I don’t know if I’m more upset over the fact that I let him kiss me, or the idea that he might have been trying to use that kiss to figure out some damn loss from his past. I don’t say that in some whiny this-should-be-about-me way, I say that because I’m truly concerned. I’m the last person he should be trying to reconcile his past with. I’ve asked myself if I gave him some kind of a signal and for the life of me, I can’t come to a conclusion. Gazing into his eyes was probably not a great plan for keeping distance. I just can’t seem to stop myself.
It was a good kiss, though. Good enough that I woke up Saturday morning around two a.m. with my d**k so hard I thought I was going to die, still clinging to an intensely realistic dream that involved his talented tongue. And six A.M. And both
