After our kiss A wanted to see me again. The first time I agreed and then changed my mind. He was a great guy, too great. I’m not proud of it but as far as men are concerned I tend to disappear if I smell a storm coming.
He wasn’t going to give in that easily though and finally he convinced me to meet him on my stoop ‘for a cigarette’ (to make out).
We kissed and talked and kissed again. A serial dater, he must have done a good bit of this argy bargy. He told me I was in my ‘own league’ when it came to locking lips. I took his word for it. We were up so late we saw the garbage truck come. ‘These are my people’ he joked. Taking an opportunity to exercise his ‘Mexican pride’ he ran his hands up my shorts exposing my ass and gave me a big nice squeeze. The garbage guys hollered, we were a hit.

I must say I do adore kissing. Like a crystal ball it allows a glimpse into other worlds and a great kiss is inevitably a precursor for great sex. I had seen A tie a knot in the stem of a maraschino cherry with his tongue without any fuss. I have no idea how one accomplishes this and I didn’t like to comment on it but it prompted a secret smile every time he placed a beautiful electric red bow next to his glass.
He was turning out to be more interesting than I had initially thought and not just because of what he could do with fruit. He worked as a designer but had been a teacher for ten years prior, he wanted to start his own school, he used to be Christian, he was a good friend, he had a scraggly old cat, he pronounced my name with a short ‘a’, he was slowly, methodically chipping his way to the contents.

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