I felt as if time had stopped, as if I had suddenly lost all control of my body, essentially making it impossible for me to move, impossible for me to push him away—because that was what I wanted to do. I didn’t want his mouth on mine, and come to think of it, I didn’t want any other part of his body touching me either. I wanted him to go away, wanted him to walk out of the door with his dog, and hopefully I would never see him again.
But that wasn’t going to happen. Even I knew that. I knew when it was better for me to quit while I was ahead, knew when it was better for me not to get my hopes up for something that wasn’t going to happen—but knowing all of that still didn’t make me accepting of the fact that his mouth was still pressed against mine. It felt like time had slowed, as if so
