A couple stumbles into a dark apartment. The neon light of a bookshelf clock reads 2:45, it is clearly a late night encounter. Just a boy, his name is Nathan, and a girl, she goes by Amanda. This couple, this boy and girl, they’re out on their third, maybe their fourth date. They met at a coffee shop in Oldtown when he complemented her vintage punk rock sweater, and she returned the compliment with his choice of coffee. “I like it Strong and Black,” he’d smiled, “just like I like my men.” She giggled at his obviously well-used and slightly corny joke, and invited him to share her table. Perhaps that could be counted as date number one, which would then make this date number four, this stumbling into her apartment. The obvious display of affection was a marked increase from their parting hugs, and light hand holding.
“I’m not going to sleep with you,” she said, with more conviction than she felt.
“You’re assuming that I would sleep with you?” whispered the boy, kissing gently behind her ear, sending shivers through her body. They make their way awkwardly to the couch and collapse in a mess of arms and legs and guarded emotions. They kiss some more with increasingly levels of seriousness and comfort, when she suddenly pulls away. She looks deeply into his eyes and places the palms of her hands against his cheeks, she stares hard,
“I don’t like the way you text me.” A mix of astonishment followed by amusement wash over his face.
“You use that shorthand text speak…and sometimes I feel like we’re in junior high.” He pauses, a little taken back by her declaration. He stares hard, surely she must be kidding. She bites her lower lip, but returns his stare. She is not kidding.
“Yea, ok, whatever.”
She smiles as they lean into a newly familiar embrace. She loves the way he kisses her, and smiles to herself, though her lips never leave his, their tongues dance in time to a Hollywood version of what real life should be. He reaches to her waist to grasp the hem of her thin cotton shirt, intentions of pulling it over her head when she grasps his hands in her own.
“I’m serious. No U-R instead of your, or the letter C instead of see, No more LOL.” She looks at him sternly, though her pupils dilate with attraction.
“What about smiley faces?” Can you at least let me have emoticons?”
She smiles widely and pulls the shirt over her own head, revealing to him for the first time her firm breasts clad in a lacy black bra. A bra meant to be seen. He pulls her in close, his hands circle around to the smooth skin of her lower back as he holds her tightly. She pulls away again momentarily and sees the animal in his eyes, the hunger, the longing.
“I’m not going to sleep with you,” Amanda asserts, for the second time.
“Maybe not tonight,” Nathan replies.
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