Hello there…

This is surprising because I specifically requested that the author write my story last, which plainly did not happen because I am the first to narrate the story. To be honest, I’m rather upset since no one, and I mean no one, enjoys going first. Don’t worry though, I’m not going to betray you by telling you some dull story; instead, let me save you time and jump right into it. Erica is my given name. Erica Royal.

I don’t enjoy disclosing people my age, but to give you a clear picture of myself, I turned 22 earlier this year; however, as narrators, we will not give you our dates of birth because it’s against the guidelines. The author claims that she prefers not to reveal too much about the key characters because she wants you to use your imagination to picture who I am. With that out of the way, you’ll have to figure out what star sign I fall under. Luckily for you, I’ll provide you with all the nit and grit you’ll need to make this journey entertaining.

 Let me begin by mentioning that I despise being among people; I prefer my own privacy and feel safer in my own home. I will, however, occasionally go out with my “friends” because I am in university, and you know how the pressure can get to you. I won’t mislead you; I only have one friend. I don’t make many friends since my mother moves us around a lot, and it’s easier for me to avoid becoming attached to many individuals. Don’t bother trying to figure out why my mother keeps moving us around; I’ve given up. When it comes to coping with her troubles, I swear she’s worse than I am.

Don’t get me wrong: I still adore her since she takes care of me so well. She encourages me when I’m down, and I don’t know about you, but my mother recognizes that I’m a sad person. She attempts to put a smile on my face every day by getting me whatever I desire, starting with the fact that she bought me a car for my birthday this year. Yes, I do have a license, boo. Don’t you? If you don’t, I strongly advise you to STOP RIGHT NOW and GET YOUR LICENSE. I won’t be able to take you on the N1, so don’t waste your time reading and fantasizing about me.

Anyway, my friend’s name is Lethabo, and believe me when I say he is the funniest person I’ve ever encountered. His life is kind of like a movie; there’s drama with him and his major friends with benefits every day, and he seems not to care. I wish I had the ability to be more like him. Be more social and outgoing. I’m sure people are perplexed as to how a cool person like him and a girl like me became friends. Lethabo seems to like me, as in he wants to sleep with me, but I told him I wouldn’t break my virginity until am twenty-five. He insists he can wait, which I’m sure he won’t because he’s not my type. I’m sorry, but he really is a kind guy, or at least tries to be.

It’s just that I’m wary of boys. All my mother’s stories about them and their manhood frightens me, but I promised myself that when I’m twenty-five, I’ll finally face my fear. I have everything figured out; I will have graduated by that age and will be a successful game developer. Because I have the greatest body of all time, I will be a hot sexy nerd. I’m stripping the first tall dark and attractive gentleman that gives me that “come here baby” gesture. Don’t overthink things; it all makes sense in my head.

I’ve decided to brief you about an event that occurred four years ago. I probably should have stated that I am bisexual at the beginning. For those of you who don’t know what bisexual means, a bisexual is a person who is sexually attracted to both males and females, according to several descriptions available on the internet. Being a part of the LGBT community is the greatest, like we’re the most vibrant individuals on the planet. Don’t get me wrong: I think you’re still awesome even if you’re not one of the magnificent humans. You are great because you decided to read about my story. With that stated, accepting my sexuality was not simple for me.

In fact, I felt like I was lost for a while. Because I grew up in a home where God was the foundation, I struggled to accept myself after reading the Bible. Until I relocated to Groblersdal, a little town in Mpumalanga. That place was unpleasant; it was scorching hot, worse than Limpopo. Thabile was my friend at the time, and she was a nasty. She was a majestic lady who understood the kind woman she was, she was nasty as in a flirtations’ beautiful queen who always got what she desired. When it comes to the types of friends I have, it’s evident that I always attract the absolute opposite.

Because she was so stunning, she always wore the shortest skirts with the aim to show of her shapely legs and had her hair and nails were up to date every time I saw her. Due to her, I appear presentable, although before we met, all I wore were baggy Karki trousers and black hoodies. When I used to go to her house for sleepovers, she would question, “Why are you hiding all those curves?” We used to have lip-sync battles in front of the mirror all the time, and she never made me feel uncomfortable about not being as attractive as she was. When I think about her, I realize she was one of my favorites out of all the places I’ve resided and the people I’ve met. Although we went to different high schools, I only got to see her after school and on weekends.

I’m disappointed I’ll have to put the story to a stop, but don’t sweat, I’ll pick up where I left off next week Sunday. Meanwhile, don’t forget to like, comment, follow, and share on social media. Thank you for taking the time to read this, and I hope to see you soon.