by Edward Austin Robertson

The radio had a faint green glow protruding from the display bar,
and the wood paneling in my room gave things a cozy cabin feel.
I nudged Valerie's lips against mine,
stroking the side of her cheek.
It was about 1:30 in the morning
and the beginning of Spring.
We were mugging down while the rest of my household was asleep.
The open window let the cool air in and
Pink Floyd's Fearless came on the radio.
I was feeling good.
This was the first girl I'd been with in two years.
"What?" she asked.
"You're smiling, what is it?"
I laughed softly. "Just happy baby. Just happy to be here."
Smiling at my cheesiness, she pressed herself firmly against me.
The blood rushed through my head furiously,
and I felt  her muscles expand and contract
as my hands ran along the landscape of her back.
I rolled over on top of her and brushed the hair out of her face.
"Ready?" I asked, gently kissing the tip of her nose.
She smiled and whispered "Yes."
Edward Austin Robertson is an Oakland based writer who grew up in
Texas. After moving from Dallas to Houston to Austin, Robertson
fled to California in hopes of finding a climate suitable for writing. He
emphatically claims that Texans aren't stupid, its just too hot to
think, and that his I.Q. went up a hundred points as soon as he
moved. When he is not working on his first novel, Kerouac with a
Credit Card, he can be  found moonlighting the comedy clubs of
San Francisco under the stage name of Bobby Mickey.
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