C. and I kissed on the rooftop parking lot of the mall. Every day for four months, after classes, before dinner, hanging out with my girlfriend S. was my cover. She worked at the flower shop. C. and I would meet and roam and sit on the curbs up there hiding behind cars, making out forever it seemed. But, then, time stolen from home felt like forever, then, the good kind. I remember the heat under the bed sheets as we'd whisper on the phone until the middle of the night, tempting fate. Once I snuck him in to the house where I baby sat. Lying on the couch in front of the first porn video I ever saw [Please, Mr. Postman]. That was the year my breasts grew out, it took a few. My stretch marks were prolific, but C. wouldn't let me turn out the light. I had no recourse to his conviction that he found them sexy, following the bright red welts with the tip of his tongue with such affection. Years later we found ourselves curbside in some other parking lot, trying on each other's lips for one last time. He'd become such a pot head.
Updated June 2024 | Acknowledgements | Copyright ©1998-2024 Risa Horowitz