Girls; Untouched

Mullet Girl

This all started with a dream. THIS being the story before your eyes... it's where you fit in.

'The Dream' was of me, back in a high school that was completely unlike the one I actually went to.

A girl (or woman) stands before me. Her hair is lighter than I remember it. Not overly long and rather boyish. Have only one line in this dream, it is: "Hey, I like your hair." She says thanks, and I follow her down some stair. I discover there is a pony tail hidden behind her almost blond head of hair... of course, she is:

Mullet Girl.

Reaching the first floor, she turns to me, as she speaks I become aware of the reality outside my dreams (I have a girlfriend and it isn't her) She say "I have something I really want to tell you". I know she never said these words to me in reality.

An alarm rings and the dream is dispelled. I awake in a bed in a different country with my girlfriend of four and a half years. At no point after this dream did I look in the mirror, I ran around getting ready for work, occasionally writing bits of this story on my laptop. But lets say I look in the mirror. I see a white guy. He's me. Where I live now people would say that the guy I am is 'good looking'. Where I lived before, people would say that I look like every other guy with almost blond hair and almost blue eyes. Almost good looking. I got a decent sized nose, and my face has been compared to Uma Thurman, the actress who portrayed 'the Bride' in the Kill Bill films, (mostly because of my nose).

I have a Sampson-esq belief that my hair is the source of my esthetic appeal. When my hair is long, it looks great. When it is short I look like a cute little boy. It is always at least long enough to pull.

Okay I this morning I hardly took a good look at myself in the mirror, but now we're one night prior. I'm about to shower... I look at myself in the nude. I got muscly legs. Too much biking and walking, can't see my butt, but I know it is shapely. Not unlike a Mullet; I am muscles on the bottom and bones on the top. My mid-section is somewhere between a gut and simply a full belly. Some folks say I'm getting fat, others say I'm getting skinny... I know nothing has changed. My mid section simply bridges the mass of my lower body to the litheness of my upper body.

There's one truly unique physical characteristic about me that has absolutely no bearing in this story. My right hand is deformed, slightly smaller muscle growth all along my right arm, no pectoral muscle on the right side, my fingers are the length of small chocolate bars you get at Halloween and are rather claw like as they only bend at the knuckle join.

It had to be said, as this is an attempt at non-fiction, and yet I wanted to give it no attention at all, because in my experience this un-important physical characteristic cements in certain people's mind and becomes a trait by which they define me. "That guy has a small hand!" People who truly know me, as I invite you the reader to do, almost always forget about the hand. If I need to refer to myself within this story, lets just my name is Semalhan.Yes, a very Anglo-saxon name.

One final detail on my physical appearance, I have acne. Always have, always will. There will always be a pimple somewhere on my body, and I hates it. Not enough to sign over my endorsement for a skin cleansing product, but it is always with me, reminding me; "you're not so good looking".