The family room lights are off. Daylight streams through windows flanking the chimney. She and I sit on a plaid-upholstered couch in an awkward silence. We broke up last week over an intimacy I asked for, and that she gave.
Yet here we are.
Did we kiss? Speak a word of reconciliation? Suddenly we’re dating again. And making out on that couch.
I whisper a proposition in her ear. We walk into my bedroom. Kiss some more. Her blouse, my shirt: the rest of our clothes drop to the floor. We fall on my bed together.
Bryan Adam’s “Summer of 69” plays somewhere as we surrender our virginities without another word.
running my fingers along
more by FRANK J. TASSONE
photograph by Nathan Walker