I'm sitting on the lawn chair on the back porch reading a second hand paper back romance novel. It's early in the afternoon, the scorching sun seems almost able to pierce through our decades old leaky roof above the porch. The porch opens to a fence-less backyard, with its long, burned golden grasses, that it's not hard for one to figure the house owner doesn't care too much for it. I shouldn't say it's fence-less. There was a fence, at least according to my childhood memory, and I can still spot the remains of it if I'm forced to find it. What had happened to the fence I could not recall, but with so little belongings that we possess in the house, my father did not bother, nor could he afford, to put up a new one.
The lack of fence or any wall to the open road has always been tormenting me. My father punishes me in an unusual way. He likes to spank me, bare bottom, across his laps. What's even worse is he enjoys disciplining on the back porch. He even lays a couple paddles on the porch for easy access. I thought he would stop when I'm blossoming to a woman, or I wish so when I spotted my first strand of pubic hair, but he did not. He still treats me as if I were 5 years old. Luckily I am mild-tempered, don't get into much trouble and do well in school. So on average I've only been punished a few times a year for my uncontrollable puberty emotional outbursts. Although sometimes I wonder if I am spanked more often, the embarrassment of sticking my bare bottom in the open air on my own father's laps would lessen.
I've also been lucky that few have spotted me in my awkward position, except for a few drive-bys. Our closest neighbor is at least half a mile away. The backyard extends to a sand paved road, and across the ill defined edge there stood a small city botanical garden, or it used to be. Some years ago the garden was closed because of the city budget deficit. Since about a year ago, however, we could see and hear construction going on in the garden. Rumors have that the city sold the lot to a rich family and rezoned it to residential.
The new owner of the lot renovated the fence that used to surround the garden, and sprinkled stone columns every few feet in between. Curiously enough, they built a gate facing the direction of our house, not directly, but about 20 feet off to the west. I suppose they want easy access to the back road? That makes me uneasy, thinking that our new neighbor would spot me when... I refuse to dwell on that thought.
I've grown so used to the construction noises so much that I have to remind myself to notice that the noises have stopped for a few days. The book is so enticing that after a while, I was completely engulfed into the story, the handsome rebellious romantic prince, and the blonde green-eyed beauty, that I didn't hear a car pulling up to the back gate of that "estate". When I look up from the book, needing a break from the ecstasy of the fictitious sex scene that made me wet and antsy, I see there's a white sports car parked by the gate. How long has the car been there I have no idea. The car is so beautiful, and I've never seen such model in this neighborhood. I am compelled to put down the book and half run to the car for a closer look.
It's a Mercedes-Benz convertible with the top pulled down. I'm sure if I were a boy I would know what type and model it is, but to a 16-year old girl, it's just a beautiful, 2-door sports car, and expensive if I must add. In this neighborhood, we just don't see luxury foreign cars all that much. Just as I am about to touch the driver side door like the spellbound sleeping beauty and the spindle, I am startled by the footsteps coming toward me and the car. I quickly turned around, blushed, embarrassed for my obvious admiration for the car.
A tall, slender young girl, probably older than me but can't be over 20, with her khaki colored cap, faded blue jeans and a casual, although well fitted and designed t-shirt, makes me doubt if she's the owner of this luxury car. As she getting closer, her cheerful long black pony tail wags with her every step, I see her stunningly beautiful face and I have to tell myself to keep breathing. She's Asian, to my surprise, I guess because of her height, around 5'9" or so. Her face is small and the chin pointy; her skin is very pale, which contrasts her long dark eyebrows to a stunning perfection, but gives away a subtle melancholy. Her lips are full, delicately defined, and is the color of a strawberry without any makeup. Her pointy nose is so craftily sculptured that Venus would be jealous of her. Lastly, her eyes, the most beautiful part on her face amidst all other goddess-like features, her big, almond shaped eyes with two rows of black lashes batting like butterflies' wings, frame her amber-brown eyes. We have a few Asian kids in school, and I've never seen their eye colors to be so light. It somehow makes sense on her pale skin though.
Her strawberry lips curve slightly upward now, revealing a smile. I try my best to smile back and not to look like a tongue-tied idiot. Despite her warming smile, I still see the melancholy between her brows and eyes. She stretches out her hand, "Hi, I'm Chloe. You must be the neighbor?" Her chin points to the direction or our shabby home.
"Um, y...yeah.
