I went to the Vogue when I said I would stay home and get well. I drank when I said I wouldn't drink. And not only did I dance after I said I wouldn't dance, but I pole danced. And I did floor work even though I swore I wouldn't. And ended it crawling on my hands and knees to D who was sitting on the stage to watch me.
Dancing, drinking, sweet kisses...not necessarily in that order. Then I took him home and fed him tea and kisses all night and into the morning. He stood close behind me in the kitchen as I searched the cupboard for tea, and the proximity of his body to mine made me pleasantly flustered. And as the hours passed cozied up on my sofa, my hands never knew where to go. Tucked demurely in my lap at times, and at others wondering the sweep of his jaw or the fabric of his jacket. And when the sun threatened to rise and the first morning light broke outside to the song of happy birds, I closed my eyes and shut it out until I could hear only the intoxicating sound of his quickening breath. And my god, I don't remember ever being kissed like this before in my life! As D likes to say....WOW.