Free The Ice Age by Kirsten Reed Page B

drifting smoke, rising like dragon’s breath over guarded jewels, countless riches. Opium joints are a dreamier stone, and it was all I could do to stay away from him.
    I said, ‘Sometimes you’re just too far away,’ as I pulled him toward me by his arm. I kissed him. ‘I like you.’
    â€˜I like you, too,’ he said, in an utter daze, and kissed me back.
    This wasn’t anything like any of the other kissing. It was slow and hypnotic, and utterly thrilling. We could pause over each other’s mouths, lips only brushing, just breathing. He could run his cheek over mine, cat style, so all I could feel was his warm breath, the tickle of his eyelashes. And then there was the deeper kissing, with tongues.
    We just got on a roll with all this, and went all the way. I couldn’t have imagined doing anything else. Just melted into it. Not bad for the second time. Now I could definitely see why everyone liked it so much. And why Gunther’s women never had much to complain about. He did all sorts of cool stuff to me. And apparently sex can last a lot longer. He said he’d build up some longevity for me, it’d just been a while for him…I wasn’t one to complain. I fell asleep in his arms, and when we woke up, we did it again. He kissed me a lot. We made our way to the shower together. He even washed me. And kissed me some more.
    I didn’t know it would be like that. I thought it might be a little strange after all that time of friendship, touching each other like that; a little awkward, maybe. I didn’t know I wouldn’t be able to stop touching him, that it would feel like I was attached to marionette strings, that I was being constantly drawn to him, through no conscious will of my own. I would snap to, and find myself holding his hand, or clutching my arms around his waist, like a sleepwalker. Lovewalker.
    It was such a relief to finally bask in our feelings for each other. Every notion I had ever entertained about Gunther and me opened up before us, hovering in an attractive collection of possibilities. Even the concept of forging an eternal pact as creatures of the night enjoyed increased plausibility. I was as happy as a clam.
    He said a funny thing, though, first thing in the morning as he unwrapped his arms from me. He said I surprised him, that he would have envisioned himself waking up a little more…alone.
    We had a day of us being close, of touching each other and not being able to help it. We got some looks, but those look-givers couldn’t reach me. I’d found a way to transport that safe bubble of perfect happiness everywhere we went. It was the stoned hotel-room feeling, times a thousand. More, even.
    There was more smoking and slow kissing that night. Gunther stopped and held me for a while. He said just the touch of me made him feel at ease. I told him it was nice to be that close to him.
    I’d heard people get skin-hungry. People can actually get depressed if they’re not touched enough; single people, old people and the like. My grandmother told me that. And I’ve often thought about it, because I was never touched much as a child.
    So there is the comfort. But there is also an electricity to Gunther and my touching. His hand sliding down my arm carries a charge. And caressing him back, that carries a charge, too. Putting our hands together, lining up the fingertips, that is a major conductor. I’d heard you can do that by yourself; that turning your palms to face each other and holding your fingertips together harnesses kinetic energy. Imagine what two people can do.
    I got all excited again, and we ended up going all the way, again.
    He didn’t hold me all night that time, and he was up on the phone in the morning. We were rushing off to see another friend of his. We got on the road pretty quick. We held hands a bit during the day, but when we got to his friend’s he said he’d like to just ‘keep it to