Last night.
I'm deeply ashamed. That kiss should never have happened. Never. The kiss at the motel was different. It was brief and I was genuinely disgusted by it. The thought of kissing him was absurd, like something out of a nightmare. Last night was different. I felt the opposite of what I felt in that stupid motel room.
I wanted it. I kissed him back with a passion that makes me want to dig a hole deep enough for me to climb in and disappear from the face of the earth. I held him like a lover. The memory of his tongue in my mouth causes a shiver to run down my spine and settle there. I'm so ashamed that I'm afraid of turning around. I'm afraid of turning around and finding him watching me with that knowing smirk of his. And that bulge. Oh my God, the bulge.
I sit up, without facing
