57
Watching it was so surreal. Even on a four-inch screen, I could see the combustible attraction between us. The tension in our bodies, the way we looked at one another, even the way we didn’t look at each other all screamed “want.” I was proud about how I looked. Like a vampy, old-fashioned pinup girl back in the days when having a good figure meant having t**s and ass, not the body of a twelve-year-old boy like my friend Gordita beside me. But if the camera had been kind to me, it absolutely worshipped Nico. He was undeniably gorgeous and charismatic in real life, and sexy as sin, but the camera brought out another facet of his beauty. He was a man of flesh and bone and blood, but onscreen there was this quality of otherworldliness about him, a glow, as if he’d stepped straight off a clo
- Writer
