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Pweese> Your face was a mear inches apart from mine. I could feel your hot breath on my lips. You leaned forward, a brunette flap of hair fell over one closed eye. I wanted to let you do it. I wanted to discover the taste of you. The taste of that pouty mouth, that pale skin, that thing between your legs that you love to think with. I had to stop. I know one kiss is all it would take to send me to places I promised I would never go. You take out that purple mini sharpe you love so damn much. You write a note on a napkin and leave it for me when you go. There is a sorry written in your sloppy, child like hand writing. There is also a sad face. You are so young with your child like hand writing and sad faces. You go from thirty to fifteen to five in less than an hour. You can not decide the age you like best. You were fearful the other day. I do not want to ever see that expression on your face again if I am the cause of it. Later you press your body against mine in forgiveness. For the hundreth time before you go I get a glimpse of a purple sharpie. There is a e-mail address waiting for me when I pick up the thin yellow paper you left it on. A e-mail address and a link. You've written please underneath it. I detest the way you say those words. "Pweese." "Sowwie." You say them like you are still a child. I couldn't resist them then and I still have trouble doing the same now. I will do what you say if you promise to never look at me with fear in your eyes or want. Don't ever say with another stare "touch me". No touch me with a "pweese" attached to it because I may give up. |