Moments #1

At the end of a long pier, beneath an autumn evening’s sky, over the water that was growing chilly with the coming winter’s winds, in between two otherwise unnoteworthy moments in a constant stream of mentally photographed breaths, as a skip in the fabric of a thumping monotony of similitude, I saw on the island on the other side of the river, just out of reach, my first pair of naked breasts, attached to a girl four years my elder, her head thrown back, her hair tugging downward as her hips thrust her upwards, her hands splayed on the waist of an unseen beau whose grunting I could hear over her own, and even so and despite their metronomic cadence, all I could focus on clearly were those nipples, superficially like my own but topping as they did those mounds of legend, peaks which in retrospect were pimply bumps contrasted to the myriad silicone balloons I’ve seen in the interim but which at the time were alpine in dimension, peaks which have visited me repeatedly as they did later that night when, in the privacy of my own bed, biting back noises so my fellow campers wouldn’t hear, I did what all teenage boys ought to do in their beds while thinking of such things.

— ptkh 4.20.10

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