When we danced, the dance always ended with a kiss -- even the times when I'd pressed myself against her. I preferred believing these weren't "thanks for the dance" kisses; I wanted to believe they were "I like you" kisses instead. They were still quick simple little pecks, but my imagination made them into something more than they might have been.There was my birthday gift. Jackie gave me a mirror with butterflies on it. It was a little girl's toy, a music box, and the butterflies moved when the music was playing. But the song it played was "You Light Up My Life." I wanted to believe Jackie was giving me a subtle hint with this gift.Were these signals real or imagined? I did not have the perception to know, and I lacked the courage to find out. Instead, I remained slumped in melancholy: a condition that characterized my life in those times.One day something happened. I will never know what it was, but for some reason Christine suddenly developed an intense dislike for Jackie and. I'm your friend. I promise I'll stay at the top of the hill and keep guard and that I won't budge from that spot."Of course, she'd known that I was lying and that I'd renege from the moment the words left my mouth. She knew that I was insincere and that this was a promise born to be broken, but it allowed her the luxury of pretence. That was her fix. She went down to the lake and she stood at the edge and she teased me in a way that was deliberately unconscious. She stripped to the skin as a woman does when she knows she's being watched by a man and then she stretched and gyrated, alternatively hiding and revealing her body, in her mind pretending that there was a stranger looking, pretending the pretense. Then she lay on the water with the waves lapping at her face and her legs and torso and breasts, and she washed herself, focusing extensively on her large aching nipples and between her legs, stroking and caressing herself in the way that she needed. She inserted first one finger.
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