Weirdos

This morning I licked Oliver. He had just fallen asleep beside me, and it wasn’t enough to just watch him as I usually do. So I bent my head down, stuck out my tongue and touched the tip of it to Oliver’s warm cheek. Then I did it again, this time with a little more motion—sort of like a cat licking one of her kittens. It was lovely. Not much taste, maybe a little salt, but maybe not. I just liked the thrill of doing it.

When I next saw Craig, I let him know what I had done.

“I licked Oliver this morning,” I said.
“Mm-hmm,” he mumbled distractedly.

“Yep, I licked him right on his cheek—twice,” I noted, this time with a little more expectancy.
“Good.”
Somewhat taken aback by his lack of reaction, I asked, “Have you ever licked Oliver?”
“Routinely.”
“Really? On his cheek?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“How often?”
“Every couple of months or so.”

So there you have it—Craig and I have both taken to licking Oliver.