True Gorgeousness by Abbey
Summary: Being truly gorgeous doesn't mean you have to be 5 foot 9 with big boobs and a flat stomach. Short Story. You tell me who you thought the guy was.

Categories: Fanfiction > Backstreet Boys Characters: Group
Genres: Romance
Warnings: None
Series: None
Chapters: 1 Completed: No Word count: 730 Read: 582 Published: 02/08/06 Updated: 02/08/06

1. True Gorgeousness by Abbey

True Gorgeousness by Abbey
True Gorgeousness

*Inspired by an article in Glamour magazine*

I used to think that a woman who is gorgeous is one walking down the runway at a Victoria’s Secret fashion show. A woman who is on the cover of a magazine, or on the red carpet. A woman with a perfect flat stomach, in a tiny string bikini. It is true while those women are glamorous, they’re not gorgeous. I didn’t know what true, actual gorgeousness meant until I met her. It was almost as if a ton of bricks hit me, when I saw her that day. I was at a business meeting, with the rest of the guys and our managers at a restaurant during lunch time. She walked in with a friend, dressed in a body hugging business suit and knee high boots which made a clicking sound when she walked. I listened to her, watched her, and the way she held her self amazed me. She was so smart, and intellectual, and I fell for her right then and there.

There was one night I walked into our house and I saw her sitting on the couch, legs tucked underneath her, completely absorbed in a book. Her glasses pushed up on top of her head, and her hair was thrown up messily. Perhaps what killed me most of all as I stood there quietly, leaning against the door frame to watch her, was how she chewed softly on her bottom lip, turning the page gently. I couldn’t remember the last woman I had dated who got me by doing something as simple as reading, but God...she was gorgeous.

In our first month of dating, I picked her up for another date on a warm summer night. When she opened the door, my jaw almost detached from my mouth at the sight of her, and no, she wasn’t naked. “Hi,” she smiled gorgeously at me, her cheeks slightly flushed when she noticed my dumbfounded expression. Her hair was bouncy and curly, and a simple camisole hugged her curvy body. I smiled again, noticing the light glitter on her cheeks, making her glow entirely. If I could have spoken at that moment all that would have slipped out was, “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.”

I woke up early one morning to the sound of a treadmill running a few rooms down the hall. Once it stopped, I got out of bed, pulling a t-shirt over my head, and walking down to investigate. When she saw me in the door way she smiled, “Did I wake you? I’m sorry...” No apology was needed as she folded in half, stretching her fingers towards her shoe in those tighter jogging pants.
The sweat glistened on her body and I immediately had to run a hand through my hair, turned on, just from looking at her alone.

I’ll never forget the first night I took her out and introduced her to the guys. I watched her talk to them, in her sweet, confident way. I remember smiling, noticing her twisted bra strap. To me she is the most beautiful woman in the world, but seeing that let me know she was also human.

I love waking up early in the mornings, when she’s getting ready for work. I sit up in bed admiring her as she stands in front of the mirror doing her makeup in only a skirt in bra. She was completely unaware that I was watching her, and I had to turn on a manly show on the television to keep from touching her curvy, elegant body.

When I met her family the first time, it was probably one of the most nerve wracking experiences of my life. I met her sisters, and their children, and I couldn’t help but think, of how gorgeous she looked, holding her niece easily on her hip. I immediately imagined her a mother, an image that not only made my heart skip a beat, but it scared the hell out of me.

As I lay here, her curled up in my arms, wearing nothing but one of my t-shirts and her polka dotted panties, I smile. Knowing that true gorgeousness comes in many different forms, none of which require a string bikini.

(*Don't forget, let me know who you thought the guy was!*)
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