Untamed Desire Audiobook (Coming of Age, Young Adult, Romance)
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Teen (13-17)Accents
North American (General) North American (US General American - GenAM)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
I was staring around my empty room trying to capture the image of it in my mind. It had been my favorite room I've ever had. My parents moved around a lot. They were never people to be tied down to a certain city or place. Part of me hated it, but part of me loved getting to explore new sights and places. My mom's name is Cindy. She's a hippie bohemian woman, so slender and pretty she was a child of the earth, and my dad, Gary, is the same. They were a match made in Lollapalooza heaven. They grew up in the eighties, where big hair and fast cars were the standards, and they are still trapped in that decade. As far as I'm concerned, Dad still drives the same Camaro he had in high school, which is where he met Mom. They had travelled across the country with no more than a few dollars to their name, following bands like Motley Crue and Poison. When the nineties came along, they found their home amongst the grunge scene. As a matter of fact, they tell everyone they know that I was conceived to a Foo Fighters song, much to my protest. I just want normal parents who don't try to be my friend or fit into the trends that today's kids air into. Although I'm not the best example of what today's kids air doing and wearing in my own way, I'm just like my parents. I like being free frieze in my own person with my own style. I just turned 17 over the summer. I love my cowboy boots and Wranglers. If you see me out with my parents, you would swear I was adopted. But the wonderful thing about Mom and Dad is they love me regardless of who I am or what I want to be. Even when I told them I liked boys instead of girls, unfortunately after I did, Mom made it her personal mission to find me a boyfriend. Do you know how embarrassing it is for your mom toe walk up and ask boys if they're ***? I've told her 1000 times that just because a boy is wearing an earring or because he's wearing tight jeans doesn't mean he's ***. She always fires back. Oh, honey, there are no labels. Everyone is a little ***. It's like spaghetti it's straight until you heat it up a little. I can't count the times I've had to cover my face and shame from her commentary, which is frequent and vivid.