I wondered how it would feel to be kissed by someone in the rain

I know it’s him as he walks up the stairs. We’re the same height, and his clothes weigh him down. I see him type on his phone and receive his text saying he has arrived. He turns around and looks up, his umbrella in his hand. I wave at him. I know it’ll be some awkward first minutes, those desensitizing times when you meet for the first time after texting a whole lot. We exchange pleasantries, and we talk like co-workers. Then, we stop walking. He suggests the place we’re supposed to pass by. I look inside, and it’s empty, but I can hear the faint 80s music blasting inside. I tell him I like this place. He pushes the door, and we get in.

The music plays louder inside. It’s new wave, but I don’t know the song. It is as if it were trying to drown our thoughts, but I don’t let the loud music bother me because I’m interested in what he has to say. We sit down and order. He pays for the drinks and food. Then, we plunge. We talk about our families, our previous relationships, his coming-out story, his mother. He tells me where he’s from, and I tell him how I see relationships, my recent experiences with mature men, how opposite we are when we confront escalated arguments. He talks about his theatrical hobbies. He says I have a cat-like personality.

At one point, he puts his hands on my thighs, closing the gap wedged by our table. He slouches just so he can reach them, and I reach back, at least my left hand first, locking my fingers around him. His fingers are rough to touch, the way I like it. He asks me how I come to have such a smooth hand. I tell him it’s like that everywhere. He groans. He looks at me in the eyes and asks if I want to take a walk. I say yes. It’s drizzling outside when we come out, and I unsling my backpack to fish out my umbrella. ‘No need,’ he says. ‘Let’s use mine.’

Outside the bar, cars line up the narrow street of the Porta Venezia district, and we take a right as we walk. The street is empty aside from the cars, lamps, and the occasional lights coming from apartments above us. We’re halfway through the street, and he wraps his arm around me and pulls me close. He looks at me with a slight grin, and I study him. His clean-cut shadow sprouts a mix of gray and black hair. He has a thick moustache and a septum piercing. What’s making me fidget the entire night is his tongue piercing. It’s making me feel because I’ve always wondered how it feels like rolling around my tongue. I told him this while we were drinking. I’m not saying this now, but I know he knows I think about it.

We lean in for a kiss, in public, on an empty street shadowed by overhead white lamps, under his umbrella that’s protecting us from the light rain. I put my hands on his chest. For hundreds of nights, I wondered how it would feel to be kissed by someone in the rain, to feel cherished in the dark, in public, outdoors. To not care about people passing by or cars honking. To stand together, hands and arms on each other’s bodies, and let it be. I open my eyes after the kiss, and I’m high. He tastes sweet, like the maracuja cocktail he ordered. I look up to see him looking at me. ‘I’ve never been kissed in public before,’ I tell him. He shares no shame or surprise. He only grins and takes my hand.

So begins the night of a long walk. We weave through empty streets, stealing kisses, not caring about the hotel guests peeking at us or the passersby huffing and walking past us. We’re two budding high school students on their first date, exploring and experimenting. I like tugging him to me, and he likes pushing his tongue in my mouth. I bite and suck his lower lip, and he groans. We talk with our lips close to each other. We whisper. We get down from the high. We repeat.

At one point, I start to worry. Doubts creep in: is he going to ask me out again? I’m already planning on how I can move on, get past the transient highs I’ve felt tonight, and just brace for what’s to come next. I’m thinking of this as he pulls off an impression of an Italian TV personality I’ve never heard of because I’ve never turned on my TV. He still does it anyway, and while I can’t understand what he’s saying because he’s using Italian words I’m not familiar with, his goof comes through, and I smile. He stops acting for a bit, turns, and pulls me to him. We share a brief kiss before he asks, ‘Do you have plans on Friday?’

It’s Monday. I don’t know what plans I’m having, but I say no. I tell him I’d love to meet him again this coming Friday. ‘It’s set then,’ he says, and I can’t stop smiling. We part ways with another kiss, and I walk towards my Metro station. I purse my lips just to feel the heat coming off of them. I want to touch them with my fingers, but I don’t. I’m afraid it might shake off the feeling I’m having.