The two haven’t touched lips in years. The tension between them is building. Their hands are caressing one another – hers on his leg, inner thigh, crotch; his on her back, stomach, boob. Slowly she leans closer to him. If he has a girlfriend, she wants him to have all the necessary warning of her intentions. That way, he can stop her if need be. So far, so good.
They’re still carrying on a conversation with their mouths, but any outside listener would easily be able to tell neither is paying attention to this conversation. The real conversation lays elsewhere – their hands, their eyes, their bodies. It was this way a lot when they were younger. No words really needed to be spoken, but they liked the sound of the other’s voice, so they both kept speaking.
Now he’s responding. He’s leaning closer and closer to her. The spoken conversation still continues. It seems like this game – is it a game? – has been going on for hours when it’s really been nothing more than minutes. Seconds, maybe.
Finally, their lips touch. ‘What a weird sensation,’ she thinks, and her body tells her it’s not a weird sensation; it’s a wonderful sensation she hasn’t felt in a very long time. ‘Too long,’ she replies to her body. It’s something she wants again, so she kisses him again and this time her lips part. She slips her tongue through and parts his lips with her tongue. Their tongues collide. They dance some weird number that hasn’t been done in years. Some dance that seems and feels unplanned, but both know the steps. This is one of those kisses that should never end.
She pulls back and smiles softly. He’s looking deeply into her eyes, as though he’s trying to peer straight into her soul. He speaks.
“It’s been awhile, Baby.”