“You have to understand. I just want to be happy.” I can barely get the words
out. My mind is a haze, full of smoke—nothing exists but his fingers dancing and
skating over my skin, through my hair. I wish it would stop. I want it to go on
forever. “I just want to be normal, like everybody else.”
“Are you sure that being like everybody else will make you happy?” The
barest whisper; his breath on my ear and neck, his mouth grazing my skin. And I
think then I might really have died. Maybe the dog bit me and I got clubbed on
the head and this is all just a dream—the rest of the world has dissolved. Only
him. Only me. Only us.
“I don’t know any other way.” I can’t feel my mouth open, don’t feel the
words come, but there they are, floating on the dark.
He says, “Let me show you.”
And then we’re kissing. Or at least, I think we’re kissing—I’ve only seen it
done a couple of times, quick closed-mouth pecks at weddings or on formal
occasions. But this isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen, or imagined, or even
dreamed: This is like music or dancing but better than both. His mouth is slightly
open so I open mine, too. His lips are soft, the same soft pressure as the quietly
insistent voice in my head that keeps saying yes.