Write the Truth

I’m playing with truth morphing into fiction, amusing myself by changing one feature of a true story. And what better source of amusement than my dating life and the sensual moment of tasting sushi for the first time. See which one you like – or believe.


“I want sushiiiiii,” Sean groans with frat boy hunger. “Doesn’t that sound so good?”

He leans in waiting for a response like he always does – that lean draws me in like a curtain in a breeze. I can feel the heat of him even though he’s still a foot or three away.

“I’ve never had sushi,” I say, felling like 10 minutes passed between his comment and my response.


I feel like a girl from a farm town again.

“We are GOing, Megan Kohli.”

Our day-long excursion to the big city lands us in King Sushi. We settle into a dim nook, candle lit with a mystical cast from the green walls. I watch him pour over his menu, his angular strong hands gripping the edges. His forearms are strong and tan with just enough hair to be manly. I trace my eyes up his arm to his tribal tattu that glares at me from his shoulder, unnerving.

When the food comes, the rolls are huge and I wait to see how to tackle it.  I watch him lift it with his chop sticks and drop it in his mouth whole. His beautiful teeth gleam against his bronze skin. I pick my own roll up, take a breath and unhinge my jaw, hoping I don’t gag from its size or taste. The squishy rice fills my cheeks, nutty sesame flavor explodes along with cool, salty soy sauce, warm rice, cold fish and the pink zing of ginger. As I chew – barely able to contain the mouthful – new flavors sneak under my tongue and along the back of my throat … ecstasy. He watches.



“I want sushi!” Sean groans with hunger. “Doesn’t that sound good?”

“I’ve never had sushi,” I reply.


Annoyance pinches in my gut. I know stuff. He is way more small town than me.

“We are going, Megan Kohli.”

I submit, reminding myself that open minded women find husbands.

Our day-long excursion lands us in King Sushi. We settle into a dim nook. I watch him pour over his menu. He has soft hands and the green paint casts a sickly tinge on his fair skin. His finger tips are ragged from his teeth. As he peruses the list, his doughy chin thickens and he purses his mouth to the side.

When the food comes, I watch him drop the giant slice of roll down the hatch, whole, and I listen as his lips smack. I take my first taste of sushi. The roll fills my mouth, pressing in every direction. I fight to keep its volume from making me gag, but the flavors are good – nutty, salty, starchy and pickled altogether. He watches and smacks as he chews and grins.


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