So soft and warm, it glides under my lips as I make my way down along the side of his gorgeous neck, lubricating him with my saliva in the process. We’re cuddling on the sofa in his cramped, dim bedroom. Posters of bands I’ve never heard of or seen, random drawings, strange quotations all adorn his walls.
I don’t think about that much though, as he’s breathing smiles into my hair. I’m with him right now, and that’s all that matters to me at the moment. He’s in my arms, against my skin, giving me his undivided attention and that’s all I could ever hope for. He giggles as my kisses turn into tiny, teasing little nibbles.
“That’s nice,” he whispers. “Keep doing that.”
And I always obey.
His scent fills my nose and I breathe it in as deep as I would the smoke from a cigarette. It burns the same good feeling up inside me. I feel my chest heave up and down as I inhale deeper. I find myself now smiling too. I sit in his lap and continue nibbling at the softer parts of his neck.
I didn’t tell anyone where I was going to be today.
His lips aren’t too thick, but are far from thin. I especially like them when they’re moist and hot and on mine. His eyelashes are thick and long, fluttering against my face when we get too close. They’re closed at the moment, but his eyes are some type of blue or grey. I can never tell. I always blush and look away every time we make direct eye contact. He always wins the silent staring contests.
He is beautiful.
I gently pull away from his neck and we’re staring one another in the eyes. He makes a fool of me once more as I look away down to my hands I just clasped in my lap. He holds them both and whispers my name. I feel his warm breath on my face, going increasingly red in the face. The way I can switch from being confident, or nothing but putty in his hands is astounding.
His coffee breath, his square front teeth, his scruffy facial hair, his thick glasses. I want to look up but I don’t want to look him in the eye. My senses are becoming overwhelmed. My face flushes an impossible red and my heart pumps so loud that I’m surprised he doesn’t mention the sound.
“Want to do something fun?” he teases. One hand still on my clasped hands, he uses the other to lift a piece of stray hair from my face.
We’re all made to believe this is love.
He’s a vision, an absolute beauty. His hands are soft and his nails perfectly trimmed. His fingers are long and bony, yet have a very graceful elegance to them. He wears an old ring belonging to an old relative on his right index. More soft, perfect, unbroken skin. Compared to his, my hands are stubby and dirty, now that I realise. The skin around each and every one of my fingernails is torn. Some are even on the verge of bleeding. It’s a nervous habit of mine. If I agree to this, it’ll all be over. This perfect moment we’re having right now, this warm intimacy.
“I don’t know…“I say.
Liar, liar.
“I’m just a little tired…”
Pants on fire.
“… I think I should probably be getting home soon though.”
Like anyone ever buys that one anymore.
His hand moves from holding my hand to sliding up and down my pant leg.