Intoxicating Kisses (something is broken)
When the kisses are immediately intoxicating, you might want to pay attention. Something is not right. Yes, she’s gorgeous. And, sure, she said she’s been single for over a year, since that last horrible breakup. The narcissist after her ex-husband. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”
She was a bit out of my age range. She had two young kids, appropriate to her age. And I was an amazingly inspired choice. But the inspiration that lit her up and compelled her to invite me into her bedroom was somewhat fragile. I had just mentioned how kissing on the couch was a complete high for me. There seemed to be some pressure to have sex. A hunger. A longing. An opportunity after a year or more of isolation. “Healing myself,” she’d say.
It was a somewhat accidental courtship, fueled by a Facebook connection and the fact that we were both life coaches. I was five years ahead of her, she was doing her training in a month or so. Perhaps a fascination. Perhaps a curiosity. Or was it just my charm and wisdom?
I was unclear how her soft lips applied additional blood pressure. And I was happy on her couch smooching and rolling around. She wanted to accelerate the engagement. I had only seen her bedroom once, on the initial tour a week or so earlier. This time, I was a bit more attentive. I wasn’t sure what role the golden puppy would play, but he was in the bedroom with us as well. Perhaps that was part of her confusion.
I had brought my laptop into the room to stream music. I put on a playlist and put the computer in screensaver mode and when I turned around she was completely naked, standing beside the bed. Now the kisses had a new urgency, a new high. I leaned in for a taste.
She wrestled and reprimanded the puppy a couple of times before putting him in his crate in the other room. And our kissing and explorations began with a little more enthusiasm. Until something snapped in her. “I’m just not feeling it,” she said.
I couldn’t tell what had changed between the couch and the bedroom, I mean other than the clothes. “We don’t have any sexual chemistry,” she continued. “I’m so sorry. I really don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not hurting me,” I said. “But I’m pretty sure it’s not chemistry. We’ve got chemistry on crack.”
“I just can’t do it. I’m sorry.”
“I’m okay. Just a bit confused,” I said. I was putting my clothes back on.
“It’s just, I looked down at you, and something about the gray hair, I just wasn’t prepared for that. You’re, like, old.”
Read more Short-Short Stories from John.