A Saturday To Remember

She was at my place. I could almost not believe it. She is 5’2, 112 or so pounds. A short pretty girl with hips and long brown hair and doey brown eyes. She looks American and she’s completely americanized, but not quite so. She doesn’t seem to have the Americaness that I don’t like (like drugs and heavy partying and unrealness). She’s got some Mexican in her or something. I can see it in her eyes and hair and the shade in her skin. Is it American Indian? Whichever it is, it is beautiful and she is so beautiful and seems so good. I love the way she looks and walks, especially with those hips. I love how tall she is. You know there is a saying that short girls were made for tall guys. I think I might have invented it.

I’m sitting on the sofa in the living room, all 5’10, 180lbs of me. I’m waiting for her to come out of the bathroom. This is our third date. I liked the first two. They were nice and interesting. So far it seems that things get a little more interesting each time we see each other. I think that is a good sign. The best thing, and which makes my spirits their highest is that when I talk to her, she is really there, and I feel that what we have said and experienced has really been what it was. There is a lot about her that I don’t know, but I feel that what I have experienced with her will not be betrayed. I have been hurt so many times in the past and things have been unreal.

Perhaps this is why I feel the way I do right now. I’m distracted by my breathing, it’s light and uneven and strained. I’m really nervous and excited. I’m thinking of what I’m going to do when she comes out. I know I’m romantic to the bone, but I also know one other thing: I’m unbelievably silly — and I can’t help it. Maybe it is strange when these two properties come out and manifest together.

When she comes out I’m going to sit her on the sofa and kiss her. Then I will tell her that she is the prettiest girl I have ever kissed. And it will be true. I have dreamed of kissing the prettiest girl I have ever kissed. Thought of it on many occasions. This is a brilliant big deal to me. I’m going to attempt to make it happen.

But, new thought…, and I realize, and start to feel bad. Am I using her to fulfill my fantasy? I’m not one to use a girl. I abide by the heart and good sense. Aughh, I’m suddenly perplexed and conflicted.

She comes around the corner in her jeans that hug those hips. I tell her to come over here and sit down by me and she does. Looking at her across from me a foot away I tell her, “I want to kiss you.” I put my hand over hers on the couch, like how it happens in the movies. She looks at me, touches of redness coming into her cheeks.

“Okay,” she says, looking at me.

“You are so beautiful. I really like to look at you. I was just thinking about kissing you and about a fantasy I had.” I tell her the fantasy, but that I don’t want to use her. “But I want you to know that besides my fantasy, I want to kiss you anyway.”

This is a laughable moment, but neither of us laugh.

“Then kiss me,” she says.

I do.


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