She’s young. Her body, smooth and full of curves, is bronzed. As if straight from the beach. But recently untouched. Neglected. Stroking the silver mental of her four vocal cords, past experiences come flooding back. Long nights in my bedroom practising, feelings of nervousness and terror attempting to overwhelm me. Sweaty hands, heart thumping, as I try to keep my cool onstage. Trying to stop her slipping from my warm hands. Feeling her body, i remember a dramatic Kurt Cobain moment, writhing on the floor. With her plain exterior, she may not seem the prettiest as the others. But she’s my Ugly Betty.

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