Speculation of Schoolboys for Schoolboys

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Little Things

We’ll be married in a Catholic church at the insistence of both our mothers, despite the fact that we don’t really believe in that mumbo-jumbo anyway. On our honeymoon night she’ll try to convince me – as she has been doing since the day we met – that she is not even faintly like a rose, but I will still contest that her eyelashes fall like petals and her neck smells just so.

RN I’m JC in my Miami Vice wannabe bullshit shirt worshiping Ryan Gosling by proxy and watching her jump and sweat in her too-loose-but-still-really-little-especially-around-the-butt jeans and thinking about how I’ll love her right now, tonight, with my hands and my eyes but because I’m twenty I’ll promise that I’ll love her forever will my heart, and she’ll smile at me because she knows I’m lying but is very much okay with the pretext. She prefers it, in fact.

I’ve turned forehead kissing into an art form. It’s just like the real thing now, because when I grab her gently by the jaw and pull her face close to mine (making sure to put my chin to her nose so she doesn’t think – God forbid – that I’m actually going to put my mouth on hers) the skin near her scalp folds and creases into two lip-like ovals as she raises her eyebrows, intrigued by my gall and by my gesture and by my desperation for human contact. Mwah.