Scott
Sweet home Alabama, where the skies are so blue... Sweet home Alabama, Lord, I'm coming home to you...
Sweet home Vancouver was more like it - and I wasn't coming home. No, instead I was kept in this stuffy old room, within a stuffy old building, waited on by stuffy old nurses.
Well, with the exception of Ana, of course. But she was just the candy stripe volunteer girl, and only came on Thursdays, which were usually my therapy days. I've caught her a few times, when my sessions ended early, but she never paid me much mind. Who would after all? Especially someone as beautiful as she is - she wants nothing to do with a strung out loser like me.
If I play my cards right, I can sometimes get her to walk me down to the cafe, but other than that, nothing. Besides, that's her JOB. I'm nothing but a blur in her day that she's required to help.
Being a musician (former musician?) isn't exactly propelling me into her arms either. She said she's sick of the rock and roll cliché I've obviously proved, and prefers to stick to her own caliber. I won't give up though - oh no, Scott Moffatt does not give up so easily. I figure she's playing to get, and since there's a severe lack of entertainment for me elsewhere, I'm game.
I think she likes watching me chase after her. Gives her a sense of power, I'm sure, and since I've no shame, I have no problem providing her with such. She thinks she has the control. Not true. I'm just waiting for my chance. To sweep her off her feet or fuck her blind, I'm not sure yet. At the rate I'm going, either will suffice, though the latter holds an slightly higher position.
Okay, a way higher position. I want to fuck her so bad my insides ache.