He said something that delighted me, it could have been anything, he was a delight. I laughed and grabbed his face and laughed and kissed him on both temples, his nose, his dumb goatee. He sat there and took it gladly, didn't try to make it anything more, didn't do anything sinister with his hands. This was the first time my lips had explored any part of him, and it was brief, friendly, nonpassionate. These kisses did not say sex, they said happy hunger, a need to give him something, a need to know what his forehead tasted like. I knew I could sit back and nothing fundamental would have changed. I did not sit back.
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