Good sex, in my opinion, is often devoid of bells and whistles. It’s both an out-of-body and acutely in-body experience. I am both on another plane of existence and deeply grounded in my being, every dermatome firing at random.

“If you want to kiss me you have to stop smiling so much.”

We’re back at my place, we escaped from the cold weather and the heated protests. First date, lockdown style. We walked through the center and bought some Punsch, and encountered a woman holding a flaming torch.

“So…do you want to go back to my place? This feels like a bad time to be on a lesbian date. All they’re missing is the pitchforks..”

So we went home, and sat on the couch calling each other beautiful for 7 hours.

She said,

“You have a century smile”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, I just made it up, but you do. I love your smile when you kiss me, you have so much love in your eyes. I can see that you have a lot of love to give. Do you have a camera? I want to photograph you.”

“I know what you mean. I want to paint you, but I can’t paint portraits. I want to paint on you, blue flowers cascading down your neck.”

“Let me take your picture.”

Give me validation.

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