Excerpt: All 3 Words

"May I?" he whispers. He leans closer to me over the table, slowly, timidly, until I can stare at nothing but his eyes. I've never really noticed how green they are --- how flecked with golds and silvers and browns they are. So pretty and so glowing I begin to fall into them, deeper and deeper. Just as his once-black eyes held no depth to them, his new eyes glow with canyon-deep secrets, whispers of curiosities and hidden emotions that shone like stars in his eyes. His breath is slow, soft, and scented with cinnamon and spice. He is calm, and yet so very hesitant. His eyes have enraptured me, and the way his voice mutters out those simple words erases all worry and fear from my mind.

He doesn't hate me?

He doesn't hate me.

Slowly, curiously, I nod.

He leans closer still, and tilts his head to mine. I can see it coming, and I know it is so very wrong. Maybe I could shove him away? Hit him upside the head with a frying pan? Thunk his nose and say ìHa! Fooled you!î? But no, he keeps coming and I'm frozen.

He closes his eyes, his breath whispering into my lips. I can't stop it. Something else --- something in the center of my gut --- is drawing me close too. I close my eyes.

I can't stop him.

And then his lips --- so light and lithe and feathery --- taste mine. Sweetly, docilely---timidly. He doesn't tongue or suck or nibble or crush or force. He just kisses a butterfly kiss.

What's a butterfly kiss? Well, I think it's when two people flutter their eyelashes together, but I put it differently. With his lips are against mine, I get all these fluttery things in my stomach that make me want to squirm and giggle and hoop for joy and dance around butt-naked with my titties flopping and ass sagging for the world to see. It's something that's once-in-a-lifetime, I'm sure.

That's a butterfly kiss.

It doesn't fill me with warmth or heady sand or a million crazy thoughts. That one butterfly kiss is just that: a kiss. It's a connection --- a spark --- of three simple words I never thought I would hear echoing over and over in my head, fluttering so crazily in my stomach. It makes me feel. It makes me understand.

That one butterfly kiss makes me whole.

Hesitantly, he leans back again, and searches my eyes once more. Our breaths are even. We aren't even worked up or hyperventilating or gasping. It's calm, and peaceful, and wonderful.

I start to cry.

"Oh no," he puts his hand on my cheek, "was it that bad?"

I shake my head. "N-No! It's not that!"

"Then what is it?" he asks, concerned. "Do I taste bad?"

He makes me laugh. "No," I shake my head again and wipe the tears from my eyes. Mascara blotches my hands. I sniffle and try to stop, but I can't.

"Then what?" he asks again, growing annoyed.

I look up into his deep, deep emerald eyes and say between sobs, "You---" sob "---don't---" sob-sob-hiccup "---hate me!"

Surprise flutters across his face. "Hate you?" he asks, incredulous. "No---no, of course not." He strokes my cheek, "I can't, Estella. I never could."