“I think you’re a mental patient.” He shakes his head, a sly smile sneaking up.
“It’s the spigot of love!”
“Duh, you big dummy.”
“I got it cause it’s our fourteenth!”
“I kno-o-o-w.” I knew he’d like it when I designed it.
“C’mere,” I say as I walk a few steps toward him.
“Okay. Go ahead.” His arms fold in a faux-pout. I spin him around, grab him from behind pressing his back against to me, and put my lips on the crux behind his left ear, that soft skin before his thick hair begins its crop. His ear blushes itself warm. He upturns his head for better access and after a few seconds of gentle sucking on that spot, he says, “Okay, mister, that’s enough.”
“That’s the love spigot, right there, and I got me some.”
“Yes, you did, dummy guy.”
“Happy 14, Billy.”
“Did you like what I gave you?” His eyebrows arch up to a point of concern.
“What? The happiest, craziest, saddest years of my life? That?” I pause. “Yeah, I like it.”
It's still raw, so you can't see the B, and I'll need to get the color adjusted at some point.