Hi, guys. I have not been a good #NaBloPoMo participant the last seven days (hard to go on as normal after your country loses its gotdamn mind), but I’m getting back on track.
As a special treat to my long-time readers (and to introduce the #NaBloPoMo folks to my brand of writing), I’m posting an excerpt from my recently published essay collection, Songs About Boys: The romantic musings and misadventures of my 20s.
A few nights ago, I was in my favorite after-work haunt in the company of my favorite Big; a man with whom I had a light history that ended in a common understanding: copious shit-talking whenever we found ourselves seated at the same bar.
Game on. Cuervo Silver and lime juice in my glass. Ketel One and cranberry juice in his. The words are lost behind a haze of tequila but I recall the heat of his gaze as he complimented the newly added pounds around my hips, booty, and thighs. I remember smiling, biting my lip, giving him a few adoring glances. A hand may have landed on my knee once or twice. Our back and forth lasted a couple of hours before he walked me to my car.
What registers clearly is when our lips met. It was equal parts playful and intense, the way alcohol-fueled kisses can be. There was a dance of lips, tongue, and teeth that sent warm waves from my mouth to my toes. When our lips finally parted, he smiled and threw down a dare. “You better quit playin’ with me.”
Intrigued? I invite you to do two things:
Make sure I’m on your GoodReads bookshelf!