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Let It Go

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Let It Go

By Simon Jimenez

He gave me specific instructions: go around the side of the house, past the three singing garden gnomes, down the grassy slope, and knock on the back door three times. I didn't ask him why the precaution.

The tag on his email address told me his name was Sam. I whispered the name to myself as I walked through the shadows of the house. Sam, Sam, Sam. The feel and texture of his name kept me anchored to reality. This wasn?t some nebulous creation of the internet, this was a real person, a person like me, who wanted what I wanted.

Sam?s apartment was the basement of a larger house. I knocked three times on the back door. Two minutes later, the patio light turned on, and Sam opened the door. He was a good five inches taller than me. His eyes reflected the patio light in sequin smiles as he welcomed me inside, his hand on my back, leading me to the living room.

We sat on his coffee-stained couch, facing a small television set propped up on a pile of college textbooks. The Olympic Games were on, a young Chinese girl singing to a crowd of millions. She must be nervous.

"Can you turn the TV off?" I mumbled.

Sam put the television on mute. "I wanted to watch the games," he explained.

Footsteps wandered along the ceiling, faint conversation echoing through and out the walls. Sam slid closer to me, his arm draped along the spine of the couch. "Are you nervous?" he asked. His breath stung my nostrils with an unholy mix of garlic and peppermint. His slick lips smashed against mine, biting, chewing, licking my face. This was my first kiss. Not knowing what to do, I let him eat me alive.

A hand went in my shirt lifting it above my head. Another played with the zipper of my jeans. The hand slipped inside and hugged my crotch, coaxing it harder, all while Sam whispered in my ear ?Do you like that?? He didn?t stop asking me until I nodded. His head traveled south until I could see the back of his neck. He had a small black tattoo of a clenched fist. The wet of his mouth engulfed me.

I let out a stifled moan.

The Chinese girl sang, in silence, her arms outstretched as if trying to hug the world. As Sam's stubble scratched against my thighs, my hands spread out and over the rough surface of the couch, searching for something to anchor me down, but I was already gone, lost in a song with no words.

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