SnapshotHey, this is my first fictional story on here, so any feedback would be appreciated.
His hands explored my body, under my dress, feeling, discovering. His mouth on mine tasted like peppermint gum and my lipstick. His hot body against mine should have been uncomfortable, but instead, I just wanted him closer. The dark little space was closing in, pushing our bodies together. All there was in the world was him, me, and that dark place. It was a high school dance. I was thirteen. He was seventeen.
His tongue found mine. It tasted different than anything I'd ever experienced before. Unfamiliar for sure, making me pull back a little in surprise, but soon I realized that I liked it. It was something new, taboo, indescribably sexy. It was a high school dance. I was thirteen. He was seventeen.
His hands crept up my back, searching, finding. They found the zipper and clumsily pulled at it. I moved them down. They moved back up. I felt my back against the wall, and suddenly recognized a flavor in his mouth. He pressed himself closer. It was a high school dance. I was thirteen and in way over my head. He was seventeen and drunk.
It was a high school dance. I was thirteen. He was seventeen. He's the father of my two year old daughter. I'm fifteen. He's long gone.