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Sonia Dogra's avatar

I liked where you took this story, Lee. If, what we write, can serve greater purposes like the themes you explore, the subtexts, it's always a plus.

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Tombarriesimmons's avatar

I thought you might like this little story from my bio: (it's about my teenage years)

THE KISS

Trembling, I try to force my mind to think of nothing, to let what’s to come, come. My eyes lose their focus as the empty ceiling becomes a sea of the palest blue, almost white. But it is useless. Thoughts tumble into each other so quickly they overlap.

How did I get into this position? What could have possessed me to agree, so readily, so ‘matter-of-factly’, to such an idea, one that was completely bizarre to us both? How could we have spent so long discussing such a trivial, yet important thing? A safe way to experience something all our friends talked about, but which we could only guess at?

Without warning, a face replaces the ceiling, filling my field of vision. The eyes hold me, framed with long, fine, fair lashes. I never noticed how blue the irises are before, with incredibly large pupils. Embarrassed, I tear my gaze away, down the sunburnt nose to the mouth, over which an almost invisible moustache grows. The full lips are almost parted, almost moist. Suddenly, I remember my teacher telling me, ‘Do nothing you would not have your mother see you do.’

I try to put mother out of my mind, we are only practising. Where is the harm in that? Richard’s breath, faintly sweet, enters my nostrils. His eyes become one. Should I keep looking, or shut mine? I close them; I am lost in his power.

Lightly at first, then with a sensitive, delightful pressure, his mouth brushes a faint, electric sensation into the nerves of mine. A minute passes, probably; I can’t tell, but it seems that time stands still until the weight of his body lightens, eases to my left, and he turns onto his back.

Twisting, I look at his head, framed by the afternoon sun that slants through the French windows so that his hair makes a sort of halo.

‘Was that nice?’ he asks in a whisper almost inaudible.

‘Yes, very,’ I say, surprised that I have a voice at all.

‘Well,’ he continues, ‘now it is my turn to pretend to be the girl.’

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