The movies always portray the first kiss as this wondrous little sparkle that ignites the fuse of the relationship and burns quickly until–you guessed it–you get to that stick of dynamite and everything blows up.
Oh, don’t worry, ya’ll. Mike and I are nowhere near the end of that fuse. I’m not quite sure there is one ( 😀 ).
My very first first kiss was kind of a disaster. I didn’t know it was coming, or what I was doing for that matter. I was walking a boy out of my parents’ house on an early spring night. I thank him for stopping over, gave him a hug. And with my attempt to end the hug, I had lips on my face. Strong, high school band, trumpet playing lips. In truth, I didn’t want it to ever happen again. When I went back into the house, my mother realized my horror and smiled.
Oddly, I do not recall the first kiss of the boy I dated for three years in high school. It was either on a bench at the ice rink, or in the back of my mother’s minivan while she drove us to his house.
There was a first kiss in my dorm room at Ashland University that I had been waiting for for months and told my roommate Kay about in the showers the next morning–all babbling and blushing and wonderful.
A hesitant first kiss on my front porch after he’d jumped down, paused, thought twice, and jumped back up. That kind of sums up that relationship.
There was a first kiss that devastated a two-year infatuation in a single moment with a long-haired, Trans-Am driving mechanic that smelled of patchouli rose oil and Marlboros. Because really, a kiss is sometimes all you need to know that what you were after was a bad idea.
And then I remember my first kiss with Mike. Weeks of wanting to, but being unable. Too many nights holding hands in the streets, our forearms brushing together, staring at each other’s mouths. And then watching a movie in a dimly lit living room on Petral Court, he made a joke about Dirty Dancing, I jokingly pouted about Patrick Swayze and pulled a quilt over my head. And then he was under the quilt with me, all warm breath and closeness, the light poking through the swirls left by the thread that held the quilt together. In the dark, where neither one of us could see, our lips landed on one another’s and lit the fuse.
It was the best first kiss of my life. And if I’m lucky, it’ll be the last first kiss of my life. 🙂