Our first kiss was after a coffee date. Ok, I'll admit it, not the best move for a third date, but it was in the middle of finals and I knew she was as swamped as I was. I didn't want to go "fancy dinner" and give the wrong impression, like I was subliminally suggesting that she stay the night at my place, and if I had gone that route I'm certain she would have put me off for a week, and I wasn't ready to consciously not see her for that long. In other words, I thought that the coffee date thing was going to pan out as the right move. And it was. 

We sit, talk. We crack each other up a few times, and after a while I ask what her plans for the rest of the day are (aside from studying, of course). She's flirty, but not in an overt way, in her subliminally-sexy, I-can-make-you-gasp-for-breath-without-touching-you, kind of way. I ask if I can walk her home. She nods yes. 

The walk to her apartment is ten minutes, tops, and my heart was pumping as soon as I reached for her hand. When we get to her front door, she looks like she's going to send me away with a hug and get back to studying, but at the last second she tilts her chin up and we start making out. 

I lead, and we're already frenching, but I don't want to barge in uninvited. Instead I wait until she grabs my shirt and pulls me inside. We're on the couch, she's sitting on my lap. It's our first kiss, and I already have a major hard-on. Great. 

She must have felt my discomfort, because in the next minutes our charades start to wind down and she moves her face to whisper in my ear:

 "Oh, Cam."

Trust me, that did not help the situation downstairs. 

And the next part? Immediate feedback. I didn't have to leave and wait until the next day to text her, and she didn't keep me guessing with an ambiguous text like all of the other girls that I had dated. She was different in that regard, old-school. After I had calmed down, the words rushed out of me, as they often do when I'm sitting next to an attractive woman. 

"I was hoping that I could kiss you today."

She laughed, clear bell tones that rang throughout my entire body. 

"Can you do it again?"

Her eyes fluttered closed as I reached for her. I was already memorizing the feel of her against my body, already drinking in her warmth, and loathing its coming absence. 

I can imagine her looking at my sketches--especially the one from that day, the one of her, naked, arching against me. 

Don't get me wrong. We've never had sex. Not even to this day, three years and three months later. It's a religious thing--no sex before marriage. That doesn't mean I'm still not obsessed with it, however. I know how banal it sounds, trust me. I know that you're already drawing conclusions, like oh, he's just a sex maniac and that's why he cheated on his beautiful, perfect girlfriend, though I didn't have sex with Angelina, either, by the way. My problems go much deeper than that. 

I'm so in love with her. Please, bring her back to me.