Homecoming

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked her sitting up in the backseat of my jeep, slipping my arms from around her backside. Her white dress rippled like a pool of water, the golden jewels reflected the light from the moon shone against the black leather interior as she tried to pull me back. I was tempted to fall back into the tender embrace, but anger pushed me forward, rage surged through me like a disturbed sea; yet those soft hazel eyes pulled me in, the same color as a forest that draws in innocent children never to be seen again. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I yelled this time, causing her lips to quiver and goose bumps to rise like pillars of fear on her legs. Her legs, soft and smooth, smelling like the coconut lotion she had applied just hours before the dance. They enticed me, making me want slide back between them and continue kissing her soft lips. A shiny thin layer of gloss encased them, begging to be kissed. Anger broke the spell she held on me and I bellowed out in rage, “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t a girl!”