When we kissed, it was anticlimactic. We had been sharing a bed for almost two weeks; all signs pointed to sex. I let my loneliness propel me. She was feeling deep feelings and I didn’t want to be left out. I wanted her halo to warm me, her belly to bounce off. So I lifted my shirt. Her body was so soft and warm it almost felt like a trap. Was this why men went crazy? For a moment I could understand their lunacy. I too would forget all my manners when confronted with something so inconceivably plush. I had a taste and now I wanted more; a sample would not fill me up. I wanted all of her body, all of her in me, like those collapsible tents that you carry in bags or those specialty dishes of meat filled with meat. I wanted to eat my own tail, form an infinite loop, just so that she could drink from me. She smelled like apricots, a smell I’d forgotten. Apricots, I thought. Apricots! Her dark hair made the pillows look damp. Her mouth was like a Slurpee: endless, red, and wet.