Monster, Monster
Things Were Easy
after me and Jessie started dating. The first couple weeks flew by in hot days of going shopping and sharing coffee and sushi. His mom adored me, a great relief. My stomach fluttered when we held hands. It may be hard to believe, but Jessie was my first real honest-to-god boyfriend. I'd dated a couple of guys before, long-distance who would stop by on their way to spend weekends with mom for a smoke and leave. Then there was my very first boyfriend ever who lived four states away and lasted six months, but that was a messy situation. There was also Marcello, the international hottie who everyone in school tried to figure out if he was straight or gay. let me tell you, I was the first to know, before he went back to Ecuador. We only went on one date, no holding hands, where the only intimacy was his paying for my ticket to the show. But with Jessie, everything was different and new.
The say you remember your very first kiss. I remember mine. We had walked across Rock Rd. bridge to the library and back, a bag of books in tow and smiling faces. We stopped at the park and Jessie lit up a cigarette, offering a puff. I hadn't smoked in months. Patricia told me that if I wanted to smoke when i was sixteen, I was welcome to it; but after my birthday, I couldn't stand the smell anymore. I hesitantly took the cigarette and inhaled deep, passing the cancer stick back to him and exhaling slow. I prayed the stench wouldn't catch on my breathe.
The wind blew soft, and I slightly swung back and forth on the rubber swing, leaning against the rusted chain. I suddenly felt his hand on my back, and lifted my head, prepared to listen. Instead, I was greeted by his lips, warm and welcoming. His tongue gently glided over my lips, wet and soft, parting my lips and slipping inside. He massaged the cavern of my mouth, carefully teasing and rubbing everywhere. His tongue was against my teeth, the roof of my mouth, my own tongue, massaging everywhere, and then just as soon as it started: he pulled away, a bright smile on his face.
The say you remember your very first kiss. I remember mine. We had walked across Rock Rd. bridge to the library and back, a bag of books in tow and smiling faces. We stopped at the park and Jessie lit up a cigarette, offering a puff. I hadn't smoked in months. Patricia told me that if I wanted to smoke when i was sixteen, I was welcome to it; but after my birthday, I couldn't stand the smell anymore. I hesitantly took the cigarette and inhaled deep, passing the cancer stick back to him and exhaling slow. I prayed the stench wouldn't catch on my breathe.
The wind blew soft, and I slightly swung back and forth on the rubber swing, leaning against the rusted chain. I suddenly felt his hand on my back, and lifted my head, prepared to listen. Instead, I was greeted by his lips, warm and welcoming. His tongue gently glided over my lips, wet and soft, parting my lips and slipping inside. He massaged the cavern of my mouth, carefully teasing and rubbing everywhere. His tongue was against my teeth, the roof of my mouth, my own tongue, massaging everywhere, and then just as soon as it started: he pulled away, a bright smile on his face.