I Do

By: Carolyn Weltman

They lie there, with him holding her from behind, cradling her against him. Spooning, that’s what it was called, but she thought the word cradle was better suited to the sweet protective embrace. Sheltering her against him, like he could hold her and the world would pound at his back like waves against a rocky shore and he would not give her up.

They were flushed with the dregs of heated embraces. Embraces that seemed to be fueled by the energy from all of the things they could not find words for. It was too soon, too rash, too  good. They were not young things with nothing to lose. They were mature adults with responsibilities and the complex realities of well lived lives. So they tried to say the right words without saying too much, to give them as gifts to the other; parcels wrapped in unhurried, well-formed thoughts to define much less neatly felt, heartfelt yearning. They failed.There were no words

Breath, hands and the sounds that cannot be defined, yet we all know the language of, filled the spaces that words never could find footing within.

Now, after all of the words that weren’t enough and the touches that could not be named, he held her more tightly than what could be called a “casual embrace”.  She felt small and precious with him. She pushed and nestled herself more firmly against him and felt his warm soft breath against her ear,  his arm tightening just a little bit more, as if she might ever want to leave. 

“Would you like to make future plans with me?” He whispered into the silence that held them both

” I do” she whispered back and felt his soft sigh of held breath along the whole length of her spine.

“Would you like to make future plans with me?” She asked back into the silence that had become pregnant between one syllable and the next. The words left her like a small craft on a massive sea.

” I do” He whispered back, giving her safe harbor for as long as she wished.

 

Love and the Definition of Insanity

Sometime in the early part of my sophomore year of high school, on a hot humid day in Florida (not that there is any other sort), I found myself screaming a girl across the hood of car on the side of the road.  This was one of those moments, the ones that snaps in your memory and remains like a Polaroid clipped to a corkboard in your head. When remembered, it is as if I am right there, pumping with adrenaline, feeling the heat beating upon me and pushed beyond the limits, I knew were there, but suddenly and without any polite notice, had been obliterated between the unstoppable force of my stubborn desire and the immoveable object that was one beautiful girl’s core belief in a God, I had no truck with; at least not now, when He was firmly in the way of what I wanted…which was her of course.

In this moment, this girl I had wanted for so long, was so close, within reach and yet I could not convince her I was right and she was wrong (which of course she was).  I could not convince her that if her God was the loving force she claimed, he would not forsake her because she chose to love someone. Yet I was the wrong gender. She could not be swayed. Her hair had just been braided into almost waist long box braids, she wore a crisp white t-shirt and a pleated green skirt with a matching white stripe around its edge, her breasts heaved and she sighed the sigh of suffering only a girl who knew she fought a pointless fight, but just couldn’t stop, but then again, neither could I. Her brows were perfectly tweezed, her skin was clear and smooth, her makeup simple and clean. She was an insufferable controlled creature of femininity, reason and faith. She was always at her most beautiful when she was angry and I could always push her to that place where she lost her cool. I loved pushing her to this place where she was purely emotion, purely focused on me. I didn’t care if it was negative or positive attention, it was her attention and I had it.  When she broke her tightly wound control, I had won, the battle we had been fighting for what seemed like forever to my teenaged heart.  I was always the one that stayed even toned, who didn’t lose her temper and this was frequently the thing that made her the angriest but it seemed like she had finally won, and she knew it. I knew it.

I couldn’t stop myself. I yelled about God and faith and love. I yelled about how much we had wanted each other for over a year, had flirted and edged so close and then backed away from this moment. I yelled that she made me feel crazy and I felt tears slide down my cheeks. We had each dated boys, unfairly to them, because it had all been a game we played with each other. See? I didn’t want you, I didn’t need you. Fuck you.  Lies. We had filled the space we couldn’t breach, with lies.

 

As I cried angry tears and yelled that I knew she loved me, why couldn’t she just let herself love me? I thought clearly for one precise and crystalline moment, I have finally broken, I have finally lost my damn mind. I am truly broken and I will never come back together again…or…I was in love. These were the only two options that made sense. Insanity or love. Maybe they were one and the same? I didn’t know then and I still cannot say I know the answer now.  I do know that the moment I realized I was not only in love but could love, was a life altering thing. For most of us, first love is an earth shattering thing and it was the same for me but perhaps even more so. I grew up with violence, neglect and so much pain and I really didn’t know I was capable of this terrible loss of control that hurt and yet I wanted like drug.  Once I knew it was there, it changed the world. The framework I saw the world through, from which I based my own sense of self and what I might be capable of, was blown to pieces, over the hood of a piece of shit car, in the face of a God I would lose too, in a land of sand and sun. There was a precipice there, I had always known it existed, and I had always feared taking a step too far into the abyss that was feeling, vulnerability and connection to lives that could and would disappoint, hurt and betray me.

While I have seen many ideas about how to define insanity (and there are plenty of serious diagnosis that are useful in clinical situations) the one that makes the most sense to me in the day-to-day flow of life is: “extreme foolishness or irrationality”. Whether it is delusion or the simple momentary loss of reasonable emotional faculties, this definition works.  What is more foolish than love, trust and the utterly irrational belief that one person has all of the power in the world to crush you’re very being with their simple (heartless!) rejection?

At that time, in the searing heat of the Florida sun, beside an old car on the side of the road, I realized I had finally fallen horribly and irrevocably in love. I had believed, up until this point, that I might not be capable of this particular human condition. I did not cry or scream or lose control in this highly undignified way, I was not this crazy screaming creature, fighting God for the hand of a girl who was as afraid as I was. I didn’t understand that she was afraid or even that I was as well. I didn’t understand that it was this fear, the loss of love, that was what finally took away my hard-won control and overcame the core of distrust I had viewed the world through up until this very moment. It was love, the type that defines all fist loves, the desperate pathetic, passionate headfirst into the rabbit hole kind. Additionally, as I was rejected for God and lost my mind to blind heartbroken rage, it became clear that I lacked all the tools necessary to deal with it. This was not the last time I would feel this way, just the first.

I have always believed that we don’t know what we are capable of without knowing who we are when we are in love. In love we are the best and worst versions of ourselves, the most insane, terribly cruel, generous, selfless, truest extremes of our own personal spectrum. This is not just romantic love. Parents, soldiers, the closest of friends, all of these versions of love can push us well beyond what we believed we knew about ourselves. What we believe to be concrete facts about our personalities. Love shifts the paradigm through which we see ourselves the world we live in.  Some people seek these things out, the moments on the side of the road that change the world for us and many run from them as fast and as hard as they can. I cannot fault either but I will always be on the side of the former.

As I work on some other projects and am looking for the places in my life that utterly redefined the world for me, this one stood out. This is not about being a lesbian, which is simply the lens I see this crazy world of dating and modern love from. It is just about questioning what I thought was true, about me and the world. Remembering these moments reminds me of  how often I have been wrong about…everything. I love these moments, not necessarily the screaming at God and stubborn first girlfriends part, but the way the earth shatters and a new ocean spills forth..the moments that new land is discovered to explore.

Sometimes seeing it from a slightly different angle makes it easier to see and sometimes it changes everything. I am hopeful about the first and just arrogant
enough to believe the former is possible as well, but then again I always pick love so my sanity is, by my own definitions, up for debate.

 

The House: Nellie

She knew the House was not sentient , not exactly, but it wasn’t just a building made of wood, mortar and nails either. Nellie was never quite sure how to explain the relationship she had with The House, but she knew it was a relationship, nonetheless. Over the decades she had become as much its keeper as it had become hers.  They had become partners of a kind.

She sat beside the fire in the private library off of her bedroom suite and contemplated the leather-covered dossier and the slim wooden box, made of wood so dark it was almost black, inlaid with scrollwork that mimicked waves and ocean currents. Miniscule gems of green and aqua highlighted the curves in the wood, making the box seem alive and touchable in a way inanimate objects should not be, at least not here in this mundane world.  Nellie ran her fingers across the design, not ready to open the box and see what was inside. She knew the what of its contents, just not what form it would take today.

The box was here beside her favorite chair on the little table with the pretty stained glass lamp she loved, where she sat every night to drink her glass of wine, write in her journal of the day’s events, read or on the rare occasion, entertain a guest.  On even more rare occasions she found a box, an envelope or a gift for her. She always knew if it was for her or as was more often the case, meant to be given to the right person.  She felt her fingers on the amber drop she wore on a chair around her neck, which was always warmer than her skin temperature could account for. It pulsed slightly when her attention was brought to it, like a hello or a soft caress of greeting. The necklace had been the first gift she had received from The House so long ago and she never removed it. It was as much a part of her as her skin or sense of touch. The necklace had many purposes in her life, but at its core it was her companion and a physical reminder of her duties, which she loved, which was perhaps why she ended up here in the first place, wasn’t it?

It was time again. She had felt the house growing, shifting and making new rooms. It hadn’t bothered her, she had grown used to it and knew that it was getting both itself and her ready for a new adventure. She had felt the energy changing in the air and was herself, strung taught ready for the next step, and here it was. A new box, which meant a new project and if she was any judge (and she was) a new girl. She realized just then, that she might be bit lonely. Beneath her fingers she felt the warm pulse again and knew The House had known and that they were both ready for some company and a little purpose beyond the quiet life she had lived for some time now. How long had it been since the last time they had taken in guests? Fifteen? Maybe twenty years? Oh well, she’s check her journals if she really needed a date, suffice to say it had been some time and she was as ready…for what? Well, for change of course, that’s what they were in the business of, wasn’t it?

With that thought she pulled the dossier out from under the beautiful box and began to read about the first of what she knew, would be a collection of souls in need of a little push in this world.

Never Say Never (Mommy Game Part Two)

Yes, yes I know It is mid-may and I have failed abysmally at the April challenge, but it is safe to say I knew the month was going to to be difficult and failure was always an option. That’s okay,  life goes on beyond the month of April and I will at the every least finish this small tale.

Aiden and Mia were that rare couple that made Molly remember the church she grew up in. Not the parts that were easy to fall back upon, the cynical crutches of the Faithless, the ones that once wanted to believe, did believe, but lost faith due to corruption, greed and the common use of doctrine as a weapon for all tat wasn’t “right”..like her, she was never the right kind of girl. She had been baptized in front of her congregation in a marble pool set int he wall of a church so large it needed microphones and stage lighting. That was exactly what it had felt like, a staged event, not a private moment to recognize the divine in each of us but instead a gawdy show for an ever hungry audience. Yet even while that was all true there had still been those that were true to the heart of their Faith, a community and a culture within th larger performance that cared for what they did in this world. That had been what she craved and had never quite found a place within. She in stead, had been one of those stars on the Christmas tree, that well-off parishioners would claim with self-righteous ownership. The would claim their child and but the presents for those unfortunate souls in b=need of charity. She was their charity, their good deed.  Later she and her siblings would put on a show, both literally and figuratively, of their gratitude and thanks. That was an old wound that still sometimes festered and stirred the chip she still held,to gain in breadth and weight upon her shoulder but not today.

Today she met the other type, the ones that gave in a different and more true manner. They gave of themselves. The took in kids, kids like she once was. They took n children as troubled and broken as she was, as scared and abandoned as her sisters and brothers ahd been as well. More importantly that took the risk of such children into their homes. Yes, she had a sad story and so had her brethren; it easy to hide behind that sorry tale and pretend the facade of innocence and pain was all there was to it, but that wasn’t true. No one comes from the darkness unscathed. She had been a thief, a liar and quck to violence. Her fellows had been as bed or worse, depending on each of their paths. This couple kept taking them in, as if they were safe and worth loving. As if their home and children were not as risk. The cared for them as if they weren’t likely to leave and be put back into the homes that broke them. They fought for them.

Why? These people didn’t have the motivation of their own trauma to make them do this for others, they just did it. She didn’t understand. She had spent a lifetime learning how people worked and how to be a part of the world she saw on the other side of the glass, as a parent and adult. it was still a game sometimes, no matter how well she mimicked the ‘right” way to be.  Molly was fascinated  and awed in the way she had wanted to be, yet was never quite capable of, as she was dunked into blessed waters.

This wasn’t a game anymore. This was water she was willing to wade into, she wanted to understand.

 

 

 

Mommy Game (Part One)

Molly had passed the first hurdle of two dinner dates with the couple. Her boyfriend Bran was beside her, but she was under no illusions about who was being evaluated. These people were his best friends and Molly liked them..cautiously.

She had tried to explain to him that she was a parent and the “other woman”. The way she would be judged was on a very different scale than what he was used to. Single white-collar men without children had very little to do with single moms that dated men that weren’t quite single or known for their smart choices in women. Please see Exhibit A, his current separation and divorce.

Suffice to say, they didn’t expect the best choices from him at this point and here I was, a possibly asinine choice…with a kid. Who knew what kind of crazy he had invited into their home. A general level of caution (at the very least) was just common sense. Additionally Molly was not necessarily likable, she was polarizing at best. People either really liked her or…they really didn’t. Personally, Molly was perfectly at peace with this reality but it was a fact that terrified her for her daughter’s sake.

It wasn’t even his oldest friend Aiden, but his wife Mia that was the real power (and therefore concern) though Bran didn’t seem to recognize how this all worked. The invitation to have Molly’s daughter come with her hadn’t come until Mia had met her and decided Molly wasn’t a total psycho. 

Mia was excellent at playing what Molly termed The Mommy Game and was, if not the center, a key player in her community’s parenting culture. She hosted gatherings, doled out smart advice and participated in all of the school events with a grace Molly found completely baffling and impossible to emulate. To Molly this was like doing magic tricks while performing death-defying feats of skill and bravery.

Molly liked Mia. She was the kind of mother she greatly admired. Kind and heavily invested in her children, she was still down to earth and intelligent. She seemed to be her own person, which many mothers seemed to lose within the confines of the title “mommy”.

As a rule, she didn’t trust these kind of women (no matter how much she liked them), because she couldn’t tell if they were real friends or not. She couldn’t tell if some small infraction would put her (and more importantly her child) into the “Do Not Touch” category. As a rule she avoided the whole game because nothing good came of it, she had learned this the hard way. In this arena she felt outmatched and defenseless.   Molly just tried to not make waves. Her daughter was the moon and the stars to her and that was enough. She’d rather be standoff-ish than a pariah, which could happen surprisingly quickly in the world of Mommy Land. This way she wouldn’t ruin anything for her daughter.

Rarely was it worth wading into the pool but Molly had found herself trying this time. Yes, these were important people in Bran’s life but there was more to it, which made it even scarier for her.

The couple’s surety and savvy was impressive but it was another aspect of this couple’s life that  floored her in ways that had nothing to do with boyfriends, The Mommy Game, or her general trepidation in such encounters.

TBC

 

Little Late

The escaped through the window, like hey had done so many times before. In the beginning it had been a game of teenage ninja’s, testing the boundaries and pushing for freedom. Now, it was not only habit but an addiction they couldn’t live without.

They bent over and did that funny crouching walking style that allowed forward action while keeping them below the windowsills of the windows that rung the house. At the corner of the building they finally stood up and made a dash for the bike stand, grabbing each of their chosen mounts and setting off, in a practiced series of movement that were now ingrained into their muscle memory. No words were exchanged until they made it past the corner of the property and hit the main road.

Even after they passed the danger zone, where they were most l likely to be caught, on this night they said nothing. They road side by side. She reached out and he met her halfway. They road this way, down empty streets until they let go to make the turn that brought them to the park they liked the most.

She loved that it had the high swings with extra long chains. As she dropped her bike, she headed straight for the seats that allowed her to fly away for a small moment in time. She was already swinging toward greater heights as he made his way over and joined her on the swing beside her own.  His hair was curly, hanging in spirals to his chin. His skin had broken out again with the acne he hated and felt made him ugly, along with the long list of other faults he saw in the mirror every day. She couldn’t count the times she had looked into his beautiful hazel green eyes and told him be was lovely to her.He never heard her. 

She swung so high the chains were almost parallel with their anchors. Leaning back as far as her arms would allow, she dipped her head back. The world tilted and became something else a little less real.  She loved this feeling and could swing like this for hours. She didn’t want to come back to the earth.

He called to her and even without being able to understand the exact words, she knew he wanted her to come back to him. She fought the urge to ignore his voice. Instead at the very height of her ascent, she pointed her body outward and propelled herself into the warm night air. She landed with a solid thump, back on the ground. He had already begun the walk across the playground, knowing she would follow, which she did. He was lying on the merry-go-round.

She put one leg on and began to push with the other as she held onto the bar she was braced against. It was his favorite toy and she knew she would never see one without thinking of him . Once she was satisfied with their velocity, she found her wedge of space with her legs crossed under her, knees braced on two bars and head at the center of the rotating wheel. She put out either hand and found his waiting for her.

They barely spoke that night. He would be leaving the next day, to a  new Home, a new town and a new family. There was nothing left to say, she didn’t know any words to give him. She hated this feeling, the pit in her belly that echoed with the memories of people who weren’t there anymore. All the things people filled these silences up with, always felt like too little too late.

She held his hand until they had to make their way back. She looked at her beloved swings and wished she could stay in the air, upside down where the world wasn’t the place she lived in, where she could fly and never come down.

 

Killing Me Softly

Yes, I am aware that I am very very behind. I have been having some technical difficulties but I’m going to try to catch up by the end of this week. I make no promises, but I will do my best.

 

The roads were more graded dirt than real roads. The day’s rain hadn’t come yet, baking the sandy roadways, creating clouds of dust behind them as they drove. Sugar cane rose up on either side of them, giving the illusion that they were alone in this car disappearing into a world of sweetness and endless roads.

The Fugee’s album , The Score was playing and Li was driving. in a haphazard path filled with jerks and starts, but still,she was driving.  The tiny Honda hatchback was well sized to her small frame but seemed comical compared to the other passenger.

Jo was a big guy; dark skinned, weighing in well over 200lbs , he  towered over her. He was pretty much what you might expect from a high school fullback. Li enjoyed his size. Their differences made her smile when people saw them together.

Jo was teaching her how to drive. More accurately, he was riding along after she told him she was going to drive. Despite the physical differences, it was always Li that lead the way. Jo was a gentle giant, with a sweet disposition and Jo adored Li. He followed her around campus and gave her whatever she wanted, whenever she let him.

Right now, she wanted to drive and he gave her his car and company while she figured it out.

Li knew he loved her but she also knew a puppy dog when she saw one. If she was kinder she would send him away, but he wanted to stay and for him, any time was worthwhile time even if he knew she didn’t love him back. He knew, because she had told him. Li’s feelings could be boiled down to, it his right to be where he chose to be. Who was she to say what was best for him? If he wanted to love her, he knew her thoughts on the subject. She liked his patience and love even if she couldn’t return it.

Li finally managed to both keep the car straight and not slam on the brakes every time the car seemed to go faster than her brain could handle. She got all the way up to 45mph on a straight away as the rain began to come down in sheets and Lauryn Hill sang about simple words killing her softly.

 

 

Part Two: Jokes

Jokes..60/40.
Alright, women don’t suck. I like them a lot. So soft…I digress.

Here’s the issue, most bisexual women I’ve met are women that have grown-up firmly ensconced within the hetero-normative culture. I guess that’s normal. I didn’t, so it seems strange to me. I have been on my own and with women since age 15 and much of my prior life was spent in large children’s homes or other atypical situations that didn’t firmly entrench heterosexual expectations into my psyche. I literally grew up within the lesbian community and I feel like that was a lucky thing.

Hetero behaviors  brought to my attention:

wtf??

* First contact and subsequent contact will be initiated by the other person, though “likes” are acceptable.
* The other party will make the first move
* Direct communication of needs, desires and any other type of directness is “aggressive”
* Some weird equation that includes dates + self-worth,  allows sex to happen.
* Attention..omfg, so much attention is required!
* Height requirements. I didn’t believe this one but after looking at a bunch of lady profiles, yes it is true, if you are a man.

 

There is more but let me say, this is mostly long-standing complaints by straight men, but they might be bitter. The odds are not in their favor.  I still don’t understand the behaviors. I know they happen, I’ve experienced some of it and the reactions I get about myself on dates with men is rather persuasive evidence that the above mentioned complaints are common enough to be worth mention.

My personal issue is that male-centric bisexuals have no idea how to date other women. They are used to being dated, and taken out. They are used to playing a game of passivity and expecting a great deal of attention. As often as not, they don’t know how to interact with another women on an intimate level. I don’t mean sex (a little I do) but connecting with another women on an independent and personal level.

My dates have been one sided, conversations that require me to do the heavy lifting, because I am “the aggressive one”. Did we not all read the same articles about asking questions on dates and with new people??

I am really not that special, I just read stuff and have friends and projects and do stuff. These facts are why I am not always available, on my phone or texting you pictures of every damn minute of my day. This should not be special, this should be normal. Please tell me something neat, interesting or weird that you do. PLEASE!

As my final complaint, no I do not want to be your first. God save me from female virgins. I  am so past my “exploration” phase. I don’t feel any need to teach, coach or otherwise instruct women on how to touch, talk and love another woman. The only words of wisdom I can offer are these; give what you want and expect, the Golden Rule applies here as well. 

I love women, I always will. They are beautiful in way, I don’t know I will ever feel about a man. I also miss boobs..a lot.

That being said, I think I am incapable of dating them at the moment. That can always change, I am marking no lines in the sand but after 20 years of being with women, I’m okay with a break. On a personal note, I tend to choose crazy women who don’t like me, so it might be for the best. My judgement can’t be trusted and I think a board of approval might be necessary for me to resume dating women.

 

 

 

 

Part One: Issues OR 99 problems.

Dating was not what I expected. I’m not sure what I thought it might be, but it wasn’t this.

After years in a marriage with another woman, I started dating men and bisexual women. I have always been bisexual but just the opposite of what most people were familiar with. Instead of messing around with women and dating men, I messed around with men and dated/married women.While my serious relationship were always with women, the fact of my sexuality didn’t change, it just wasn’t in attendance most of the time.

Now, a year and a half into dating, I had come to some conclusions, none of which were particularly helpful.

First, there was a very big difference between female-centric bisexuals and masculine-centric bisexuality. I had decided to only date women that were truly okay with my bisexuality, which basically meant other bisexuals. Yeah, not the most well thought out idea I’d ever had. The pool seemed to be shallow if I wanted anything of value.

There were lots of couples wanting to spice up their marriages,on the hunt for a fabled Unicorn . Not me. I don’t need a lot of attention but I was past the point of no connection and just being someone else’s sexual plaything. I could find sex easily, connection was harder to come by (I wasn’t the only one that felt this way but I’ll get to that later). Which lead to the larger issue with the women I had come across so far.

 

 

The real issue I was running into regarding women, was that for the most part, they sucked. Not well either…

I can hear you now saying how very unfair this blanket statement is. How incredibly anti-feminist! Perhaps I am both unfair and anti-feminist, but I am also right.

First, a question; was heterosexual dating truly the combative, yet passive aggressive shit-show I was gleaning from my dips into the tepid pool? I really hope I’m wrong.

“There is not such thing as fair. It’s a concept people made up to feel better about their lives and their inability to live them”
~ John Parker III (My childhood therapist. It’s all starting t make sense isn’t it?)

Hunt

I missed Saturday! Here is “H” and hopefully I’ll have “I” up by tonight.

Shauna sat across from the brunette with the green eyes and smiled. She watched her fidget and finger the napkin with her drink on it.

The brunette..what was her name? Melissa? No, Marissa, that was it. Marissa was telling her how she had just gotten out of a bad relationship where she had felt like she was never enough. Shauna nodded, asked her a few more questions and leaned in to hear her better. She watched the color rise on Marissa’s cheeks, a faint blush. Shauna brushed her fingers against Marissa’s as she picked up her own drink and felt the air strain.

Shauna loved this moment. This was where she knew she had won the hunt and only had to claim the prize. She was here for an obligatory party that she had grown bored with, finally wandering away from her group to the upstairs bar. She had sat beside the brunette because the seat was available but only a small amount of conversation had revealed the girls need to be wanted. Shauna was good at this, creating a small space where need and want came to the surface quickly. She could tease out the need in people. This was her gift. She loved their need and fed it.

She reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Marissa’s face, pushing it behind her ear. The girl stopped talking and looked at Shauna like a deer caught in headlights. Shauna resisted the string urge to grin.

Instead she leaned in a little bit further in as if to whisper in the girls ear, her long hair mingling with Marissa’s,creating a curtain of mingled strands.

“I’m going kiss you pretty girl” Shauna whispered and turned her face just enough to brush her lips gently across the girl’s. It was a sweet soft touch, barely a kiss, but she felt the air strain further until it snapped. Marissa’s lips were slightly parted, her breath was a little faster, her pupils had dilated to pinpricks and that blush had turned her cheeks a charming pink

“Why’d you do that?” Marissa questioned, sounding a bit lost and confused

“Because I wanted to. Do you want me to kiss you again?”

“Yes” Marissa said as her head shook in a contradictory motion.

Shauna did allow herself to smile now and slid her hand into Marissa’s soft hair to cradle the base of her skull. She tilted her face to the left and slowly came closer to the girl’s lips, giving her every opportunity to say no or push away. She smiled against the girls lips and darted her tongue out to lick Marissa’s bottom lip. The girl startled but laughed and her whole body sighed and relaxed into Shauna’s hold. She parted her lips and Shauna felt the girl take the kiss over.

She let the girl make the kiss hers, it always had to be their choice to be caught.