I had observed her in choir class, talked to her at garage parties, and imagined her naked on the beach. When I saw her smile that shined brighter than my lighted cigarette, I felt my heart quicken. Even now, I feel her voice singing to the back of my throat. Even now, I find her hard to forget.
Shriveled from a lack of kisses and an overdose of goodbyes, her lips reminded me of a capsized cruise ship. Heaven seemed to hang from her uvula like an ocean from the moon, which is how I came to meet her. Through music, her mouth translated to concrete reality all my former dreams and feelings, which is why not speaking to her and not hearing her brief answers echo back, felt like the utmost insanity.
It was summer that day - windy June to the others, but hot, dry July inside of me. Sand spitefully tickled my toes as I approached her.
The waves bowed down to the beach like a sinner pleading mercy to God, and I thought I too should drop in the presence of her beauty. The dimples in her cheek, acute and playful, caught my eyes. I smiled at her, tried to make small talk, tried to keep the nervous mass building in my stomach invisible. I knew all the things people said about her, but she captivated my attention completely, and from that moment on, I was uncontrollably hers.
Our conversation poured fluidly until we lost sight of the surrounding beach- two mouths moving, eyes connected, feet slowly shuffling towards each other. I told her I drank Gatorade religiously; she said she drank men.
So I let her drink me. I'm sure my skin was as tangy as my scent, the sweat seeped from every pore. The weight of the blankets maximized the heat of our bodies, our lips, our laughter. The cotton felt like down feathers and I was one of those rare boys who were ticklish. We lasted together for what seemed like an eternity. That's when I knew I held something deeper than oceans in my heart.
Girls like her were never mine. Just a mile from the last inch of my fingertips. Holding her in my arms made me feel like I'd won gold, I whispered everything a girl wants to hear into her honey locks and drifted into a slumber.
When I woke, the sky had darkened to a violet. She called, "Good morning, beautiful..." through the black. Her smile was brighter than the last street light.
Gently replying softly spoken nonsense, I muttered, "Where are my pants?" Even though I savored every last orgasmic second of our joining together,I acted like I was late for something more important.
I hated for her to see the desperation of her love in my hypnotized eyes. As I slipped on my pants of regret I procrastinated my untimely exit. Her delectable stares replenished my fatigue. Oh, how I wanted her again, not just her, but her entire being.
She was a venus flytrap who had a fetish for flowers, and from that moment on, I prayed to be her flower forever and longer.
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