“Oh my god! I can’t believe it’s you! I am such a big fan!”
She smiled at me, pink lips stretched into a cute grin. “Oh, I’m so glad. I always like meeting with the fans.”
“Can I hug you?”
She wrapped her arms around me, and I was pulled into her warm body. My face came to rest into her neck, and my lips pressed into it involuntarily, unthinking. Embarrassed, I tried to pass it off. But she pulled away, good-humouredly, those light pink lips still smiling.
“Did you just kiss me?”
I blushed. “I – I didn’t.”
“Felt like it to me.”
“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I’m…” I paused. Rethinking, I tried and took a chance. “Can I kiss you?”
She stared back at me, smile smaller now but not gone. Her eyes glazed over, but not in fear or disgust. She looked sad, but not withdrawn. Instead, she stared deep into my eyes. I leaned in, feeling welcome. My lips touched hers. They pressed deeper when she didn’t protest. I took her lips and felt them, felt the deeper pinks of her insides, taking her in.
Then I wondered about my breath. I hadn’t brushed this morning. This might be awful for her.
I pulled away, then kissed her again when her absence ached on my lips. “I should’ve brushed. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said.
I leaned in again, and she jerked back. I looked at her in confusion. “I thought you wanted this.”
“I don’t even know you.”
I pulled out of her arms. I wanted to cry I felt so rejected and confused. I repeated the question in my mind. I thought you wanted this. I wanted to apologise profusely, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t let myself lose control like that.
“I’m sorry,” I said anyway. I couldn’t help it. I stepped away, holding myself tighter. “I still like you, whatever,” I said. I couldn’t hold this against her. This was all me. I was wrong, I’d done this against her will. I was no better than a rapist. It wasn’t quite sex, but it was enough to make her a creepy stalker.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, before running away down the street.