Throwaway account because of the usual reasons. Go to “X-X-X-X” to get to the part you’re probably here for anyway, but I do hope you read my story completely. This is obviously a fond reminisce. Some time ago.
I had known Sarah (not her real name) since high school. I had admired her from afar, perhaps, but we most definitely ran in different circles. She was more Dolce & Gabbana; I was more Dungeons & Dragons. Her: Stylish. Popular, though never obnoxiously so. Me: Borderline obese. Bad skin. Attitude and self-esteem to match.
As one might expect, a lot of things change in a decade-plus. When we had both returned to our hometown, she grew more down-to-earth and her chosen uniform went from DKNY to Doc Martens and sundresses. (A kind of new trademark for her.) Her body — winner of our high school yearbook’s “Best Physique” category, which I’m not sure one could get away with in these politically correct times — had only become more desirable over the years. Shapely, curvy and strong, particularly her long legs newly toned from years enjoying a relatively new hobby, hiking. Radiant, medium-length, sorrel brown hair. She had a confidence that now came from *within*, rather than relying on what *others* thought of her.