She’s like that
Stolen kisses in a dark stairwell. An idea that had to come true.
It was an idea that had to come true. A stairwell, a kiss, a very long kiss, and then a sudden feverish desire. Pushing against each other.
But it would stop there. At least that was what I thought, that we would tease each other with such passion, and would leave ourselves there, in that unbearable feverish state.
That was the dream that kept me awake all night.
But I think she had a different idea.
She’s like that.
Like that set of dolls, whatever they are called. The ones that fit within each other.
She’s like them.
I hold her. I speak to her. She tells me something. She does something. And then I’m no longer holding her. I’m holding the wooden half of a doll. She’s disappeared. But she reappears as smaller, even more voluptuous. And so I grab her and this time I kiss her and don’t stop. I won’t let her disappear like before. But she does and now I’m kissing the wooden half of an even smaller doll. I can’t believe it, but I don’t stop. I refuse to stop. I have to keep our lips locked, at least until the real woman reappears. Which she does. And this time, voluptuous is not sufficient to describe her. She’s heavenly. And I’m in ecstasy.
I can’t repeat what happened next because I had reached the final doll, the smallest one, indivisible, and it was her, completely undone.
A stairwell, where I kissed her so hard she couldn’t help but melt in my arms. She’d do anything. I didn’t know anymore what I was doing.
