it started with a kiss

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It started with a kiss.

Not a simple goodnight kiss, or a clumsy first kiss.

It started with a street corner on which he stood, a parking spot into which I pulled, a car door through which he entered.

It started with my body turning towards his, from my place behind the steering wheel.

It started with his reaching a hand towards my waist, with my dropping my head towards him, with my lips grazing his neck.

It started with a cupped hand turning my face towards his.

It started with my hair falling in my face, with fingertips brushing it aside.

It started with lips, mouth and tongue.

It started with the taste of cigarettes and snow.

That’s right, snow.

“We have to get out of the car,” one of us said.

I think it may have been me.

So we did.

Climbed out two separate doors, and he circled around to pull me in again.

But I fidgeted. We were standing in a circle of the building’s floodlight, and I wanted darkness.

to retreat
into darkness
& shadow
a lustful alley
of blind sensation

There was no alley, but there was a brick wall, against which to be willfully pushed.

From there, I can’t remember what happened with any kind of sharpness.

A warm blur of teasing kisses and roaming hands, smiles too close to see.

Until the moment when he pulled me partway into the building’s garden, directed me to stay, and backed away from me, as far as the sidewalk. Stood looking at me from a distance of ten paces.

I think I laughed. It made me feel shy.

But apparently what he saw in me then met his approval.

“This could work,” is what I think he said.

“I should go,” was perhaps my response.

Instead we kissed a while more.

His lips pursed against my neck and I let out a breathy half-cry, as I will.

His cold fingers slipped under my shirt and raised goosebumps on my belly.

“This is what I’ve been wanting to kiss,” he told me.

“I should go,” I probably said again, because I remember backing towards my car and his matching my backward steps with his own forward ones.

My hands were in his front pockets by then; I can’t tell you how they got there.

I took them out, replaced them.

Instead taking hold of the waistline of his loose jeans, backs of fingers against his stomach. That was probably as far as I intended to go — we’ll never know now — because he grabbed my wrist and thrust my hand down inside.

My hand did exactly what you’d expect my hand to do in that situation. And my knees gave just a bit and I suppose I went a little daffy.

And he laughed so easily then, such a pure, boyish laugh.

He stood grinning outside of my car. I finally managed to drive away. Making wrong turns until I pulled into the parking lot of a gas station, buying cigarettes just to be reminded of his taste, and to have something to do. While I settled into myself again.

~

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