That summer day had been the first time Kyle had kissed him. Jonathan stilled at the memory of the kiss, not just because of the wonderful physical sensations it had brought on, but also because of how weighted the gesture was with meaning, with the import of something beginning
He remembered all that had followed the kiss, the almost wordless surrender of each other’s bodies to the other, the frantic embraces, and the hurry to shed their clothes. It was like a moment that had been coming for weeks, since they had first laid eyes on each other at the beginning of the school year, and now that the moment had arrived, it couldn’t happen fast enough. He recalled kissing Kyle everywhere on his body, working his way down from lips to neck, to chest, to nipples, to tracing the line of dark brown hair that bisected his navel and led farther south.