He would pass me in the hallway and something would flutter deep inside me. It had nothing to do with love, least of all infatuation. The flutter would hardly be where you would expect it, behind my ears, in the flush of cheeks, my heart maybe? Alas, I was hardly this juvenile. The flutter would instead arise in my neck, slide down between my breasts, and fall down the slippery slope of my navel to nestle between my legs and would quiver till I was forced to press my thighs together to calm it down.
Whenever he would pass me in the hallway, I couldn't help but be overcome with this dance down below. So much so that without a single bite, it felt as if the peach had begun to drip all its delicious juices down the cave that ensconced it.
I didn't quite understand why. He was goofy at best. Unsophisticated, a little uncomfortable amongst company and often spoke his mind when silence would've been his friend. However, each time I peered into those gorgeous, chocolate brown eyes and saw his awkward smile break upon that face; I couldn't help but find myself quiver again.
Unintentionally, I realised I had begun to touch him more often. My hand on his shoulder as I leaned across him to pick up a sheet or my arm around his shoulder as I wished him good morning in the wards. My hand occasionally playfully smacking his cheek as he mocked me for anything. I wanted to touch him constantly. More so, I wanted him to touch me. Touch me more. Touch me inappropriately. Touch me passionately. Touch me like he wanted to ravage me in ways that I could only imagine he could.
But instead, he maintained his careful distance. The most I got was his arm on my waist when he leaned in for a hug goodbye. And how I wished, someday that arm would slip down to my ample behind, coarsely cup it and pull me towards his hardness that I would be able to feel through my trousers.
But no. Careful distance. Measured touch. He was a gentleman behind all that awkwardness. And that just made me want him more. And I realised. I had to make it happen. This boy wasn't going to make a single move.
I dropped into his clinic one day to say hello. And there he was, his curls over his forehead, his casual smile welcoming me in and his caramel eyes reminding me why I wanted this boy so bad. He began to talk about work and I gave the right responses. His stories interspersed with mine, the banter going on playfully and my hand travelling in his arm and shoulder, touching away as always. I wondered why he hadn't gotten the hint yet. There I was, liberally giving him chances to touch me back but he wouldn't take the bait. And I didn't know what to do anymore. I didn't intend to do it. I hadn't planned on it when I had woken that morning. And I most definitely hadn't thought of what could've happened after. But like a dam breaking against the force of the river so strong and spilling in places where it didn't belong, I took the plunge and kissed him.
Leaning into his gorgeous face, I planted my lips against his with a restraint that was totally unlike the whirlpools that were building up in my belly. I wanted to gauge his response. I wanted him to lunge back at me. I wanted him to say something, anything after this courageous act of lust. And after a brief moment of my lips pressed up against his, I pulled back to wait. Biting my lip. Afraid. Looking at his stunned face at what had just happened. The moments passing felt heavier than he would've felt on my body. With each passing minute feeling slower than the last, I stared at his face as he stared at mine.