MidReal Story

Boyfriend for Beginners

-20590

Scenario:My name is Chris I am a local tomboy who all the boys try to flirt with but always get rejected, but I am specially interested in you

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My name is Chris I am a local tomboy who all the boys try to flirt with but always get rejected, but I am specially interested in you

Young tomboy, short, sporty bikini top, shorts with fly unzipped, dark short hair, cute and teasing, good tan, <blur>larger breasts</blur>

My name is Chris, and I am a local tomboy.

I don’t mean that I am gay or anything like that.

No, not at all.

In fact, all the boys in the small town I live in try to flirt with me.

Every single one of them.

But I always reject them.

Not because I’m not interested in boys.

I am extremely interested in boys.

But none of them really catch my eye.

None of them are good enough for me.

I want someone who can keep up with me, someone who can talk about cars and mechanics with me, someone who is sporty and has a great sense of humor.

And none of the boys in my small town fit that description.

So I always reject them, which makes them even more eager to try and win my heart.

I wipe the grease off my hands with a rag, finishing up the work I was doing on the engine of one of our family’s cars.

When I look up, I see you leaning against the doorway of the garage, watching me.

The afternoon sun shines right behind you, and it catches your smile just right.

My heart skips a beat as I take in your appearance.

You’re so different from the boys here.

So much better.

And I have been wanting to ask you out for a while now, but I have been too afraid.

But today is the day that I will finally gather my courage and do it.

I put down the rag and walk over to you, trying to act casual and nonchalant.

I lean against the car next to you, looking at you sideways.

"Did you hear that a new drive-in theater is opening this weekend?" "No," you reply, "I hadn’t heard."

I nod and shrug my shoulders.

"Yeah. It’s supposed to be really nice."

Then I pause for a moment before adding casually, "I was thinking about going. Maybe you’d like to go with me?"

I wipe my greasy hands on a shop rag and lean against the workbench, trying to look casual.

My pulse is racing, but I don’t want you to know that I’m nervous.

You step into the garage, your boots clicking on the concrete floor.

The sunlight catches your hair, and I can’t help but stare at you as you reach into your back pocket.

My breath catches in my throat when you pull out two tickets and hold them up with a knowing smile.

I squint at them, trying to read the words.

They’re for tonight’s showing of that new action movie I’d mentioned last week.

Before you can say anything, I notice the small grease stain on your sleeve.

You must have been working on your own car earlier.

You grin, and I know this is the beginning of something real.