Ted came over anyway, which was good. He brought Tylenol, and we ordered dinner. He slept over even though I was 12 million degrees and kept covering up, uncovering, opening the window, closing the window and turning on the air conditioner, turning on the light to better see the air conditioner knob, turning off the air conditioner. . . .
We talked a lot. There’s not much to do at my place besides sleep and make out. But that’s the thing we didn’t do: kiss. Not that night or the next morning. It was responsible. And hard.
But we talked. A lot. And I like being with him, even when he can’t kiss me.
I think we might have something here.
~beatrix
