The Boy Who Wore Boat Shoes

27⎜The Label

27⎜The Label

I stared at my computer screen, my eyes about ready to pop out of their sockets, presuming that it was scientifically possible. All I had typed down were a few words that had popped up and were actually about the subject itself—that being an intro to sociology. Currently, the professor was answering a series of technical questions that couldn’t just be answered simply, but rather had to be attached to the phrase, “Well, that reminds me of that time that I…” The question being extrapolated upon right now had led into a story about the Amazon Rainforest somehow, and it was definitely safe to say that I was VERY confused.

           Suddenly, a sound from the back of the room caused me to snap my head back. Most in the seminar couldn’t care less about the opening and closing of a door, but right now, I was bored enough to find just about anything interesting. With the clank of the door came an impassive girl with a determinedness about her that made me unable to look away. She was gorgeous, and on a mission. Our eyes connected. I smiled. She continued staring at me, her speed picking up slightly.

           When she reached the practically empty row of seats in which I was sitting, she plopped right down next to me, and without a word, drew her finger along the edge of my lips. As she went about casually tracing the contour of my mouth, I attempted to not be affected. I tried to listen to the professor. I really did. Alas, her touch left a tingling sensation that wouldn’t go away by merely ignoring it. Something had snapped within me, and I was so done listening to some lady drone on and on about her experience of interacting with monkeys and spiders in the middle of South America.

           I closed my laptop as quickly as possible, and stuffed it inside my backpack, all the while having my lips outlined. There were only about five or so minutes left in the class. I wouldn’t be missing anything. Standing up, I grabbed the hand of the girl, and began to drag her down the aisle that separated one section of seats from the other. We were headed towards the door, and she was more than willing to leave the seminar early.

           When we reached the exit that also served as an entrance, we couldn’t get out fast enough. The second we were out, I was pushed against a wall adjacent to where my class was still being held, and the tracing of a finger was replaced by the warmth of two lips. They didn’t taste like anything. Mackenzie used to always try out different kinds of lip-glosses, and would wear a different flavor essentially every day. Liz wore Chap Stick, and occasionally some lipstick. Ari didn’t having anything on. When I kissed her, there wasn’t a filter of even the faintest to separate me from her lips. They were real, raw, and ready. And I couldn’t get enough.

           She ran a hand through my hair, and I clamped mine down around her waist. I was pressed up against the wall. She was leaning on me. Her other hand was attached to the side of my face. There wasn’t much distance between us, but even the minimal amount was too much. In my past relationships, PDA had never really been a big issue, but with Ari, it wasn’t even a topic of which needed to be thought. Ari was evidently VERY okay with publically displaying affection, as she was now doing with me. Right outside the room in which I was supposed to be learning sociology. But learning Ari was so much better. Sociology couldn’t even come close to comparing.

           “I told you they were hooking up!” someone cried, causing me to pause. Ari kept going, though, not being fazed even slightly.

           “Would’ya look at that!” another individual exclaimed. “Wow. Nice goin’, Wilson!”

           “Get it in!”

           “Scott, shut up,” Ari snapped, momentarily disconnecting her face from mine. Then it was right back on, forcing me to give up my power of speech. But for this girl, it was worth it.