Natasha Wright


This is a first kiss story. 

You know how people say that the first thing they notice about a lover is their eyes?  That’s bullshit.  The first thing I noticed about him was a selfish thing.  It was a warmth that spread through the core of me, thick and buzzing, reddening my face like an exposed secret.  It was like the axis of the room re-polarized and only I was thrown off balance.  I was so lust-drunk I don’t even remember the first words, or how his face split at my obvious need.  I don’t remember feeling shame at my transparency.  I was blinded by ambition, liquor and yearning, unafraid as I stumbled into a black hole.  He sent me spinning.

One moment sticks out in this violet, sickening human thirst of a memory….he chipped his tooth.  The tiniest imperfection; perfecting him, kinging his face and wringing me of all self control.  I tasted him numbly with rum lips, groping and sloppy like unabashed youths, clawing and insatiated.  I wanted to peel him, to remove whatever barriers we both felt that sent us pressing and probing, desperate….He held my pulse, my breath, my being.  He rose and set my sun, all with the rhythmic parting of his lips. 

It wasn’t until he pulled away that I felt the reality of the moment.  The missing, hollowed, cavernous nothing within me.  I looked into his face and saw a distant thief.  It was never about owning him.  It was about being owned.

And for the record?  His eyes were blue.