We are both a little drunk. I kiss her. We kiss for a while. I make my way down her neck and help unbutton her top. Her white bra is brilliant against her tanned skin.
Further down what I find makes me pause. It has been some time and I want to force myself to move on and make the moment about me.
Surrounded by perfect soft skin and whips of baby hair in the center of her six pack is a red blotch of torn and rebuilt tissue.
“What is this?”
She sizes me up in seconds. Maybe she already had at the bar. “It’s nothing.” She takes my hand in hers and presses it against her breast.
The tone of her voice was not convincing. It was something. It may have been everything. Is tonight just another night for her to forget about? My heart is in the way again.
“Really. What is this?”
She moves backward on the couch and places her petite feet on my lap. I take off her cruelly designed yet fashionable shoes and rub her feet. It stirs a deep sigh and warm moan before she starts her tale.
She met a boy, no, young man in his twenties who was unsettled. She thought they were in love, but what does a sixteen year old know about love? He wanted her to be with him, move in with him, to be his prize and object of desire. But this was months before she figured that out.
By the time she wanted to break things off he was hooked. Still unsettled. They had not seen each other for weeks until one night he shows up at her window on the tree limb he used to climb to get past her father. He got in the window. Her father came to the room with his gun and fired twice. A month later she came out of the comma the ward of her aunt.
“So to answer your question,” she looked straight into my eyes “Yeah. I did size you up at the bar.”
“What did you see?”
“A nice guy who can look past the damage to see the goods.”