YEAH. I MADE OUT WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND. WHAT. (part two)
I’m not sure what is more strange, the fact that we are baking cupcakes in the shape of breasts, using different cake batter to represent different ethnic groups, or the fact that we only met each other a week ago. And by we, I mean that I am baking cupcakes in the shape of breasts. You are to my right, watching me crack three eggs, pour 1/3 cup water, 2/3 cup of vegetable oil, mix mix mix until it turns into Cherry Chip cake batter. The Golden Yellow breasts cool as you sit on the chocolate-colored tiles that comprise your kitchen countertop. I feel as though I have known you for much longer than seven days, much longer than 168 hours, much longer than 10,080 minutes, much longer than 604,800 seconds. Much longer.
Cupcakes cooling. Lights off. Movie on. Commence close-sitting, which becomes cuddling, which becomes snuggling. Dead Poet’s Society seems depressing when a person watches it alone, but it is beautiful whilst watching it with you. I lose focus on the film, glancing at you and as you notice my staring, you mouth forms this phenomenal smile that seems to shine even brighter with the reflection of the light from the television screen. I feel my ears begin to burn—the first sign that my face will soon resemble the exterior of a raspberry. Your eyes seem to scan my face, lingering on my lips, whose smile I try so desperately to suppress. I want to scream KISS ME! but I remain silent, my heart beat refusing to do the same.
As I lie in your lap, you bow your head and our lips meet softly. There is something familiar about the contour of your lips, the way they fit with my own, the way that nothing about it feels strange, yet it all feels different. kisskisskiss ssikssikssik. upsidedown. And then we both sigh and smile and snuggle. Beep beep beep. Time to frost the cool Asian breasts and the ethnically-unclear Cherry Chip ones.
Smeared chocolate frosting takes its home in the corners of your lips and I, laughing, kiss it off. A chocolate kiss that turns into an embrace that turns into a vanilla kiss that turns into lying on the deep olive green couch, alternating between being consumed by Robin Williams’ English teacher profundity and being consumed by each other’s passion. Such a strange juxtaposition. I don’t know when the movie ends, for our own story has begun and it is all that I can focus on now. You make me laugh as you threaten to let me fall off of the couch on which we are crowded. You are so demanding, you tell me as I point at my pursed lips, silently telling you my desire. Our laughter is muffled with each kiss. Every kiss full of happiness, and smiles, and everyotherlamethingyoucanpossiblythinkof. We just lie there, my head upon your chest, your arms around me, warming my impossibly cold exterior. We begin to doze, until the realization that it is 3 am sets in.
Cold February air fills my lungs and wraps around my skin as we walk to your white car, the model of which is ubiquitous in this city. Five minutes later you kiss me goodnight and I walk to my dorm room. I smile. I feel so anxious I can hardly sleep. I touch my lips, and I feel as though you are once again lying next to me. So fast. So quickly. I begin to fall…
Both into a deep slumber and deeply in love.
4 months ago • Notes