When we kiss, I feel like I'm stepping on a stage. I bite, I scratch, I moan and I caress, because I know the reactions I can provoke. I fake passion until I, myself, start to feel it coursing through my veins. I fake anticipation, until it forces goose bumps on my skin, and shivers up my spine. I let my fingers wander, tugging roughly on his short hair, and sucking gently on his bottom lip.
"I want you," he tells me, and it's so easy to tell him that I want him too because I'm a virgin, because I'm so desperate to know what sex feels like, and because he shudders so violently with a pleasure I don't understand, when I ghost my fingers just under the rim of his tight boxers.
His strong arms wrap around my waist and they pull me tight, so tight against his tense chest. And in these moments, we breathe the same air, and we don't have to talk, don't have to smile and don't have to find something clever to say. I don't have to think, or play, or look pretty, I just have to kiss, and caress and hug him close. Things become so much easier, because kissing involves no confession, and no honesty, and no sweet smiles and words. It's so much easier but it's nothing like I expected.
The butterflies don't come and the fireworks don't light up the sky. The world doesn't tilt, and it doesn't disappear. I'm still so aware of the people around us, of the chill nipping at my numbing fingers. I can still feel the barrier we're leaning on as it digs in the flesh of the small of my back, grinding against my bones. I still know that there's a magnificent view right behind us, and I can't help but think we're missing on it. But I don't want to turn around, don't want to stop kissing, and don't want to watch the view, because then we'll talk, and I'll have to smile and laugh, and his company is less interesting than his kisses.
So I arch further into him, and hide my fingers under his coat, and smile into the kiss, for his sake and those of the people I know to be glancing at us. They'll know, these people, that he's my boyfriend, that I'm his girlfriend. They'll think I'm oblivious, and in love and ugh, love. Another expectation, another concept I disdain, yet crave to understand.
And then I pull away, but when he starts to talk, I turn us around and press him into the barrier. I kiss him harder, and this time, I'm the one pushing him over the edge, and my back isn't hurting anymore, and if I glance over his shoulder I can see the view. And then he's kissing my jaw, and my neck. The view is beautiful, and he inhales the perfume I know he loves.
We're still outside, and he still has a train to catch, and people can still see us, and his cold fingers start to travel up the warm skin of my stomach. I know I should close my eyes, and revel in the way his lips slide against the sensitive skin of my neck, or his hands travel higher and higher, and then lower and lower, but the view is still beautiful, and the only shivers creeping up my spine are due to the cold.
"You'll miss your train."
It comes as a whisper, breathy and quiet, and it forms a white cloud in front of my face. He kisses me again, and whines, as if the idea of leaving this cold, beautiful place pains him. I kiss him back, and chuckle into his lips, because it wouldn't pain me. He bites my tongue, and I wonder if it was done on purpose of not.
"I can take the next one," he has that cocky smirk on his face, and that familiar glint in his eyes that means he thinks he's being charming, he thinks I'm swooning, he thinks that the blush on my face is from something else then the wind whipping at us. He's wrong, and I smile, kissing him again in a way that makes me feel powerful. I know I should feel guilty, for leading him on, and lying, and avoiding, but I don't.
His bottom lip is plump and soft, I always liked it. When I bite it, he presses me against the barrier again, and I regret doing so. He kisses me harder, and I can almost taste the passion on his tongue. It's a nice feeling, but I can't see the view.
When he leaves, I turn around. We missed most of the sunset, and I know my back will be bruised tomorrow. Having a boyfriend is not all it's cut out to be.