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Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me (1987)

Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me (1987)

JOSH JONES

— MICRO FICTION AWARD WINNER —
JUDGE: LEESA CROSS-SMITH

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Let them say I’m queer. (I’m not.) Let them taunt my stride, my accent, the songs I listen to. My hair sprayed so high. They already think I wear makeup. (So what if next year, in college, I’ll think about kissing Jonathan, beautiful Jonathan, who’ll have red lips just like mine.) Let them say whatever. (An erection during that homoerotic Japanese film will mean nothing.) I have a girlfriend (sort of). Gotten to second base (I think). She even talked blowjobs with me. (And those times in the Blockbuster stock room fifteen years from now won’t count—him married, me engaged. Besides, my fiancée will have Netflix by then.) Gotta relax your throat, my girlfriend said and held my hand. This was after youth group, in the back of her mom’s Astro van, the tape deck blaring “Just Like Heaven.” Now she kohls my eyes and asks which lipstick I want. Bright red, I say. The brightest you’ve got. Side B plays “Icing Sugar” as the stick glides across my mouth, a smeary streak like Robert Smith’s kiss. Across my cheeks like the fiercest warpaint.

 

Joshua Jones lives in Maryland where he works as an animator. His writing has appeared in Outlook Springs, matchbook, CRAFT, The Cincinnati Review, Split Lip Magazine, SmokeLong Quarterly, Necessary Fiction, and elsewhere. Find him on Twitter @jnjoneswriter.

Designed by Meg Lionel Murphy


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