by Michael Brooks
I wish I had known how to read her signals, how to interpret the hair touching and smiles from across the crowded party. I wish I had known she was waiting to pull me aside while everyone gathered their coats and prepared for the frosty night. I wish I had known she would grab me by the face and thrust her slippery soft tongue into my mouth, imparting the taste of cheap beer and adolescence. I wish I had known her hands would guide mine, under her shirt then beneath her bra, up the intoxicating roundness of her flesh to the pink and pointy apex. I wish I had known she had a boyfriend. And I wish I had known he was standing in the driveway, waiting to deliver the beating of my young life.
Michael Brooks lives in Durham, North Carolina with his wife, dog and two cats, and owns a new, sealed copy of Mannequin on VHS. He has perfect vision yet considers getting black-rimmed glasses to improve his credibility as a writer. His blog is called Penis in a Rowboat.