“I hate this party,” Jack mumbles behind his champaign flute.
The old man beside him doesn’t miss the complaint. Tilting the head, the adoptive father smiles way too gleefully at the sight of his adopted son keeping readjusting his bow tie as if it’s suffocating him. “Everyone seems to be having fun. It’s not my fault that you are not. It’s a party after all.”
“A cocktail party,” Jack corrects flatly and adds, “one requiring formal dress.”
The elder man gives the younger man a good pat on the back. “Don’t say that. You clean up nice. Go find some young ladies of your age and enjoy the time.”
“There’s no young ladies of my age. There are only middle-aged women and kids,” Jack retorts.
“Hmm, I remember the Iversens have brought their elder daughter here,” Nic says, musing. “You two are about the same age.”
“I never meet any Iversen,” Jack says.
The old man breaks into a sly smile. “Don’t worry. It’s easy to spot her. Just look for a young lady in a killer dress.”
“A killer dress?” Jack repeats incredulously as he walks through the crowd, looking for any female party that might fit the description. Running a hand through his stark white hair, Jack keeps rambling to himself. “Doesn’t the old man know I have no sense in women’s fashion? Like I could actually tell which dress is…”
The young man trails off, eyes sticking to the beautiful sight before him. Silk-like skin against milk-white fabric, the dress hugs the woman’s curvy body perfectly with a fully open view of its owner’s flawless back.
As if sensing the heat of Jack’s gaze, the woman turns and Jack is met with the most beautiful blue eyes he has ever seen.
He doesn’t notice his face flaming up as his tongue suddenly becomes too big in his mouth to speak. He finally manages to introduce himself after removing his gaze from hers.
Reaching out a hand, he stammers. “I…I’m Jack.”
Smiling, the woman gives her hand as well. “I am Elsa.”
And Jack has no more complaint about the party.
Okay, as expected, I am late. It’s already December 2 in my timezone…
But well, to those who are still on December 1 and those who are in December 2 like me, enjoy my “first” theme for jelsa week!!
Most people probably thought our Sunday mornings were wild on the days he didn’t have to stress about matches or training. Hangovers, waking up naked and barely remembering all of last night. But no that wasn’t us. Sundays meant relaxation. Sundays meant the last day before I had to return to the reality of the job I hated.
Whether it was his place or mine, we woke up on Sunday fairly normal actually just like right now. I had on a Hello Kitty t-shirt, which is childish I know, and Victoria’s Secret sweatpants. Neymar was laid up on the couch beside me shirtless and in his boxers. That was his normal sleep attire and no, he wasn’t shirtless because we had sex the previous night or something.
That was the funny thing about our relationship. It involved absolutely no sex.
And I know that’s a bit hard to believe given the whole Neymar Jr. persona perpetuated in the media and the fact he’s some sort of sex symbol amongst female fans everywhere but the fact of the matter was, in our last eight months of dating we had no sex at all.
Sure, he made sexually suggestive comments because what guy didn’t? And yeah he did like to cuddle me extra close even when his member couldn’t quite contain his excitement but he never used those things to lure me into breaking my beliefs.
I wasn’t abstinent because of my religious beliefs or because I was trying to save myself for marriage or any other reasoning aside from my own personal choices. I just didn’t want my relationship to thrive on sexual contact only. No, I wasn’t trying to bring down those that incorporated sex into their relationship from the beginning. More power to them but I was trying this new thing I had never tested in my previous relationships and that was being abstinent. What exactly I was trying to get out of it I wasn’t sure. Besides the obvious closer, deeper and meaningful connection with my boyfriend I think I just felt more comfortable this way.
I had never thought up the prospect of Neymar searching elsewhere to please his sexual needs and he had never given me reason to. He always assured me that he supported my choice and was willing to wait for as long as I was. That alone was admirable and it was close to making me weak at the knees and just give in every time we had that conversation where he had to reassure me that nothing he said had changed.
He had truly become my Prince Charming based on that and the fact that I had a man who was willing to wake up early on mornings like these to enjoy bowls of cereals and corny cartoon shows that kids far far far younger than us were up enjoying.
That was just us and I think everyone grew to love us as the funny, carefree pair we were. We had a lot of similarities and even more dissimilarities that made us the perfect pair to those around us. Even my father loved him and he was a tough cookie to crack but looking at Neymar now as he sat with a bowl in one hand and the remote in the other, I knew he was the one for me.
“So now that that’s gone off, shall I find another show for us to watch?” He questioned as he looked up towards me.
“Yes. Just make sure it’s a good choice.”
“Aren’t they always?” he confidently smirked.
I playfully rolled my eyes. “I guess.”
I grabbed my spoon and got another spoonful of my nearly soggy cereal ready for my tasting. It was just like I liked it and Neymar hated it when I let my cereal sit in the milk for too long. He complained that it was the worst way to eat cereal.
What did he know anyway?
I relaxed against the sofa, finishing up my bowl and watching the show he had just turned to. It seemed interesting enough but it was like this childish side lit up inside of me as soon as I heard the familiar hum of a song I had heard plenty of times in my childhood.
I couldn’t even quite recall what the title of the song was or even some of the lyrics but I hopped up so fast once it came on and I recognized it, dropping my bowl carefully to the table and hopping back up on the couch so that I was now standing on the cushions.
I broke out into the song, humming the lyrics I didn’t now and proudly belting the ones I did. Neymar just watched me from below, alternating between chuckling, shaking his head at his girlfriend’s childish antics and taking a spoonful of lukewarm milk into his mouth.
“Come on! You don’t know this song?”
He laughed and shook his head. “No. No I do not.”
“Oh what sort of childhood did you have? You’ve been deprived.” I gently shook his arm as I spoke, careful to avoid shaking him too hard to the point he’d send his milk to the fabric of my favorite sofa.
“Or maybe I’ve been protected,” he laughed again.
I just rolled my eyes and continued on with my performance, hopping on the couch to the kiddy beat that played.
It was moments like this with my boyfriend that I enjoyed the most. I could just be myself. My incredibly childish, carefree self and he seemed to love it as he gazed up at me with loving eyes. These were the mornings I lived for.