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More kisses in my mind. Not such a bad train of thought for my ride home and my dinner with Jim. Not that I've ever kissed Jim, but--it's still a nice thought process...
On a train in Spain, travelling through the countryside, I kissed Tim essentially for the first and last time. I was on my way from Madrid to Grenada with my mom, the trip a graduation present and bribe for studying in my AP Spanish class. Tim was a few years older than me, travelling with his friend Tom before they both returned to the US after living overseas for a while. I was desperate for some English conversation, still reeling from the death of Michelle the week before. He was very sweet. I was very innocent. We sat up in one of the train compartments all night, talking. By the time we watched the sunrise, and it was an incredible sunrise, I felt like I'd known him my whole life. He could have taken huge advantage of me that night. He didn't. Instead, he left me with a wonderful memory. He's probably reading this right now, and I hope I haven't embarrassed him, but it stands in my head as one of the single best kisses in my life. Thank you, Tim. I haven't actually seen him since we got back, but maybe someday...
I believe I've already chronicled Oregon Brian's and my first kiss in here, so I won't do it again, but it was just as memorable...
The Artboy and I had met a couple times before the "Get Weird" party at his house. He and his three roommmates were all wearing dresses. I'd done my first shot, ice-cold Jagermeister, earlier that night, and followed it up with a couple cider jacks. I have a low tolerance, so I was pretty drunk by the time I ended up in the hall with the Artboy. We were talking about his coked-out neighbors, who were holed up in the basement in the jacuzzi room with some skanky girl. The Artboy complained that he hated his neighbors. I looked up and said, "don't worry--they won't be your neighbors for long!" At that point, I had two thoughts in very close succession. First, I thought, "if I don't move right now, he's going to kiss me." Then I thought, "God, he's tall!" By then, he was already leaning toward me. All I remember from there is leaning against the wall, wanting the rest of the party to disappear. His roommate walked by, shielding his eyes and saying "not looking, not looking, not looking" as he passed us. My friend Brett, whom I'd come with, came to tell me we were leaving. The Artboy offered to have me stay, and bring me home the next day. Reluctantly, I left, his phone number safely tucked in my pocket.
The Boyfriend and I kissed for the first time at the top of Mt. Cardigan on our second date. He'd suggested the climb. I'd gone along, despite my general extreme lack of athletic activity. I'd almost passed out on the way up, but made it to the top. Once there, we sat to eat lunch and admire the view. He leaned in and kissed me quite suddenly. Somewhere in the middle of the kiss, a black fly landed on my forehead and bit me. I didn't notice. Climbing down again was difficult. I had other things on my mind.
Fnny, when I think back on all these kisses, they all have a couple similarities. That heart-racing anticipation. The hair-raising excitement. The ability to be "just" a kiss, with the promise of more to come.
It almost makes me sad, thinking that being with the Boyfriend forever means never having another first kiss. Not that other wonderful things haven't taken the place of that particular excitement, but it's a specific wonderment. I'm sorry it's gone.
So if you're still reading, let me offer up a contest. I'm still feeling all sentimental and romantic. So...
Send me your first kiss story. Email me at [email protected]. Post it in my guestbook. Click in and add it to the Analyzer comments at the top of the entry. The one that moves me the most wins the kisser a swell prize. Go ahead--make me all mushy. Make my toes curl. Make me want to be you, just in that moment.
All this talk of kissing is making me wish I wasn't sleeping alone tonight. Hope you all have a good one.
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