Butterflies In His Stomach

We're too old to play doctor, he protested laughing, and I caught his arm, rolling him over on the fresh wet grass, laying my head on his stomach. Fine, what do you hear?

Just his heart racing so fast it overpowered everything else: the hidden birds trilling all around us, the skateboarders and bicyclists speeding by, his anxious bursts of laughter, my own heartbeat and breath and thoughts: all that overshadowed by the faint infinitely fast fluttering of his pulse.