ᴀᴍᴇʀɪᴄᴀɴ ᴠᴇɴᴏᴍ| Dark Erotica ⛓

Never Been Kissed

𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 ㋛ 𝘌𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘳 𝘐 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦

༻❁༺

Truth or dare?

Truth? Uh huh.

Well, I won't act so surprised since that's the only logical answer, considering, you know, this is a paper medium.

But you want me to go first?

Fine, I guess.

The bottle points at me, ey?

My hidden shame?

Deep breath here goes.

This could be cathartic.

If you can't tell already, I'm feeling troubled.

Give or take a year or so, I'm thirty years of age.

Yes, I probably said in another chapter I was twenty-six or something ridiculous, when I have a bandana on, I can pass for younger, but now we've had time to get to know each other, I want to be entirely honest.

So, that's three O! Or there abouts. I ain't no spring chicken anymore.

The wrinkles are starting, sometimes I pee when I sneeze, and stairs have become generally hostile.

And whilst the fact I've reached my third decade considering the multiple assassination attempts, nineteen stabbings, five gunshot wounds, run-of-the-mill destitution, poor nutrition and three bouts of dysentery­ is impressive−

my secret is that when Vorden forcefully planted his soft, full smoocher on me last night, in that hard, bearded, fuck you in hell kiss, it was the first one I'd ever had.

Now, on a larger scale, between the wars and famine and decline of the natural world, this ain't an issue.

But to me, it was a niggling little wound that festered with each progressively kissless year.

Double truth? Hell, I'm baring my soul for your entertainment here.

Alright then.

No one had ever tried to kiss me, either.

Not Reb. Not Mac.

The homeless drunk man I come across in a corn field in Kansas who thought he was Jesus and proceeded to urinate on my brogues does not count.

No one knew except Josiah, (damn drunk crying to hell) who proceeded to laugh until I was sober.

Oh, Lord. Thirty, and never been kissed.

The thought was enough to make me cover my mouth with both hands and retreat into the shadows like the withered old spider I felt like.

Vorden knew, didn't he? Damn, it must have been so obvious.

Mister 'I have a well-placed mole' didn't need Doc Sterling to pop a finger in my mouth to figure I was the pinnacle of socially awkward.