The thing I’ve been thinking about all day. The thing we’ve talked about on the phone. I feel my breath getting shallow as he puts his hand on my ...ace, leaning toward me. I feel it. I feel his lips touching mine so little that it may not look like a kiss at all, but I feel his bottom lip follow the path of mine. He’s trying to make me work for it. He’s trying to make me crave it. He’s biting, tasting, nibbling on my lips. This is it right here. The time when whispers are allowed. The cliché. I was too busy trying to drown my own sorrows. For the last year and a half I'd been doing that, hanging around bars and drinking away my pain. It wasn't like I had anything else to do, or anything else left for me, not since my partners betrayal. Once, not really all that long ago, though it seems like nearly aneternity, I had been a respected scientist. I had the respect of my colleagues and peers, and the promise of an even brighter future. My discovery of a cure for AIDS had guaranteed. More

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