He kisses me.  I know it's coming in a way I've never known anything, everything inside me suspended, waiting, and at the first brush of his mouth against mine I feel something inside me breaking open, spilling out everywhere.  I have been kissed before, have waited to be kissed before, but not like this, never like this.  Before I could always think, "Oh, here I am, kissing."  I could see myself in the moment.  But now I am unable to think anything but scattered, fleeting thoughts; that he tastes like water, that his hair is soft under my fingers, that even when we are closer, pressed together, it's not enough.  I have never felt like this before.
       His hand is on my waist, and my hand is on his back, sliding down the line of his spine, over the skin that lies bare and warm where his shirt has ridden up.  I taste aspiring bitter on his tongue, and I am drowning.  We have turned, moving together, and I am pressed back against a counter, head thrown back.  I'm surrounded by him.  His hand is still on my waist, and I want it to move higher, I want it to move lower.  Ice cracks in the towel, leaking cold water onto his hand, onto me, and I want.  I want him.