She’s stunning. - And young. Too young.
Those eyes. Green. Or, are they blue? Hard to tell.
Long, lean legs. Blonde hair. Styled. Highlights. Probably spoiled brat, but…no. Too much wisdom, too much pain.
My God! She’s spotted me! She’s looking at me! Right at me! I’m caught!
She’ll know! People will see that I find her attractive. They’ll all know that I’m a woman who likes women! I must shield myself. My intentions. My thoughts.
My eyes! Must divert! Why can’t I control my damned eyes?
Where are her parents? For God’s sake, Darcy! Get hold of yourself! Is she even legal?
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Darcy Dirk stood outside the ebony, ornate doors of the Sanctuary of Our Loving Savior Fire Baptized Baptist Church, the slight wind gently blowing back her cream trench coat, making it billow around her and flap in a way that resembled an injured bird trying to regain it’s use of flight. Her blonde hair whipped about her face, curling toward her lips, helping to enhance her sultry looks. She wasn’t even aware of the picture that she made, there on the cobblestone - standing legs slightly apart, grey A-line skirt pulled tightly against the outline of her form. No, Darcy Dirk was having another of her common conversations with herself. Variations on a similar theme. What were other people thinking? What were other people thinking about HER?
She worried about her mode of dress, her fashion sense. About her mannerisms. Her face. Darcy Dirk worried a LOT about her face. The way that it looked on the outside - and that part of herself that she presented to people.
Lately, she’d been worried about more than was typical. She was getting a LOT of attention these days. It was quite unusual for a woman in her thirties to suddenly have people flocking to her. Now, when she was the age of the little blonde, sure! She’d have expected it!
These days, though, she felt as if she WERE the age of the little blonde. People kept coming up to her to have conversations. People that she didn’t know. Happy people. People who liked her. People who wanted nothing from her. At least, nothing that she could, as of yet, uncover. Rich people. Poor people. Old people. Yes, and some young ones.
This made Darcy Dirk worry. Darcy Dirk worried a lot. You see, Darcy Dirk was crazy.
She was not “having a good time on Saturday Night” kind of crazy. No. She was certifiable. Borderline, they called it. Borderline Personality Disorder. No personality of her own. No self of her own. Even her laugh was borrowed. She had to adopt traits from others. Sometimes, the others weren’t the cream of the crop.
So, she’d gotten herself a couple of divorces. A criminal record. A therapy bill that was in collections.
Thank goodness she’d not been able to have children! She’d have probably screwed that up too! At least, that’s what she thought. That’s what everyone expected of her. At least, THAT’S what she thought.
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