Pomme Terre

I admit that I think about it often. Sex. With him. But no, we never.

Did he think about it too? He would hold my hand and chat. He would hug me close and I can smell his aftershave. He would kiss me and I would totally dissolve, or tensed somewhere, depends. But when it comes too close to taking our clothes off and enjoy each other's body, somehow we pull the handbrake out of mutual respect and love that is deeper than lust. We never talk about it. Save the best for last. If we last that long.

He interlocked his fingers with mine as we both stared at the Mr Potato-Head with an open brain.

"Faye... Sweetheart..." Cliff began. "If you like potatoes so much, I would like to be your Mr Potato-Head. But there is something about me that I want to you to know."

I usually refrained from smoking in Cliff's apartment. I had a feeling that I need to light one soon.