Landor perched upon Marielle’s windowsill. His silhouette, casted by the moon, danced up her bed sheet and rested on her lips. Landor took his masculine yet well pedicured hands and opened the window. As fast as dripping candle wax, Landor was by Marielle’s side.
Landor took his beautiful demonic hands and supported Marielle’s head. Her dull, lifeless, knotted hair fell between his fingers. His hand was strong like a hydraulic press but smooth and soft as cashmere. He brought her head up to meet with his.
Marielle still had not woken from her sleep. Her pale eyelids were caked with yellow deposits of gunk. Her lips were raw and chapped.
“Marielle, wake up,” whispered Landor like an angel faced devil.
“Landor, is it you?” Spoke Marielle.
The words clawed their way out from her throat. Marielle speaking voice could nicely be described as unpleasant. Her slumber did nothing to improve this, only make it thicker and scratchier.
“Oh yes it is, my dearest.” The moonlight illuminated his silken hair. He cupped her head and pressed it into his well muscled, hairless chest. It was strong like a Kevlar vest and warm and supportive like a childhood blanket.
“Oh Landor,” creaked Marielle.
It was moments like this that Marielle longed for. You see, Marielle was dangerously boring looking but it was her plainness that melted Landor’s cold exterior. She bordered on the point of being competitively bland. Her skin was devoid of color. Years spent in doors reading, daydreaming, avoiding social interaction left her complexion grayish.
Being that she was orphaned and raised by her butch lesbian grandmothers, she never learned how to style her hair or dress like an attractive woman.
Her hair at birth was a vibrant red but do to poor nutrition and lack of sunlight, it thinned out and turned into a muddled rusty mess.
Her body was thin but she still had boobs. Nice perky boobs. Big enough for a half demon hybrid, modeling looking type chap to want to smack around or get his tongue all over. But Marielle wore big sweaters and no one would know that or be able to tell until she developed some better self-esteem or lost her virginity to a demonic lothario.
Her hips were not birth baring. They were narrow and jagged. It would be best if she was not romanced from behind.
She left her mind in books always and wished that one day she would find a roguish, super powered bad boy that could easily get any women that he wanted, saw past her looks and loved her for who she was or could be.
What a miracle when she found his battered and bruised, naked body in her shower. What luck that after battling his arch nemesis, another demonic bad boy that was only attracted to physically beautiful and shallow girls, he would stumble upon her open bathroom window. Who would of known that the first aid book she studied extensively would come in handy when nursing him back to health.
“I wonder if I still have that Joy of Sex book,” she thought to herself. “I hope I have that chapter about Oral Yoga bookmarked.”
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And I'll pretend to read it. :)