The first time we made love, I remember worrying that I had finished too early. I tried to play it cool, and kissed her on her cheek, on her hair. Afterwards, she rolled on top of me and said, "I like having sex with you." I held her by the hips, as her hair fell onto my cheek. Then we went out to buy condoms (naturally), and afterwards, about an hour later, we made love again. This time, I lasted longer (I'd imagine because we'd just recently had sex) and afterwards, I remember we lay in each others arms, her head resting just below my neckbone, my arm around her and I could smell her hair. I wish I had that memory back, but who knows what the future holds? I hope that she gets better, I know that she can do it, she deserves it.
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Another time, when we were making love, I kissed her on the forehead and said, "I love you." She smiled and said, "I love you too, honey."
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"Honey, it's okay." She told me
"You will get better, baby"
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In Morocco, all the guys were staring at you. I writhed with jealousy, as I always did. But I wouldn't blame them for looking - you dressed in your apple blossom white top, with black stripes. Golden arms glowing in the African sun, sunglasses perched on top of your hair.
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