j.j.kirnan: eyes full of light and laughter: better than ice cream

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      Just at the moment of going too far, her hand froze. She stood naked, a little wet from the shower, considering. Then, instead of a big blast from the atomizer, she spritzed only a faint smudge of mist into the air of the bedroom and with eyes closed stepped into the fragrant cloud with a graceful twist and glide. The exotically-scented fog settled onto her hair, shoulders, and breasts. She held still, rapt in the thrill of it, the delicate sophisticated scent so well made it could afford to be this sweet, certain never to cloy the senses.
      Breaking the spell, she padded to the side of the bed. Immediately it was clear the rightness of deferring decision until after the shower, as with sure hand she bypassed three other choices and lifted the white camisole top, holding it in place, glancing into the mirror for confirmation. Yes, just so, with the worn jeans and a slender belt. She pulled on underwear bottoms and the jeans first, then socks. Confidence was high.
      One delicate quandary remained, however. She stood in the center of the room, bottom lip caught between teeth, breathing slowly, the focus

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of her considerable female acuity racing in consideration of much. Momentarily, she took a step across the room, opened her best underwear drawer, and carefully selected the needed garment; bare beneath the camisole would not serve this fine day.

      Inevitably, ice cream made an appearance that afternoon. Since they had long accepted light irony over how preciously everything had unfolded for two thirty-five-year-olds on a third date, the ice cream purchasing ritual had not raised embarrassment, as had not the rowboat ride, nor the Ferris wheel nor the carousel of wooden horses, astoundingly.
     “Chocolate, right?” he asked with a glance. She presented a smile as ironic as his, playing a fine game.
     “Why, yes, of course. Is there any other flavor? You, too?” She watched him shake his head with mock gravity and order vanilla.
      They strolled out onto a grassy area between two slow-moving old-fashioned amusements, letting the sun fully into their faces as they licked down the creamy cones, glancing in each other‘s eyes now and then.
     “We deserve some sort of award, don’t you think?” he offered finally.
     “Why?”
     “Well, speaking for myself, but I bet for you, too, for bearing up under such a clichéd date without cracking.”

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     She laughed at that. “Who do you think is winning?” she asked impishly.
     “I am. I‘m the man. This date is something no man should have to put up with.”
     “But there’s pressure on the woman, too, don‘t forget. What if I’m being too suffocating? That‘s death, right?”
     “Yeah, suffocating is deadly.” He paused and sobered a little. “But, nope, no suffocating.”
     Serious ice cream business quieted them for a few moments. They traded tastes.
     “Do you think we’re in the blind spot?” she asked with the look of taking a chance.
     “The what?”
     “The blind spot. That‘s when everything that would normally be annoying doesn’t even bother you a bit. You‘re trying-the two people are trying to please each other, to get to . . . to get to mating, and so nature pushes everything aside but what makes them feel good about each other.”
     He didn’t say anything.
     “I saw it on the Discovery Channel,” she tossed in.
     “I wouldn‘t know; I must be blind. I can’t see it,” he said smoothly.
     She smiled coyly. Wow,“ she announced, “that is so not annoying.”

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     During the afternoon they did not hop on any kiddie rides, instead engaging in matters great and small. Their exchanges revealed certain privacies, offering the opportunity for trusting. They were not shallow, either of them; they tangled splendidly. She noticed how excited she was underneath yet how detached from expectation, a quite curious confluence, as if watching a person other than herself fall for him.
     Near sunset they headed back to the parking lot.
     “I know how we can find out,” he said all of the sudden.
     “Find out what?”
     “If we‘re in the blind spot,” he answered with amusement.
     “Oh, that! How?”
     “Well, on a date like this I’m hoping there‘s a kiss at the end.
     She paused for a perfect split second. “A kiss,” she said, not like a question.
     “Yes. We will find out in the goodnight kiss.”
     They stared at each other, realization dawning, eyes getting big. “It’s in his kiss!” they shouted together. This made them a little silly, made them sing a few lines of the famous song, playing with each other‘s delightedness. Suddenly he took her hand and pulled her quickly behind a row of trees that served as a border between the amusement park and the parking lot. There was a spot of privacy there.
     They were inside it without another word. Her arms slipped around his

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neck. She tilted her head to take his mouth exactly right, moving against his lips, slipping and rotating gently, pressing with her hands at the back of his head to show willingness.
     Oh, perfect to not open me, to come inside me, just hold my mouth with yours, yes, just so she prayed silently to him. She needn’t have feared; the kiss held fresh for long, sweet seconds. To her delight, his lips were never stiff or cold, not ever. Inside his breathing she heard little pleasure sounds he could not contain, all the more thrilling for being so small. The scent of his skin so close for the first time imprinted itself on her, to forever hold the power of this kiss in it.
     Suddenly, as if summoned by gods, a force gathered in her pelvis to settle at the base of her spine, dangerous, potent. It waited. In a second of infinity she granted her will to the force, to the life she would lead afterwards. A whimper escaped her throat. The energy exploded up her back, radiating down her arms into the fingertips touching his hair. Her arms pulled him close, raising her breasts, pressing their round weight and turning from side to side to settle them deeply, offered their loveliness. Immediately she felt this act set off a shudder in him, made him take her in full embrace with strength. She met it with offering, surrender, melting.
     Then, most precious of all, the kiss blossomed gently one more time. She felt it begin at the sweet meeting of their lips, unfold high, high,

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then back beyond the mind‘s eye to approach the open heart.
     She lifted her mouth from his, eyes opening to find him searching her, holding her, adoring her. Her gaze returned to his mouth, which had made hers burn.
     “Better than ice cream,” he said softly.
     “Yes,” she whispered.
     As they made their way to his car, slowly because of the difficulty of taking their eyes from each other, she grew aware of the most heartbreakingly sweet scent, like a cloud of joy around her head. She put her fingers at the top edge of her white camisole and pulled it open slightly. The scent increased. She realized it was the last of the incredible perfume she had applied this morning, boiled by love.