Dearest Reader,
It’s time to share Gloria Gloss’s first story with you. ICYMI, we’ve decided to make our first three stories free to read for all subscribers. It’s our hope that you’ll love this project so much that you’ll upgrade to a paid subscription, so that our little collective can be supported. You can check out Ghost Boy’s story, “You and Me On the Rock,” and Arden’s “Knots.”
If you decide to upgrade to paid, know that paid subs go towards supporting our two most financially precarious members as they try to survive as artists and writers under late-stage capitalism and the AI creative invasion. All of the info is at the end of the story. A free way to support us is to tell a few friends how much you love GAG as we work to build a subscriber base that can help us thrive.
xoxo
Gloria Gloss, Arden, and Ghost Boy
The Gloss Diaries
Volume One: Frankie
by Gloria Gloss
I was always supposed to be somewhere else when I was with Frankie. Time seemed infinite when we were together and finite everywhere else. I ended up late for class or ditching friends just to be near her. It was so exciting that I never wanted it to stop. When I wasn’t with her, I wondered what she was doing, who she was talking to, if she had found the funny little drawing I left for her on the back of our Denny’s receipt. She insisted on late night breakfast and smoke-filled conversations with strangers. I didn’t know it at the time, and it sounds cliché to say, but I fell in love with Frankie the instant our eyes met.
It was sophomore year when she crashed into my life. By all accounts we were opposites. Me, studious, responsible – a good straight girl. She was free, untethered, and undefined. The first time I met Frankie, she was with Sasha, who was a model from my figure drawing class. Sasha was easily the most beautiful woman in any room and knew it. Sometimes while sketching her backside, I would have to stop, caught in her aesthetic pull. Having spent so much time studying her naked body, seeing her outside of the classroom was always a little awkward. That night, Sasha strutted into a gallery party thrown by our friend Tom. Frankie walked in behind her, peeking out around as they came through the door – Sasha’s hand caught loosely in hers.
Up until this point, I had been dreading the night. Tom had pressured me for weeks to hang something in his show, and eventually I caved. Under a pseudonym, I shared a small self-portrait. Nothing fancy, just an acrylic painting no bigger than a sheet of binder paper. A glimpse I caught of my naked body bathed in the morning light and reflected in my bedroom mirror. In the picture I took for reference, my phone covered my face completely. Sitting on my bed, in my most intimately known space and now publicly appearing unknown.
I was there with Tom’s friend Rick – who also happened to be my boyfriend. Rick was a senior poli sci major that liked to party with the art kids. He was handsome, with a kind smile, a classic all-American strong jawline, honey brown eyes, and this earthy smell that I loved. He drank whiskey straight, and was well read enough to make smart jokes. He had a calm confidence that made him stand out. Tom insisted that we go out on a double date. He continually said, “You two are the most intelligent and peculiar people that I know. You’ll love him!” He wasn’t wrong. Rick was just my type.
While I got dressed for the party, Rick sang “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” in the shower. I must have tried on fifteen different outfits. I was going through some kind of transformation and couldn’t quite find my fashion sense. Everything I tried on felt childish and dumb or too sexy and inappropriate. I wasn’t the same girl that arrived here over a year ago but I also was completely uncertain of the new me. I think that’s why I chose the self portrait to share. Rick said, in his charming and carefree way, “You shared that one because it’s hot.” He was not wrong. In the car on the way to the gallery, he placed my hand on his firm cock to show his correctness.
Frankie was wearing a tight black mini dress, with long sleeves and a plunging V cut neckline. A long silver chain with a large cross that just rested in her cleavage, fishnet stockings crawled up her thighs, and her burgundy Doc Martens were well worn. Her long dark hair was swept up in a messy bun. Her features were soft and luminous and were accentuated by precise but understated makeup.
She glanced over at me and gave a small smile of acknowledgement. I did not look away. I was struck. It was as if every single sensation that I had in my life came rushing to the surface of my skin. My face felt hot; my hands were sweaty. She and Sasha started walking in our direction. I froze. Sasha greets everyone with kisses like she is from France (she’s from Ohio). First Tom, then Rick, and then me. Proudly, she says, “I want you to meet my lover, Frankie.”
Completely rocked but also intrigued by the introduction, I stuck out my hand, “Hi, I’m Gloria Gloss or I go by Glory or some people call me GG or Gs (you know like plural).” I couldn’t stop it from happening. My mouth and brain were connected and unconnected; a tripped wire, a bloody accident on the side of the street, please everyone look away. But she did not look away.
Frankie dropped Sasha’s hand and took mine into her own. Both hands, cupping my single outstretched invitation, she laughs, “as you know, I’m Frankie, a lover.” She did not evade my eyes and we stood there, my hand in hers and staring. I said nothing. Her fingers were warm and soft. Her vanilla tobacco scent flooded my senses. Suddenly, Rick, unaware, says, “Now that we’ve all met each other, let’s go get a drink.” One of the few times that I’ve been thankful for a man’s terrible timing.
I had been dating Rick for five months and adored him. He had an opinion about everything and the wit to back it up. He was tall and tan, had a thinking man’s brain and a working man’s body. On the weekends, he went home to work on his family's large farm in the countryside. It was the first place that I smelled tea olive trees in bloom and where we had sex for the first time.
Things were starting to get more serious between us and he wanted me to know his life, and meet his family. During fall break he drove us eighty miles northeast from campus. I didn’t have a car so it was the first time that I had ventured that far away from the dorms. On the way there, he played his favorite Sonny Rollins CD ‘Way Out West.’ I listened to his stories of a free upbringing that only a boy knows. If we didn’t have to be at dinner at seven o’clock, I would have asked him to pull over and fuck me in the car. I loved the way words fell from his lips and I wanted them to cover my body.
Next instalment of The Gloss Diaries coming September 14th.
Become a paid supporter…
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If you decide to upgrade to paid, know that paid subs go towards supporting our two most financially precarious members as they try to survive under late-stage capitalism and the AI creative invasion. A free way to support us is to tell a few friends how much you love GAG as we work to build a subscriber base that can help us thrive.
xo
Gloria Gloss, Arden, and Ghost Boy
Our next story…
On August 17th, we’ll be sharing Ghost Boy’s story “Rainstick.” Here’s a teaser:
“As they turned the corner, Jaden smacked into a long, lean runner with ginger-colored hair. The ginger runner caught Jaden in an embrace. They both held each other – moments strung like pearls. Glossy and new on the backs of tongues. It was a hot day, and sweat slid against their connected bodies – bare chests glistening in humidity. Sweat and beads and pearls adorned them. Kings of the trail.”
Every month, there will be two digital prints available for folks paying $12/month. The first is inspired by Gloria Gloss’s “Frankie.” If you’ve subscribed using one of our access discounts, but you still want the print, you can send us a DM and we’ll share more info.
