... Then she stripped off slowly, almost asking permission to his own body propio. Shy, insecure of herself. He stood in front of the mirror, as a small act of courage, and stared at himself, checking out something he had long condemned.
He looked down for a second.
"I have overweight," he whispered.
He touched the curve of his waist with two fingers, measuring what he wanted to see.
I heard her without interrupting her.
And when he finished,
I got closer to behind.
I didn't talk about the entry. I just put my hands open over her hips, covering exactly where she was pointing. I hugged her tightly, chest against her back, and began to kiss her slowly: shoulder, neck, going down the column, charting a path that only I remembered by heart.
Reached the waist and knelt. I kissed the skin it just judged. I kissed where I said I had left, a little more, a little left, for the rnvel.
I looked up.
And in the reflection his eyes were no longer disappointed; they were confused, yet curious.
"You need kisses," I said with the mouth glued to his skin. "You're missing here... and here... and especially here. ”
I kissed her again, more slowly, letting the breath linger a while in each place. She let out a low, nervous laugh at first, and then the air she was holding.
Little by little he stopped counting pounds, and started counting kisses. One on the abdomen curve, two on the side, three on the lower back. When the sighs escaped him faster than the numbers, he turned, picked me up off the floor and kissed me on the mouth forcefully, as if he had just discovered that the mirror had lied to him all along.
And among kisses that were no longer measured, I made her understand that what she called "leftover", was just what I wanted most with my mouth.
Because where she swore she had extra pounds,
I assured him that he only needed kisses.
—Gustavo Chaos✍🏻(13 Mar 2026)
"I have overweight," he whispered.
He touched the curve of his waist with two fingers, measuring what he wanted to see.
I heard her without interrupting her.
And when he finished,
I got closer to behind.
I didn't talk about the entry. I just put my hands open over her hips, covering exactly where she was pointing. I hugged her tightly, chest against her back, and began to kiss her slowly: shoulder, neck, going down the column, charting a path that only I remembered by heart.
Reached the waist and knelt. I kissed the skin it just judged. I kissed where I said I had left, a little more, a little left, for the rnvel.
I looked up.
And in the reflection his eyes were no longer disappointed; they were confused, yet curious.
"You need kisses," I said with the mouth glued to his skin. "You're missing here... and here... and especially here. ”
I kissed her again, more slowly, letting the breath linger a while in each place. She let out a low, nervous laugh at first, and then the air she was holding.
Little by little he stopped counting pounds, and started counting kisses. One on the abdomen curve, two on the side, three on the lower back. When the sighs escaped him faster than the numbers, he turned, picked me up off the floor and kissed me on the mouth forcefully, as if he had just discovered that the mirror had lied to him all along.
And among kisses that were no longer measured, I made her understand that what she called "leftover", was just what I wanted most with my mouth.
Because where she swore she had extra pounds,
I assured him that he only needed kisses.
—Gustavo Chaos✍🏻(13 Mar 2026)
