Dessert

It was no use denying that I’m more likely to be attracted to girls - or women - than to men. I never really liked anyone from the species of “maledom” sired by Adam. I preferred the quintessence of Eve’s ladies, their maturation, and their basic physical and internal qualities.

But it was of no importance, was it? It’s not as if I’m part of the concatenation of fifty years ago. Modern society is more open to those who bent their sexual preferences from the norm; therefore there really was nothing to get worked up about. I suppose I’m having a “rediscovering myself” issue.

Love was, no doubt, merely a word for me. The concept was as hazy as the forest blanketed by mist and I had no past experiences to refer to and assure that my puppy-like devotion, snake-like envy, and child-like affection were not progenies of infatuation. If it was a genuine beating from the heart – or love, as poets described it – was clearly unsure.

I admired her. She was both kind and generous, an attentive listener, and an intelligent female who never failed to make discourses more exciting than it initially was. It certainly didn’t help that an invisible string of loyalty, an unfortunate side effect of my character, bound me to her. As it was, I found it pathetically easy to love those whom I favor and loyalty and trust instinctively came by.

She greeted me, brown eyes friendly with affection, and noticed my apparent trepidation.

“What’s wrong?”

Of course I tried to hide it. But at that sudden moment, courage possessed me without my permission and chased hesitation away. If I were going to go about whatever it is I wanted to do, then I might as well do it now and be done with it.

I leaned forward, arms reaching out for her shoulders, and a slight wave of surprise made itself evident from her wide eyes. I pressed my lips mildly onto her cherry-colored ones and as quick as I committed the crime, pulled away.

Blushing furiously, I kept my eyes on the ground and tried to focus on the lifeless solid block of hard cement that never failed to keep my feet on the ground. For that reason, I never saw her immediate expression - something I quite regret since my curiosity rivaled a cat’s.

If people actually tasted kisses, as I had read in a few books, then I had no idea how they deciphered sweet from sour, bitter from salty. As of that present moment, I thought it was as tasteless as air – a probably effect of the many varied tastes it produced.

Needless to say, I was satisfied.

“Good morning,” I muttered, surprised that my voice had not forsaken me.

To my horror, she laughed. Although it was not laced with disgust, as I had formerly feared, I couldn’t help but feel a sinking illness at my middle.

Did I get the right message across?

“Alright,” she said after the laughter ceased. “Remind me I owe you a kiss.”

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Author's Note: Reviews are appreciated. : )