if only pandora had left the box open a little bit longer.

"you have what they call a 'dove face,'" he said, drawing mine towards him for closer inspection. "tiny mouth, pointed chin...valentine-heart shaped."


it all started with a crisis of ego transformed to a crisis of recovery, with me at the epicenter trying to figure out if i still had it in me to be the object of desire and had it in me yet to enjoy it. and that is why i allowed this man, this humorless professor, to kiss me. i needed a barometer. i needed to know. as it happened, i tried very hard to fall headlong into the moment and revel in the effect i clearly had on this man, revel in the long-missed touch of another... but all i could think was 'this is the wrong mouth;' 'these are the wrong hands' and 'these are the wrong kisses.'


my suspicion was confirmed by the first words out of his mouth when we broke for breath: "such a small mouth...i bet you give great head with that small mouth."