I kissed Leslie at a dinner party in Park Slope, Brooklyn. I have kissed several females in my life, most of them were girls I knew in high school, but Leslie, who I thought was a lesbian, caused me to get hard.
There is nothing better than fat lips drenched in wine for kissing. The kiss was a game of sorts, a lot like spin the bottle, but there was no bottle for spinning, only the wine bottles that guests at the dinner party had yet to suck down.
Leslie never hid her attraction for me. During weekend trips to the Hampton’s, in which my lover and I were always invited, Leslie insisted on being my partner during games of volley ball. There were many well-bred Jewish men for Leslie to choose from, but it was my lover Anthony and I whom she chose to share a bedroom with in a large summer home she had rented.
Leslie told my lover that she had always been attracted to shy, quiet men, and she found my personality perfect for her own. The corporate lawyer once asked Anthony if she could have a child with me– if ever we decided that it was important for me to have children, just as Anthony had three of his own.
“Screw off, crazy bitch,” was Anthony’s response. Leslie found Anthony’s reply terribly funny and she asked him if she was jealous of her.
“Why would I be jealous of a cunt?” He asked. Leslie just laughed, and I suppose, planned her revenge right there in the Hamptons that night, at a picnic table, over bug candles.
The kiss that caused an erection took place at John and Linda’s apartment in Park Slope. Anthony and John, who were best friends, were busy talking about Norma Ribbon and Trimming, the place where both of them worked.
Leslie asked me plain terms, just like a lawyer would do– “Can I kiss you?”
“Sure,” I said, considering everyone was in the kitchen drinking wine and not paying us much attention.
When she kissed me, she would not let go, neither would I.
I did not know I had an erection until she reached for my crotch, and even then, it did not subside.
“What the fuck?” Anthony screamed from the kitchen, “Did you just see what that bitch just did? Charles, what were you thinking?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, embarrassed, and feeling as if I had somehow cheated on my lover, “we were just playing around.”
“If you ever touch him again, I’ll fucking kill you, bitch,” was Anthony’s final words that evening at the dinner party.
I simply remained silent, which has always been my strength when it comes to making love.