur in her mind, she logged onto Facebook to get away from it all for a moment and suddenly that familiar name had appeared on the screen.
She immediately recognized the name and froze for a moment, the wine heavy in her belly and swimming in her head. And then, with an icy sensation of thrill and shame, she hit the friend request icon. Had lived Tall strong women stories her boyfriend Paul. Had slept with and shared a life with and awoke next to.
There was her life opened up on the screen for Melody to scrutinize and examine, not unlike a painting, deciphering its themes, history and hidden secrets. She knew he would never notice. He rarely went on Facebook and then it was just to check out some ridiculous from Maxim or The Vine his buddies had shared for everyone to guffaw over. Paul was a bartender but he still considered himself a law student. He was just taking a little sabbaticalhe would explain, with that big smile, wiping the bar down with a white dish rag he then threw over his shoulder, t o save up some cash and get his shit together.
But Melody had never seen any effort by him to re-enroll. Melody had met Paul within her first week of moving to Davis and her mother had immediately told her on their weekly two-hour Sunday phone call that it was a mistake to get a boyfriend so early. She had just moved from Baltimore to start an MFA program in art history, on a scholarship, so she had to keep her grades up, and she knew no one at the school or in town.
Get to know the town, your teachers. She would do whatever he wanted. Even if it was a mistake. He was just so tall. And so was she. You see, Melody was a tall girl. Some would even say beautiful, with chiseled cheek bones, large, almond-shaped hazel eyes framed in long, dark lashes, thick chestnut hair that fell down and spread over her shoulders in perfect ringlets with Betty bangs across her forehead. But she was tall. Very tall. Six foot three and a half. She was Tall strong women stories and so was Paul. He was a good six foot six. Maybe even six foot six and a quarter she told herself it was the art scholar in her that made her notice these details.
She could actually look up at him and this pleased her immeasurably. To just be able to tilt her head back and gaze upwards into his downturned face: this was something she had always wanted from a man. To put her cheek against his chest and draw herself to him as he wrapped his long arms around her and kissed the top of her head.
Always before it had been the other way around, her enveloping a boy with her height and lankiness, pulling him in and looking down upon him as he drew himself to her. It left her feeling not like a lover but a mother, a protector, someone would run to, crying, in times of trouble.
She wanted to be the one who was held, rocked, caressed, and protected. She always felt isolated by her height both physically and mentally. It challenged her perspective, having to look down, peering over he, and she often found herself hunching or squatting a little, trying to lower herself, to put herself at the same level as the people around her. At the movies she always felt guilty, like she was blocking the person behind her and she would slide down in her seat, often leaving the theater with a cramped, sore back.
But with him it was different. Together their height lent her a feeling of power and even superiority. People were always saying how good they looked together. What a striking couple you two make. They went to parties and gazed out over the crowd, able to see all: who was where, who came, who left, who never moved but sat in the corner trying to smile but looking so alone. And of course the sex was incredible.
To not feel like this mammoth monster, a massive parasite feeding on some small creature. To be able to be held, and held down. To give in to his dominance and submit the way she could never truly do to the men who were always smaller than her, and weaker. But she wondered if Tall strong women stories was really meant to be. If it would last. Wondered and sometimes fretted. Until recently she had always felt gangly and clumsy.
She hated running. She liked to walk, to stroll, slowly and leisurely, so she could look out into the distance and get lost in her surroundings. Paul was into sports: high school baseball and track champ. Playing basketball with his friends and professors every weekend when he was an undergraduate.
He was still on a local softball league. Her dad and her brother had been big football fans and that had always been their thing, something she had never even wanted to be a part of. Art was her thing, the thing that made her different, that her parents prided her on and always mentioned when they spoke about her. Our daughter Melody, the artist. Well, Melody is in art school with a full scholarship. Now Melody wants to pursue a career as a museum curator and is getting her Masters in art history.
She would try to play along but it just felt Tall strong women stories fake. Did she love football the way he did? Did she wear a jersey on game days? Did she scream and cheer and leap into the air at an interception or touchdown? An unfocused coldness, as if he were distracted by something in the distance. It was late when they got to their camping spot and they had leisurely set up the tent, made a fire, and drank some wine.
It was a warm, moonless night and the stars shimmered above them as they sipped Pinot noir and laughed over nothing. When they had finally gone into the tent, stumbling and giggling from too much wine, he had made love to her sweetly, holding her tenderly, and she had fallen asleep entwined in those big arms of his.
But in the morning he was different. He was up early and ready to go. Re-tying his hiking boots tighter and tighter as she sipped her Earl Gray tea, struggling with a foggy and slightly aching head. At first she had been happy to have someone whose gait and stride could match her own, his long legs stomping down the thin trail. But he never seemed to let up, to take in the scene, the beauty of this magnificent place, the towering Firs and steep rock faces. She called to him to slow down and when he turned to her she had seen it: that cold distance in his eyes.
Worried something was wrong, she asked him what he was thinking about. He shook his head, breathing heavily, not meeting her eyes. He stared past her, out into the distance of the clear sky. She needed something warm, soft and comforting, something to wrap herself into when she stepped naked from the humid heat of the shower into the frigid air of her apartment. She wanted to go on Facebook, wanted to see what Aimee was up to.
But she resisted the urge. She even thought about unplugging the internet and finishing her paper offline so the temptation would be gone.
Then, with an inward sigh and the euphoric rush of guilt she assumed she probably shared with drug addicts and constant masturbators, Melody clicked on the Facebook icon. Pictures of cats and puppies in strange places and poses her sister insisted on sharing.
Selfies of her brother dangling from a ski lift, a snow covered mountain in the distance. Foodie s. Art s. And then, there it was: Aimee Guinness was tagged in this photo. Melody blew air through her teeth and clicked to enlarge the photo, studying it while at the same time trying to reason with a guilty flush of anxiety.
They were engaged after allright? But he never mentioned her. Scared that if she pushed him too far he would grow angry. Maybe even leave her. And then she would have to settle for someone else. Someone shorter. Melody squinted and focused hard on the enlarged photo.
It was a grainy selfie of three girls in a barroom, obviously done on an older, cheap phone. She recognized Aimee right away as the girl on the far left, head cocked sideways, that coy grin Melody had learned to recognize. What were they laughing at? Melody wondered.
She found herself staring at it with the same quiet intensity she used to study paintings.Tall strong women stories
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