Pink Dress
Pink Dress lgbtq stories

justlexical read my stories @
Autoplay OFF   •   2 years ago
I’ve always hated my father

Pink Dress

I’ve always hated my father.

I hated his last name, and the fact that I can’t get rid of it no matter how many times I asked my mom to just change it to hers.

They’d laugh at me, thinking I’m just being an irritable child with nothing else to do. So, having my feelings invalidated, I grew up to hate school; I grew up hating my life.

I spent most of my early childhood being homeschooled with my baby brother, because I was a weak child with overprotective parents.

It was only when I turned 10 that they decided to let me experience a normal life in a normal school. I was excited back then. I thought everything about school was nice and fun.

I picked my own shoes, brushed my own hair, and even asked my mother non-stop how to make friends. She was worried about me, but I think my over-excitement eased her a little bit.

I remember my first day: everyone was nice to me, they all talked to me like I was a foreign celebrity.

I actually thought somehow I really was! The second day was just like that too, the third and the fourth as well. I was happy, until the teacher introduced another new student to the class.

“She’s pretty” is what I thought back then, and it’s what I still think now. She looked like the girl on my favorite shampoo commercial with her long, black hair, and dimples when she smiles.

She sat beside me.

All the boys started following her around trying to make her theirs, and the girls all wanted to be her friends. Me? I became her best friend. Happy would be an understatement.

I was so proud of myself because I became her closest friend. We’d talk about random things, eat together during our lunch time, and even play together at home.

She liked dancing, while I liked reading books and studying, but those things didn’t stop us from being best friends.

She would teach me how to dress up, and I’d help her study the things she couldn’t understand on her own.

After a while, the boys started teasing her, and jealous girls would call her names. I learned how to use petty tricks to get back at them.

Most of the time, however, we’d just laugh and ignore them to avoid wasting our precious time.

Still, I trained myself to be her bodyguard because while she was very active, she was still just a weak little girl. Not physically like me, but emotionally fragile.

By 9th grade, we were still seatmates. We’d still talk, but it was mostly about school stuff. We would never hang out or talk about boys and make-up, not anymore. We both changed a lot.

She became a narcissist, who thought she was the prettiest girl in our school while hanging out with those like her.

She’d change boyfriends every month, and date older ones too, like high school students from the nearby schools.

I stopped talking to her when she had her first boyfriend. He was a basketball player, a real jerk if you ask me.

She was obsessed with him, crying to me whenever they fought about him constantly cheating on her. No matter what I said, she forgave him as soon as he would give her flowers and other gifts.

That cycle went on and on until I just got tired of it. I stopped answering her knock on my door.

She started saying I was just jealous of her because she’s pretty, and her douche of a boyfriend liked her. She became a bitch and started bad-mouthing me.

During the rest of high school, I only saw her a few times. She would hang out with her new boyfriend and his friends at our school.

She skipped her classes, and even fought with other girls that were rumored to be flirting with “her guy”.

I didn’t know how violent she was until I saw her grab someone by the hair, and drag the girl’s body on the hallway floor. I was so disappointed in what she had become.

For some reason, I was hurt.

Three weeks before graduation, it was surprisingly rainy.

I never brought umbrella since it doesn’t rain much in my town but the rain was kinda heavy and my research papers are all inside my bag.

I haven’t passed them yet because one of my subject teachers were absent, probably enjoyed the weather at home with coffee and sex with her boyfriend who was also absent.

Someone came to me as I was waiting for my mom to pick me up, I texted her earlier so I knew she would come.

The girl offered to share her umbrella with me but I refused since I’m already waiting for someone.

The girl told me that I would have to wait two more hours if I insist on waiting for my mom, I looked up at her… she was familiar.

She walked me home and I asked her to stay inside for a bit and she did.

It was awkward at first but when we started talking about the past, it was as if nothing had changed.

She was still the sweet girl I’ve known before, but she had become fiercer and smarter while I’m still the nerdy me.

She told me she broke up with John (the guy from my school) and she was on her way to ruin his car, but she saw me and decided to just walk me home than to be a psychotic little bitch. I laughed.

She said she wanted to see my room, so I took her upstairs just like I wouldn’t normally do with other people. It hadn’t changed much, she said and I agreed.

I really liked the arrangement of my room, there was no reason to change it. And she and I designed it, I wanted it to stay like that… unlike our friendship that changed in a lot of ways.

She told me to sit on the bed where she’s already sitting, so I did.

“Do you remember what I told you every time that I was here?” she asked, staring straight at me. I noticed her squinty brown eyes, nailed in my direction, it’s as if she’s looking through me.

I looked away and nodded. She said she wanted to fill my room with babies, babies we would make when we grow older. It was stupid and childish, we are both girls, how can we even make a baby?

She moved closer to me, breathing heavily through her open mouth. I had to stare at those lips, I had to notice how soft they looked and how they were almost speaking to me.

And they were actually talking to me. “I still want to do it,” I heard them say. I didn’t realize what she said and had no time to comprehend when her lips landed on mine.

I was surprised, mortified, I was excited and aroused. We were both wet and cold but we were sweaty and sloppy. I wish she would’ve stayed longer to cuddle.

I didn’t hear from her again after that day. I went to a university hundreds of miles away from our town.

I was broken-hearted, I felt stupid and dirty but I also felt like I found myself while I was moaning her name.

I’ve never felt so good when she was kissing every hidden part of my skin, and she made me feel complete when I was tired and powerless beneath her. It was divine.

In my second year in college, I saw her standing in front of my apartment. She called my name, she said she missed me and that… that… I don’t remember what she said next.

What I remember is the sound of her breathing while she was sleeping next to me.

Her angelic face was so beautiful, her eyelashes are curled up perfectly, cheeks are blushing and her skin is pale and flawless. I knew I had to go down on her.

She stayed with me for a week. A full week of bliss, morning breakfast and dates.

She would always tell me that she wanted to make babies with me, and we always ended up making weird noises instead. I thought that was my happily ever after, I was happy and in love.

But she told me she needed to go, she didn’t tell me where and when she’ll come back, so I didn’t ask any further.

She texted me when she left, she said she had fun and that I’m a real woman now, at least a better one than before. It was saddening, but I smiled at the thought of that one whole week.

She would visit me often during my remaining college years, she’d stay for the night, for days and even for weeks sometimes.

She never told me what she has been doing with her life, she never told me where she went whenever she left.

I knew she was hiding something from me, but it didn’t matter to me because she’s right there with me, screaming my name while begging me to keep on doing whatever I’m doing.

A year after I graduated, we lost contact with each other. I got busy with my work and almost had no time to mess around, but some nights I wondered were she was, what she’s doing.

I thought about how empty my bed feels without her, I thought about how soft and warm her body was.

She suddenly showed up outside my workplace one day. We went to drink coffee on a nearby shop and asked how each other are doing. I was doing fine, we both said.

She fell into silent, I had the opportunity to ask where she had been. She didn’t answer me, instead she handed me a letter… an invitation.

I cried that night. Harder than the cries I had when I found out she was dating Drake or when she said I was only using her to have friends and I never really cared for her.

I cried until dawn, until my eyes gave up on me and just decided to sleep and forget the pain for a moment. When I woke up, I had no tears left but my heart was still breaking.

I would cry every night from a broken heart and smile during the day with dry eyes.

She had a boyfriend from the beginning. She also had a daughter.

She hated how miserable her life was with her boyfriend, she hated having a baby with him, she hated him, so she would run away from home and went to me.

She used me to get away from her problems and then left me when she missed her family.

I was never the person she loved, I was merely a toy she used to entertain herself when her parents wouldn’t give her attention. It hurts.

She should’ve just disappeared and never apologized to me.

Now I stand in front of the altar, wearing a pretty pink dress and had someone put make-up on me. Although I’m smiling, I’m dying inside… hating my father.

Because of him, because of his surname, because we had the same first letter of our surname, she became my seatmate. And it all started with that.

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