Prompt: "Ink" Titled: "Fiction Gone Wild"

"I wanted to write a love story today." I was grouching to Margo on the phone again. Margo liked to write too. She was the only person I knew who liked to write.

"Yeah? Why? Love stories, the bookstores are full of those." Margo never understood my desire for romance.

"Woman should want to improve their brains, not keep mooning around over men who only exist in fiction. Honestly, Cathryn, you know that." Her voice sounded irritated but in almost an affectionate way. This was one of those repetitive arguments that we had ever so often.

"I just wish sometimes that I knew enough to write a love story. I can imagine the feel of a guy's lips but, well, that's all it is, is imagination. Isn't it more fun to feel it than to write about it?" I know I'm sounding whiny but Margo's my friend. She always listens.

"I think you're making more of it than it is," she laughed.

"That's what you say. You've had lots of boyfriends." If we weren't on the phone, I might have shoved her. Playfully, of course. I think.

"Cathryn ... I'll admit. The first one is the best. That's when it all seems new and possible and forever. After that, after the first break-up ... it's harder to believe them, that's all. Basically, we all keep having relationships because we're trying to find the feeling of the first time all over again. But ... honestly, Hon, it just ... you can't get that back."

We spoke of who she was dating now and what he was like in bed. She talked about trying to set me up with his friends but, as usual, I didn't want that.

Finally, I could hear Margo yawn. It was late.

"Talk to you tomorrow?" My yawn answered hers. Why does one yawn always make you want to yawn too?

"Of course, girl. Soon as I get back from work. You go ahead and write that love story tomorrow. No one said fiction had to be based on experience."

Our good-byes echoed in my mind as I hung up.

Good-bye. I knew how to have relationships but only of the friendly sort. I was a "good old girl," you know, the girl in the group that guys didn't mind asking to help pick out a Christmas gift for their girlfriend. But, as far as I know, I had never been the one a guy longed after and tried to save up the courage to ask out. I was just there. Quiet, easily passed over.

I got up to brush my hair out before bed. Releasing it from the rubber band, it tumbled to my shoulders. Yep, still brown, just mousy old brown. Absently, I ran my brush through it, staring at my face. Was it my nose? Or my ... I did tend to freeze around guys. If they ever talked to me, it seemed my tongue would go dry and my head would nod or shake instead of waiting for my voice to finally form some words. By the time I thought of a flirty comeback, they had left to talk to another girl.

Sighing, I sat on my bed. Perhaps my greatest love would live on only through my fiction. Oh well. Some of those romance novelists make it big, right?

I lay down, pulling my ruffled comforter to my chin. Closing my eyes, I thought of lips, warm, tender lips firmly touching mine. And then he would ... oh why even bother thinking of this?

I turn to my side and think about Margo. Margo who probably right now was curled up with her boyfriend. I wasn't sure what she saw in him but once I looked at his hands and they did seem ... strong. I wonder how it feels when he grabs her ... argh, I'm never going to sleep.

I'd already turned my computer off for the night but, like any writer, paper covered my desk. I dug out a pen and, in curly, rounded letters of desire, I inked my dreams onto a page of college ruled paper.

"Oh Cathryn," he gasped, drawing his mouth back from hers. "I've never felt so overwhelmed. You are the one I've longed for all my life."

Cliched, yes, but sometimes, when it is 1 am and a girl is alone, cliches are all there is to keep her warm. Or cool her off. I'm not sure just which it is I need tonight. But it's something ...