Her fingertips started tracing those inevitable trails all girls follow before they stick their hands down a boy’s pants; resting lightly on the shoulder, behind the ear, sliding under the collar, back to the shoulder, squeezing, pushing on the sternum, the hips, tracing on the stomach, tracing circles, the navel, once, twice, eight times before resting on his belt. Now she raises them to rest between their chins, the middle finger pressing on his lips. Then back to his belt, and inside.
