Inspiration comes from the strangest places....
She tastes like cinnamon. Not the spice, but the cinnamon taste found in gum that sizzles and burns a hole in your toungue when you kiss her. This shouldn't be happening--these fumblings in the dark where your lips meet in a swirl of lust and desire and spicy cinnamon. She giggles and you pause.
"What"--whispered, wanting to know if you should stop.
Instead she looks up at you, her hair dishevled and framed around her face. Even her hair smells like the cinnamon gum she's so fond of, and so soft...like you could curl up in her hair and drift off to sleep. She says nothing, only smiles sweetly and raises her mouth to meet yours again.
This shouldn't be happening, you think again vaguely as hands glide over cotton to find the smooth skin of her stomach. This isn't good and this isn't right and yet it does feel good and it does feel right when you're kissing her and there are small noises comming from the back of her throat.
So you keep kissing and it doesn't end that night. You don't kiss her as she smiles that same sweet smile and goes to open her door with a soft "good night". But the next night when you kiss her, it's full and hard and there's an urgency that seemingly cannot be filled by just kissing and skin alone.
This confuses you and you have no idea how you feel about this girl who studies daily in your room and teases you about playing video games and coming up with sexual innuendo. She says it's just for fun andyou agree but don't know that she's repeating what she thinks you want to hear. And she's right, isn't she?
And it is fun, but you realize how much she cares about you and that she is waiting patiently for you to realize it too about her.
And then it gets to be a not so patient waiting. Emotions get bruised and hearts get broken. Oddly enough, your's bleeds a little too when she finally ends the fun and you realize you did care about her. But it's too late for that.
You still see her occasionally. She is across a crowded room yet you only see her. She is still smiling that sweet smile and giggles like she did with you. But it's different now though because she's not laughing with you and not smiling at you. And as your chest squeezes a little with sorrow, you still are able to grin a bit.
After all, she still smells like cinnamon.
"What"--whispered, wanting to know if you should stop.
Instead she looks up at you, her hair dishevled and framed around her face. Even her hair smells like the cinnamon gum she's so fond of, and so soft...like you could curl up in her hair and drift off to sleep. She says nothing, only smiles sweetly and raises her mouth to meet yours again.
This shouldn't be happening, you think again vaguely as hands glide over cotton to find the smooth skin of her stomach. This isn't good and this isn't right and yet it does feel good and it does feel right when you're kissing her and there are small noises comming from the back of her throat.
So you keep kissing and it doesn't end that night. You don't kiss her as she smiles that same sweet smile and goes to open her door with a soft "good night". But the next night when you kiss her, it's full and hard and there's an urgency that seemingly cannot be filled by just kissing and skin alone.
This confuses you and you have no idea how you feel about this girl who studies daily in your room and teases you about playing video games and coming up with sexual innuendo. She says it's just for fun andyou agree but don't know that she's repeating what she thinks you want to hear. And she's right, isn't she?
And it is fun, but you realize how much she cares about you and that she is waiting patiently for you to realize it too about her.
And then it gets to be a not so patient waiting. Emotions get bruised and hearts get broken. Oddly enough, your's bleeds a little too when she finally ends the fun and you realize you did care about her. But it's too late for that.
You still see her occasionally. She is across a crowded room yet you only see her. She is still smiling that sweet smile and giggles like she did with you. But it's different now though because she's not laughing with you and not smiling at you. And as your chest squeezes a little with sorrow, you still are able to grin a bit.
After all, she still smells like cinnamon.