Visceral Lit











{August 10, 2007}   To Try Something New

I have always been, as I like to call it, a scientist. Always experimenting, there is very little I haven’t tried, at least once. I’ve said before, half-joking that there is in fact nothing I won’t try four times before I make up my mind about it.

I’m 31 years old, now and while my partnerships don’t number astronomically high (they really don’t even quite hit the stratosphere, I think) I have a fair number of diverse experiences under my belt. So imagine my surprise last week when I discovered something rather mundane that I had never experienced before.

Before last week, I had never had sex in a sleeping bag.

It’s not something I think I’ve ever given much thought to, but the night was cold and my lover and I opted to maneuver both our bodies inside one small, single bag. Skin against skin and breast to breast, our breathing quickly became laboured. Our chests pressed against one another and we giggled a bit as we tried to find a place for the four elbows which had suddenly become vastly inconvenient contrivances.

Before either of us knew it, he was growing hard between
my legs. Pressing upward, warming me from within. Our
limbs intertwined and we rolled, restrained and locked
together. Thrusts were necessarily short and became quick
and deep to compensate. The base of his cock slammed and
pressed against me and we both began to gleam with perspiration
which cooled almost instantly in the night air.

I tried to raise my legs to him, to wrap them around his and open
myself more fully to his urgent thrusts, but they were wrapped
tight, the bag twisted beneath us, enforcing our closeness. I
slid my hands down, over the slippery surface of his back and
grasped at his buttocks, using them as leverage as I forced my
body deeper into the bag, forced his body deeper into myself.

His body began to tremble and my pussy began to throb in answer. He whispered feverishly to me each sensation of his body, as we slid up and down one another’s forms, a layer of thin sweat the only thing which could fit between us.

My skin tingled and burned with the friction, the constant contact raising my pulse and exciting every inch of me. When I came, it was with my whole body and my whole body strained against the flannel and nylon, and against the body of my lover as his back struggled and strained to arch with his own orgasm.

We came together and it seems there was no other way it could have ended. Our bodies so firmly intertwined that every small ripple of muscle pushed and pulled against another. We were as one body, held together there as our breathing slowed. He dropped his head into the crook of my neck and I felt his heart pound against mine, slowing against our rib cages, perfectly in sync.



{July 20, 2007}   Tenderness

There are parts of a man’s body which are more than just skin and bones. More than the warm flesh of which they are composed.

When I press my body, naked against my lover’s skin, my hands seek out these parts more than any other. Fingertips running over the gentle curve of soft lips, eyes hungrily consuming the rise and fall of his body’s landscape.

The expanse of skin between the tops of his shoulder blades, just before the place where his neck takes root in his spine; I caress it with fingernails, lightly dragging them over each small rise and fall of bone. Reach back up with the ends of my fingers and press my palm there. It’s too high to be over his heart, but it feels like a part of his centre anyway, as if I can sense the pull of his lungs, drawing life into him.

I bury my face there; breathing him in; pressing my lips against smooth, tight skin. I am close to the curve between his shoulder and neck and I can follow that curve up to press my lips behind his earlobe, the scent of him purest there.

My hands can wander down to the bulge of his lats, muscles that stand out pleasingly when he lifts or when he presses his body up and down along mine. If he’s been climbing lately, they burst with definition each time he turns his body this way and that. If he hasn’t, they curve softly; gently expanding his chest and then narrowing to his waist.

The dip of his lower back and then the rise of his buttocks. My hand placed just over his tailbone, caressing that shape as I press my body against his. Our skin first feeling each point of contact like tiny electric pinpricks and then as our bodies relax into one another that intense comfort of not knowing where my skin ends and his begins. One warm, soft mass with nothing separating it.

When he stands, there is a faintly chiseled V between his hipbones, drawing the eye down further. If I touch it, tracing the curve of his hips, or the dip of his abdomen, it trembles and spasms. His breath catches in his throat and his penis jumps, if only briefly, to attention.

I cup his jawbone in my hand and caress up his cheekbone, tracing lines over his ears and down his neck. The soft skin just above his collarbone calls to my lips.

His eyes, the windows to his soul, intense and stormy grey in one moment and a sparkling, clear blue the next. Framed by lashes so long he inspires envy in even the most self-assured woman; they too draw my attention. I kiss each lid when they are closed. Admiring him as much as he lies asleep next to me as when he moves across my vision, active and engaged.

The backs of his knees, around to the inner reaches of his thighs where, if I touch with my palms, the backs of my hands brush against soft, receptive skin; A scrotum which leaps at my contact.

He sleeps beside me and I admire the landscape of his form and I want to wake him, to draw his penis out of slumber and to make love to every inch of him, to touch his skin as it heats and dampens with the fever of his pleasure. I also want to hold him, quiet and relaxed and just feel the closeness and the comfort of knowing that he is there, tonight and for many to come.



{June 21, 2007}   Indiscretion

Did I bring it up?
It’s my fantasy so I must have. I can’t imagine the opposite scenario and yet can’t quite remember where it came from. Deep in the recesses of my depraved brain, no doubt. I remember the conversation leading in. Did I really plan that far back? I don’t think so. Perhaps though, my brain is way ahead of me when it comes to fantasy fulfillment. I sometimes think it seems as though it’s all too easy for me to get what I want in bed.

Still, I was nervous. I got up and threw on the shirt offered me before I even thought. As I wandered out to the living room, my brain began to scream at me, demand an explaination for my behaviour, demand a validation, concrete evidence that I wasn’t about to make a complete ass of myself.

I circled through the kitchen, ostensibly to pour myself a noisy glass of water and then back to the bedroom, wide-eyed. What was I thinking?

I couldn’t settle though and out I went again and again, each time increasing the volume designed to stir my target from slumber.

Oddly, it’s not as if this target was someone who had ever occurred to me in this light before. Reasonably attractive, easy going and with just enough in common to hold a conversation with, the idea of my mouth on his cock certainly seemed far from the realm of the probable a mere few hours earlier.

With an attitude akin to that of a kamikaze pilot, I finalized my approach, climbing in next to him, lightly running a hand down the side of his prone form.

He’s slender, bony, but as I reach his tightly clad ass, I find it muscular and round. I shy away from allowing my touch to progress further, not wanting to violate, not wanting to cross the bounds of consent. I fear I may already have, despite my intention to rouse.

I wait a few moments, barely breathing, willing him to wake so I can blurt out my proposition, so I can see this decision closed, one way or the other.

I attempt a few more tentative touches, light brushes of the curve between his ribcage and hip, my hand circling around and up his back, deciding that touching his rear end, despite it’s appealing firmness is outside of the bounds of appropriateness.

It’s been a long time since I’ve touched a man this thin, the curve of whose hip bone extrudes like a handle. I want to grab it, push my palm against the top of his cheek and use it to pull myself towards him, to stretch my neck and lightly brush his with my lips, to nibble his inviting collarbone.

I can hear movement in the other room and I am aware of the time passing. In agonized frustration I roll over onto my back. Perhaps if I just wait long enough, he will arouse on his own. Sure, I would expect some confusion, but I’d deal with that when I came to it. My heart is pounding and my nerves frayed. I am ready to get up and bolt, I can picture myself giggling with frazzled nerves at my own gall and my own cowardice, when he rolls over, his arm brushing mine.

I turn slightly towards him, holding my breath. All of a sudden I am terrified he will awaken. Feeling the fool I am. Unbidden, my hand brushes his sinewy forearm and his eyes open. Bleary, he gazes at me. “Hi!” I say brightly, the first greeting that enters my mind leaving my lips as quickly as it occurs to me. His eyes clear and he looks back, a knowing grin spreading across his features. “Hi!” he replies.

His expression turns to questioning and I reach out and brush a hand against his chest, circling around waist and travelling down for that much-anticipated second stroke of his rear end. This time I squeeze it, pull him towards me. “He knows I’m out here.” I murmur and he responds “I assume so” His lips meet mine and I’m surprised that this I do not have to initiate.

His kiss is soft, softer than most I’ve encountered, but not sloppy as the looser embrochures my experiences have tended towards. I draw away, my heart now pouding, breath shallow in my lungs. I can feel already the pressure behind his jeans, pressing against my thigh. I’m stunned and titillated by the speed of his arousal. “I’m not stepping on anyone’s toes, am I?” I ask, breathlessly. He smiles, pulling me confidently toward him, I am also surprised with the stride he takes this in, as if it is a common occurance in his life to wake next to a mostly disrobed woman. “Don’t worry about it” he replies. I think he adds that it’s ok, but I can’t be sure because I’m swept away by the rapid engorgement of my own sex.

Soon my lips are locked against his, the loose man’s shirt that has hung to just below my hips riding up with each motion of our pelvises. I sense the entry of my partner and my heart skips a beat and my breath catches as I wait for the outcome of this addition, this next step. Again, his stride is not broken. I reach my hand down the front of his pants, sliding across his trembling stomach and past the cool chrome and stiff leather of his belt.

As I massage the already calescent hard-on, flicking my wrist to free it from his waistband I lay my head on his shoulder and whisper into his ear. “Is this ok?”

He raises his hips towards my palm and looks me straight in the eyes. “I don’t hear me complaining” he responds. I reach my other hand around and grasp his belt buckle. “As long as you’ll let me know,” I say, sliding my fingertips between the layers of leather. From the corner of my eye I can see my partner beginning to stroke his growing cock. My fingers pry harder at the stiff band and I raise my head, to focus my eyes on the contrivance there. It is not the standard pronged, end bar enclosure and I manipulate my hand to the next type in my experience vaults.

It’s not one of those either.

Shit.

Perhaps it’s the sort with a toothy slider, the sort most usually seen on canvas belts. I squint and adjust the angle of my head, all dreams of a smooth seduction seeming ridiculous as my fingers fumble with increasing frustration. Fortunately, the belt’s wearer steps in, freeing me from the torment of the inept.

His cock is so hard that the skin is stretched completely smooth. He slides his pants off his hips and I straddle his thighs, pinning his legs to the bed and using my tongue to add lubrication. Following the path with my hand.

Reaching up under his balls and stroking his shaft with my free hand, I begin to work on the tip, flicking it playfully with my tongue and then wrapping my lips around it to tease the ridge with the stud in my tongue.

My partner rises and crosses around to my rear, grasping my back just above the tailbone and massaging his cock between the folds of my pussy. I gasp, a soft moan escaping as I tilt my hips toward his, a slight shimmy in them to press him deeper between my thighs. I whimper as he enters me and plunge my head down further over the dick in my mouth, wanting both ends as full as I can muster, matching the rythm of my gasping fellatio to that of my trembling hips.

My mouth fills, but the cock in it throbs for more, not faltering in its state of arousal, I lick it clean, shifting my weight for a change of position.

I am carried away by sensation, by hands on my breasts, my ass, my hips, my head. I am presented with two dicks, trembling before my face and I squeal with glee, encasing the saliva drenched one in a condom and begining slow licks of the other. Soon the positions are switched and I massage tight balls as an unfamiliar length enters me. Unfamiliar hands grasp my hips, unnecessarily gentle, as new partners tend to be.

I’m carried away again in a flurry of sound and touch, of moans and slurps and grunts of pleasure. My body quakes and I let out a high-pitched shudder as orgasm washes over me. I use one hand to press the knob between my pussy lips against the base of the cock inside me, to draw out orgasm after orgasm. My mouth is filled again and again the twitching cock does not give out.

Hours have passed and I lie on my back now, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on my skin. Exhaustion is setting in but my enthusiasm has not waned. I grip a shaft in each hand and feel a dribble across the back of one, as hips are pushed towards me. My partners too are tired. Were the year a bit older the sun would be creeping up over the buildings outside.

It seems a cigarette is in order.



{June 2, 2007}   and a she makes three

I forgot how much firmer I was when I was young. Touching her now, I was surprised at the taut skin. Her breasts, full and round, rose to meet my hand and I sqeezed, gently testing the resistance. The skin yielded little but the woman’s lips parted, a flash of white teeth showing briefly between lips flushed and swollen with our kisses.

I was entranced by her face, spasms of pleasure distorting her smooth features as our partner’s mouth lightly fluttered over her labia. My hand crept to my own pulsing clit, wet already though it had not yet been touched tonight. I lowered my lips to the nipples which stretched toward me, never taking my eyes off her features.

Her throat expanded to allow a small sound, something between a moan and a cry which escaped her lips and was chased away by the glistening tip of her tongue. I ran the tips of my fingers over those lips, now pulling the lower one down slightly to meet my approaching kiss. My body slid over the sheets, drawing itself against hers to press my wetness against her thigh.

A small sound escaped the lips of the man between her legs and he grasped at his own cock, turning it towards me. Obligingly I slid my body down her leg, a trail of my juices tracing the friction of her smooth, tight skin against my clit. Locking my legs around his, I slid myself across his cock. It had grown huge, standing out as it had never before. It throbbed against me and burnt to the touch.

His lips broke free and he grasped her hips with muscular, sinewy hands to pull her with him as his body turned to accomodate me.

I knelt above him and continued my traverse along his trembling form. Settling my cunt against his ankle, I lightly trailed my hands over his abdomen and up the inside of his thighs. As his legs parted, his ankle drew up between my lips, pulling tightly against me and it was my turn to moan before plunging his cock deeply into my mouth.

She had settled on her knees and braced against the wall and now she ground herself against his furious, frolicking kisses.

His hands clasped over the blankets, gripping them tightly and taking up fistfuls of the bed as his body arched to our ministrations. They let go abruptly to feel up her body to her breasts. Feverish fingers trailed over her lips and then slid rapidly back down to her hole. Gently, slowly he pressed two inside as he turned his tongue to her swollen clit.

She cried out first and he tugged his cock out of my mouth as it twitched, threatening to explode down my throat. Gently he lay her down, lifting her legs as he trailed a taut torso over her breasts and then plunged himself inside her. I lay next to them, watching, spying, observing their bodies intertwined.

I bit my lip and my fingers tensed on my abdomen to see their embrace. The subtle shifts of their muscles as they strained against one another led a near painful warmth through my middle.

His hands on the back of her knees he pressed them back and he fucked her harder, looking deeply at me as my own knees spread to accommodate my venturing fingers. I watched, transfixed as his abdomen tensed with his thrusts. Suddenly there was another hand on my cunt and she murmerred my name as her fingers skillfully found their way between my lips.

A light touch, lighter than I might have touched myself, over each part of my pussy, pressure applied in just the right way and my eyes squeezed shut, my hands stretching over my head in a simulation of being bound. When my eyes opened again it was just in time to see his forarm moving across the back of her knee.

A cry came from my mouth as my eyes shut again. As his dick plunged in and out of her, he thrust two, then three fingers up my own writhing cunt, matching the rythm and pressure inside her. He arched his back and strained deeply into her, shouting as he emptied himself. His body twitched and pulsed with his orgasm and the hand in my cunt translated each wave of his pleasure.

I watched his body tremble and shake and my pussy throbbed for more. Grinding my hips against the hands that eagerly grasped, juices flowed and my orgasm came, through my pussy and through my mouth, wracking my body with each pulse. Spasms of pleasure brought with them smaller orgasms and I came again and again, coaxed and urged by tireless hands, both rough and masculine and tender and smooth.

He collapsed now atop us as our frantic breaths slowed and deepened and a layer of sweat separated our skin. As he eased his exhausted cock out of her, our hands delicately explored one another, taking the time to know the folds and crevices our lust had not yet had the patience to map.

I awoke once in the night, to find his head on my stomach, his arm across the soft curve of her hip and smiled at his peaceful face before drifting back into deep and contented slumber.



{May 21, 2007}   Productive

It’s been a while, readers. My sincerest apologies.

Recently, Eden Fantasys sent me quite an impressive pair of leather bondage cuffs to review. I only wish I could have taken them to a party, and really given them a true testing. Alas, I had to settle for some bedroom bondage.

The concierge stopped me on my way out the door. “There’s a package here for you, Ms. Sythes” I could have taken the package upstairs and saved it for later, but I’m impatient, impulsive.

I was on the train when I opened them. I tore the tape off the package like an eager child tearing open a long-awaited birthday present. Underneath a layer of bubble wrap was a plastic package, emblazoned with a rather juicy photo. The man in the photo, his lean muscular form gleaming, looked at me intensely through bedroom eyes as he strained against his bindings.

I glanced furtively around the car. How could I wait? I was already beginning to feel just a bit excited. Imagining the scenarios in which I might make use of the contents. Across from me was a well dressed middle aged man with white hair. He noticed me looking at him and there must have been something in my eyes, because he cleared his throat and returned to his newspaper, industriously rearranging the pages.

To my left sat an unabashedly lesbian couple, their sign language conversation punctuated with small giggles here and there. Perhaps they were on a first date. The longing in their eyes seemed fresh, to glow with that excitement of new discovery. I could imagine them later, lightly brushing one another’s bodies with their fingertips, the redhead’s lips parting slightly as her new, more butch companion lightly trailed a finger down the rise of her breast, curling it as it approached a firm, pert nipple. In my imagination, her lips and her nipple were the same deep shade of pink, flushed with excitement. Her green eyes standing out from her face, in sharp, perfect contrast to the pinkness that rose in her cheeks.

Unable to bear it, the redhead reached a dainty hand, nimble from years of signing and confidently slid it past the top of her friend’s jeans, finding a bare abdomen and a dampness that radiated heat. Her partner’s hands flexed and pulled slightly away from her body then grasped hard at her breasts with a gasp as she swiftly slid her fingers deep inside, laying her thumb atop an engorged button. Those red lips, that so perfectly matched those perfectly rounded nipples, wrapped around a slackened lower lip, sucking it in and nibbling her way up into a deep kiss.

Gently pinching, those graceful hands slowly began to stroke up and down the tiny shaft and over the top, massaging through the hood and curling her long fingers toward her new lover’s G-spot. Pressing her own lips against her partner’s thigh, she moved her mouth, trailing her tongue down towards soft breasts.

The dark haired woman moaned and arched her neck, her hands shifting to rest on round, white buttocks. She leaned back, to support herself against a wall and raised her knee into the softness she found there. The sensation of soft, moistening skin against her thigh urged her forth. Pulling at her date’s ass, she slowly flexed her musles, hardening her thigh and parting lips to rub the growing bud between.

Her orgasm came all at once and one high pitched cry after another pierced the silence. As her body relaxed, she slid down to return her partner’s generosity.

Flattening her hand against the red lips between smooth, soft thighs, she rubbed around to penetrate a satiny sheath. She extended the tip of her tongue and flicked at the swollen knob once, twice and then withdrew. She studied her girlfriend’s cunt a moment, spreading it to take in each crevace and then allowing it to close, slowly. Pointing her tongue, she licked up and then down between two rises of her lover’s outer labia, just barely reaching the silky skin underneath. Her upper lip followed, its dry softness contrasting the intense sensation preceding it.

She had taken the dainty redhead for a soft touch, but hands materialized at the back of her head, tugging her mouth suggestively closer, straining hips upward with a moan.

She grasped the clit lightly between her teeth and attacked anew, enveloping her lover, mouth filled with fragrant sex. She slid a firm tongue inside and flickered toward the front wall as her lips tightened, sucking noisily. She slid a hand down to her own pussy, suddenly eager for more. They came at once, bodies arching in unison and as her mouth filled with her lover’s pleasure, the butch reached up with both hands to draw it out, to rub and coax and bring forth another and another and another, enjoying, viscerally her lover’s repeated panting cries.

Before I knew it, the package containing my cuffs was open and I was furtively rolling up my pants leg, lifting my ankle to affix one there. I would surprise my date. When the night became quiet and we were alone, my evening’s companion would find me ready to be bound.

The man across the car studied his newspaper as I buckled first the left and then the right cuff. Cinching them as tight as they would go and rolling my jeans back down. When I looked up, the femme was looking at me, wide-eyed. She signed something to her girlfriend and the girlfriend’s intrigued gaze fell on me. We locked eyes and I smiled coyly. Furiously the redhead signed. Lascivious laughter; and then comfort fell back between them, their suggestive caresses becoming all the more propulsive, leading them closer to the evening I had so secretly planned for them.

My evening was about to start and I couldn’t wait to see to what heights it would bring me.



{May 13, 2007}   Equal to the love you make

I remember the last time we fucked. By candlelight and incense, we sat in the nude, face to face and cross-legged. Our knees barely touched and I could feel the hair on your legs tickling mine, the warmth of you radiating from behind it.

You’d made a lot of rigamarole about love and I’d been at first, alarmed. As I’d realized it wasn’t about me, wasn’t my love you were entreating, I felt a relief which gradually passed into disappointment. This body was mine tonight, but never after.

I remember trailing my finger lightly down your chest, never breaking contact. I paused for a moment over your heart and then allowed my fingers to cascade over your abdomen. As gradually tensing abdominal muscles tapered, I hesitated again, the tips of my fingers lightly tickled by dark curls.

I flattened my hand and felt the curls gathering between my fingers as my palm pressed against your half-erect member. My fingers curled underneath your scrotum, gathering your balls into my hand and I lightly brushed them against the base of your rapidly stiffening cock.

Your hands were on me, too, slipping back and forth between my clit and my opening, extracting soft, deep breaths which arched my breast towards you. It was as though my chest was being tugged by yours, areolae hardening, reaching out for contact with you.

I leaned forward and lightly touched my lips to your collarbone, my tongue flickering along it to your earlobe before trailing down your firm chest to envelop a small, rigid nipple. You called for the divine as I pressed your cock towards me, slowly massaging with my hand as I trailed my torso across your skin.

Your hands, no longer able to reach my engorgement, tensed and gripped my thighs, pulling me closer and then moving to the yielding flesh which rose and fell against your cock. I shifted to your other nipple and drew my body to envelop it between my breasts. Obligingly, you pushed them together and pressed through.

My tongue flickered from my mouth, a quick, firm touch to the underside of your head, pressing briefly to the tip and following it with a soft kiss. Your sudden exhalation swept across my back, tickling the bare flesh and raising a scattering of goose bumps.

I slid backwards on the blankets we had placed down, to arch my neck and take your penis into my mouth. Your hands fell to the floor behind you as your hips pressed ever so slightly upward. I remember pressing you in, deeply and extending my tongue to meet your scrotum, lifting your balls to brush them against the stud in my tongue.

You rose and I fell, a well oiled machine, with the practice of lovers experienced in the motions of each other’s bodies, the intimacy and enthusiasm of a half dozen fucks culminating into the ecstasy of this moment. You straddled me and I lifted my head, drawing your cock back towards my face for more.

I fucked you with my lips and tongue and hands, the back of my throat flexing and relaxing as your hips moved you through my mouth. You were harder than I’d ever seen you and my cunt burned for your entrance.

Grasping your hips I pushed you down my body, my heart beating wildly and my breath coming in short, building gasps. I dragged my clit back and forth over your dick, which stiffened and grew even more before plunging inside me, my pelvic bone pressing my clit into the vee at your base.

I grew and throbbed against the dark hairs, now plastered flat by the juices which slid you in and out of me so smoothly. A high pitched cry, matched by a tenor of a groan accompanied our orgasms, bodies trembling and shaking.

You collapsed on top of me, sweat dripping through my hair, my hands stroking your back, your ass, your thighs as I trembled with depletion.

We lay there a long time like that, faces buried in one another’s necks, hands tender and thankful. Lips gently caressing now and then. Your penis softened gradually between my legs and eventually slipped out of me, brushing against a still sensitive clit and I gasped one last time.



{May 7, 2007}   She kissed me!

Today had me thinking about the first girl who kissed me.

She was a tiny little fireball of drunken gothic energy. We had no other connections than that we hung out in some of the same places. I didn’t know her last name or where she went to school. I never saw her without her best girlfriend on one side and her boyfriend on the other. I didn’t even have her phone number.

Her hair, (black of course) lay flat where mine did not, sleek and shiny. Her features were delicate and her smile delightfully impish. I had never felt an attraction to a girl before. A year younger than me, she came off as everything I wished I had the guts to be, adorable, outgoing and unabashedly sexual.

We chatted twice weekly and soon greeted one another with hugs.
Hugs moved on to playful, closed mouth kisses. After the first of these
I felt bigger, more special and just generally pleased with myself. Things
were not good at home. At school and in my extracurricular activities I
was a freak and stood out like a sore thumb, but I could put on black
velvet and big boots, paint my nails and lips black and head out to the
spots I knew and know that there were people, like her, who squealed
and returned my hugs and…kissed me!

I was drawn to her like a moth to a candle. She lost none of her glamour
even as she staggered too drunkenly into the street, needing to be pulled
out just in time to throw up in the gutter. I felt a thrill of excitement when
I ran into her at a party of a friend I didn’t know we had in common.

Late one night she staggered down the street towards me, grabbed me and
pushed her tongue between my lips and into my mouth. My head filled with
helium. Her lips were softer than the ones attatched to the boys I’d kissed
(it’s a cliche I know, but it’s true) her kiss more empathic. I could scarcely
breathe as I processed what was happening before returning it as well as I
could.

She giggled as her boyfriend irritably dragged her off me and down the street. I was left standing in front of the theatre, fingers on my lips, desperately trying to process my tumultuous thoughts.

I doubt she even remembers it, but it completely changed my perception of the world. We lost contact not terribly long afterwards. I started dating Dell and faded from the scene in a whirlwind of new relationship energy. Every now and again these days I catch a glimpse of her life and I remember the crush I harboured on her so many years ago.

We’re both such different people now and it’s such a strange thought to think that in that place and time my world was so affected by hers where now they barely overlap.

I just remember turning to Lois and uttering the awe-struck words: “She *kissed* me!”



et cetera