We watched the fireworks from the roof of Aaron’s penthouse apartment on the LES. Her head on my chest and occasionally I’d peek down to see her big browns open wide, voluminous smile on her kisser, glitter on her face sparkling in the explosions of light before us.
Later on, we made our own fireworks, but not before we were arrested for a backrub in Prospect Park and it turns out I’ve a criminal record after all (days before 9/11, me on the roof of projects property, snapping shots of the skyline – always at the right place at the wrong time).
Her – frustrating and beautiful, like pulling teeth (my own). Deep down solid; a geek girl wrapped in gorgeous.
And so much fun to kiss.
She lured me into her apartment with the temptation of three kitty cats and a toilet wherein to empty my bloated bladder. And we kissed.
Boy, did we kissed.
“Do you want me to stay?” I asked and she nodded. Three makeout sessions followed and I said, “OK, I’ll stay,” and she smiled big and couldn’t get rid of it.
We didn’t fuck, content at kissing, licking, embracing, caressing, whispering, hoping. I don’t remember falling asleep but woke with her hand wrapped around my bare heart. My bare, blistered heart.
In her hand.