Lipstick
We learned to paint our mouths kissable, but were taught not to. By the parish priest, by our mothers, by Seventeen magazine. Never on the first date, never more than one boy at a time, never below the neck. We practiced on the mirror and at slumber parties. When boys scratched on the window, we giggled and shivered. Only Lana slipped out, came back smeared and tight-lipped, full up with stories she wouldn’t tell us. At school on Monday, we lipsticked the mirror in the third-floor girl’s room: LANA SUCKS. Later we all learned. Later we all did it.
Photo Credit: Anthony Kelly
Beautifully written; I love the pace.
Read it 3 times over.
This is a very descriptive piece of writing! I enjoyed every bit of it and I will read it again!
This story is great! Thanks for sharing!
Memorable!
Absolutely beautiful.
Thanks for reading!
Well done!
Thank you!
Terrific, Sarah.
Thanks, Paul!
This is a good one — tough and true and perfectly told.
Thank you for reading!