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I was only realizing now that she had it on.I was still feeling slightly awkward, but my confidence kicked in almost instantly. I rolled over, looking patch in the eye (no pun intended). She chuckled at me, licking her lips just spite me. She was my therapist. She knew every little detail I ever gave her, including the fact that red lipstick was one of the only outside turn ons I had. I went to ask her what she was trying to do. I think in the middle of the word trying she pressed her lips to mine. I caved, letting myself cup her cheek as that kiss became more passionate. Patch got greedy, letting her tongue part my lips, flicking against mine for just a moment before she pulled away slowly. I could tell she felt conflicted about doing that, but I was trying to shake the little bit of nirvana I was feeling off. "hmm...dunno how I feel about that one, chief," she said to me, giggling a little. "but I'll admit, for a guy, your mouth doesn't taste nasty." That's probably cuz I don't. I entered with my notebook in hand ready to write. An hour and a half into the three hour exhibition I sat down in the lobby exhausted and bored, we had come round full circle on the bottom floor and were told to take a ten minute break before we went onto the second and third floors of the gallery. As I said before, I like to think I'm down with art in general, but this exhibition was shockingly terrible and flat out mind numbing. I had hardly written anything in my journal and placed it down beside me on the foamy chair. I had noticed a guy when we were all being herded from piece to piece who was blatantly gawking ridiculous amounts at me. I had tried to ignore it at first but I would always catch him from the corner of my eye, peripherally watching him back as I jotted down sparse comments. He was definitely older than me, maybe in his early late thirties. His hair was showing grey around the temples and his dress sense was that of a mid-range business man, a dark blue suit..
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