"Hmm, you smell like soup. Oh, and do I detect a hint of strawberry shampoo. You use strawberry shampoo? How cute." I said as I sniffed his cheek. "Are you my friend?' I breathed into his ear, his soft, messy, blonde hair tickling my nose.
"Stop, you pervert. Your breath smells like garlic." He replied with a fragile attempt at anger heard in his voice and squirmed.
"You know," I whispered, ignoring him. "In my homeland, friends kiss as a greeting. It's not an intimate thing like it is here. " My friend's face flushed and his eyes widened with a twinkle of tears. I licked my friend's pudgy pink cheek, tasting the grit of the dirt that probably exists on all little boys.
I heard the shrill chirping off the recess whistle being blown. Playtime was over. The other children begrudgingly shuffled into line to go back inside. The rest of the day, I noticed my friend steeling glances back at me from his seat across the room. Each time, I saw that his face was entirely too red. I began to wonder: had I violated him today? I did not mean to do anything he was not comfortable with. I felt a pain of guilt build in my chest like the oncoming spasm of a hiccup, but the buildup never amounted to anything. I would have to say I am sorry, but goodness, I wanted to be that close to him again as well. Maybe with time I could.
