When I was younger, I blushed all the time. I blushed so much from embarrassment, it was embarrassing. I’m a redhead, predisposed to blushing an alarming shade of red and during my early school days, even into high school, it wasn’t hard to trigger. There were all the common sources: kids teasing me for some spacey, clumsy thing I did, or maybe I was staring off into space for too long, lost in my own imagination. They teased me for things I’d never done, torments from their cruel imaginations. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I’d also blush over my own thoughts, convinced someone would figure out that I had been caressing her with my eyes, or daydreaming about something he or I might do together.
Eventually, I learned to guard against blushing, learned to keep the bright flag of shame hidden. I didn’t want them to know they were getting to me, wanted my secret crushes to remain secret, safe, tucked deep inside my flushing, romantic heart. I got very good at it. I felt I had to, so I put in the time and effort to create that shield.
To this day, I rarely blush if my guard is up.
She made me blush today, with a story she wrote for me. A very hot story. She knew just the words to write and in the proper order. It wasn’t just the subject matter, it was that she wrote it expressly for me and new that it would slip under my guard, that she’d hit her mark. Bang! I sat on my side of the screen and blushed. I told her about it, she was pleased, very pleased. I felt exposed but didn’t mind. She makes me blush and that’s not a bad thing.
It’s a good thing.
Pretty ladies make me blush, unexpected complements make me blush, being the object of someone’s lust, makes me blush. I imagine that as I go out into the world of dating, I’ll be blushing a lot, for the right reasons. At least I hope so.
And no matter what happens, she’ll keep making me blush because my guard is down around her and she knows it.
It’s a good thing.
This content is published under the Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported license.