One fateful afternoon, I sunk the eight-ball on the college’s tipsy billiards table. As penitencia, or “penance” as they say in English, I kissed him for the very first time, an act that in the past I swore against, but now found myself without prohibition. His mouth was warm, his mustache tickled my lips.
I felt nervous as a schoolgirl in the seconds before we connected, and he laughed and chided me for shyness. Competitive as I am, we played several more games of pool that afternoon—and well into the evening—most of which I lost. The second kiss came easier, the seventh without inhibition.
Comments