It wasn't really our first date, we'd known each other for over two years already. There'd been a time I'd though he was in love with me, but when I finally asked, he said no. Anyway, I was so traumatized that spring, and I blurted my confessions to him while, as usual, he bossed me around his kitchen. I can't remember, but I chopped garlic, and tasted white truffle oil for the first time and felt soft and beautiful all over because of it. So I blurted my confessions to M. over food, and it seemed to give him the entitlement he needed to wrap his arm around me on the couch. He kissed me. He touched my breasts. I noticed he wasn't disturbed that the drapes were open, that anyone could see us, sort of, in the world together. I can't remember how we got to his bedroom. I do remember his smell, and thinking he had a decent cock, and wishing I was just a little more drunk or stoned or something. He came too quickly, that's all I should say, and that's the way it was each time after, while he still wasn't in love with me.
Updated June 2024 | Acknowledgements | Copyright ©1998-2024 Risa Horowitz