Somehow we end up on her bed and she pulls herself away from me just long enough to shut her door and lock her door. I don’t have to imagine she is poetry girl and she says my name and takes my hand and kisses it. I nearly swear out loud at the fact that I am finally with my poetry class girl. I feel totally exposed with her as though I am only bare bones and breath and love and I lay her down like she is made of porcelain.

She says little soft things like “I really do love you. I’m sorry you had to hear this only when you were on top of me,”

I kiss the side of her face, the curve of her shoulder. The back of her neck: I love the back of her neck. I make her gasp quietly and sigh tiny sighs. I am careful with her.

“Is this okay?” I can’t help but feel as though I still might be doing something wrong.

“Yes,”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, please, just do it. Just-“

I make her cry out my name until she is pleading, her eyes squeezed shut and her hands holding me tightly, and then I make her cry out again. Her heart sounds like the waves. I love her.

She sleeps curled up next to me and I watch her chest rise and fall with each breath. I imagine her dreaming and I fall asleep and dream of her, her pink ribbon and oil paint, her poetry and fingertips.

THE END. there is no more!

AN: If you're reviewing this, see if you can catch some pop culture references I put in all the chapters. First person to get all of them gets... hugs, or something.

i want to do another story about this protagonist, or these characters. also, my favourite line in this whole thing is Andy the seductive virgin screwer.

thankyou.