If you could see past my natural tan, I was blushing. He stopped kissing me and ran his bejeweled fingers through my hair and then clasped them around the back of my neck. I wanted to hustle things along to the bed (or at least horizontally), so there was no chance of me straining my leg again.
It was verbal foreplay for the digital age. Then his hands were under my shirt and mine were working on his belt buckle. We continued to make out and the pain subsided (as long as I didn’t move my leg anymore). White, bearded, man-bunned, pierced, tattooed, and looking up at me with a big smile.
