Ramona & Gabriel Pt1 (Gabriel)

Authors note: This part was supposed to be the first part one but It was not published. The story is really told from Gabriels perspective but I decided it might be fun to add a little more info from Ramona’s alternate prospective; hence the alternate part one.. Again I repeat I am not a writer and I am not writing a book. I simply like reading and thought I’d give this a go for fun. So criticize if you must, I can take it 😉 If you are like me and can’t get emotionally invested in characters without a bit of back story then this might be for you. I’m not sure where this story is going but I will tell it from two perspectives in multiple parts. I will try to upload once a week. Not every part will have sex but we’ll get there.

Ramona was an East Coast goddess with long, dark, tangling, curly hair. I’d lost a ring once running my fingers through those soft, spirals. I took her to the beach once and I remember her scent mixed with the salt water breeze was like an aphrodisiac on steroids. And her body was always warm and soft to the touch, inside and out. Her face was strong and defined which meant she had a serious case of “resting bitch face” but her dark eyes gave away her thoughts.

I was 14 when her father hired me under the table to keep the mechanic shop clean and organized. She was this awkward, snotty girl with a bad Tootsie Pop addiction, wearing a Star Wars graphic T-shirt with badly drawn Sharpie tattoos going up her wrist. There was oil and grease and rusting tools but there were sticky sucker wrappers everywhere. She would come in and sit in her dad’s office after school, walk around and touch things, and bother the shit out of Tim with frequent conversation, though he was polite about it. And everywhere she went she left a colorful candy wrapper.

After a long hot day of organizing tools, cleaning out the fluids stock and picking up about 20 of those candy wrappers, including some behind the mini fridge that were probably from months ago, I decided I would say something.

“Ramona. Do you know where the trash can is?” I asked interrupting her current conversation with Tim. She turned and looked at me through narrowed eyes, sensing the set up.

“Yep.” She said pointing to the one beside me with her shiny orange tootsie.

“So, why is it that your trash never ends up in one of them?” I asked, irritated.