Was she conceited? Yeah, probably, she knew she was beautiful, no doubt. Only, for those who were able to see past the manifestation that was her beauty, she was troubled, deeply disturbed, and undoubtedly tormented. Any psychiatrist, upon closer examination, would tell you that she was dangerously insane. Unfortunately, she seldom allowed anyone to get close enough to her to see the real, dark, and ugly Betty that lay hidden, but a scratch away, beneath the surface.
Her eye makeup, red lips, and blush all worked together to compliment her already natural beauty. With her hair so black and her complexion so white, the palette she chose gave color to her face without making her look clownish and overly made up. If she was beautiful before, she was even more beautiful with makeup now, making those who saw her unable to remove their gaze from her fabulous face.
Only, you would remove your stare from her face to stare at her Barbie doll body, a body that normally only lives in a video game, in your imagination or between the pages of your favorite men's magazine that you peruse when you are home alone in your room with your hand firmly around your cock. Yet, there she is standing before you smiling. Is she smiling at me or at you or is she smiling at her reflection in the glass behind us? What does it matter? You're drooling. God, she's so beautiful that just to see someone like this, like her in person, has given you a lifetime of memories to take you where you need to go when you are horny and alone in your room again and fantasizing about beautiful Betty.
In a Wal-Mart world of super-sized women bedraggled with spoiled and unruly children and who cover their burgeoning bodies with wrinkled jeans and worn sweatshirts, Betty had a tiny 24" waist and a perfect 36C bust with complimenting 36" hips beneath her tailored dresses, had no children, and never shopped at Wal-Mart. At 5'7" without heels and 110 pounds when stepping naked from the shower, there was nothing to find fault with someone who looked so beautiful on the outside, that is, unless you knew the ugly secrets that she kept hidden on the inside.
"A penny for your thoughts? The cat got your tongue? What's wrong Betty? You look so troubled, depressed, and angry. You look like you lost your best friend. Did your dog die? Why would someone so beautiful look so glum?"
Every man realized it and commented on it, yet no man took the time to truly question it. Her beauty made them forget whatever else was wrong with her. She was so perfect on the outside, after all. What problems could she possibly have? Just to be with her was enough and when they were with her naked, whatever was wrong with her could be fixed or ignored.
"Oh, nothing," within that five second pause passed a year of psycho therapy that, within that period of time, a psychiatrist could not bridge the troubled waters of her insanity. If only there was a doctor who possessed the key to unlock her secrets and release her misery, maybe she could have been cured. Maybe, she could have been saved.
"I broke a nail," she said looking up and smiling at me with those blue eyes that melts my heart and makes me, someone who is tone deaf and has no rhythm, want to sing like the late, great Luciano Pavarotti and dance like the late, great Fred Astaire.
"Betty, Betty, Betty, Elizabeth, Eliza, Beth, Liz, Liza, I love every variety of her name," I sang as I danced around the room. "I love my beautiful Betty."
To be continued...
