She should have been my first…
Much ado is made about a first kiss and perhaps more about your very first kiss. I suspect, that like me, there are quite a few people whose very first kiss was less than it was “supposed” to be. Of course, there are likely many interpretations of what that very first kiss is supposed to be. I gather from numerous rom-coms and teen angst movies that your first kiss is reserved for your first love, but movies do not reflect life as much as we would like them to, and my first kiss was certainly not a “movie” kiss.
My first kiss was as surprising as it was unwelcome. My well-meaning roommate and his girlfriend felt it was important for me to get out there and set me up on a date without asking me. It’s probably important to know I never dated in high school and being a person who suffers from anxiety, I appreciate any “rules” to govern certain actions with the opposite sex, at least until they add to the anxiety.
The double date, as dates go, was average. It was not good, and it was not bad. As far as I was concerned there was certainly not any connection that would preclude us going out on another date, but she was a nice enough person to hang out with.
At the end of the date, I walked the young lady to her door, because I was brought up to be a gentleman and that is what a gentleman does. I expected nothing more than a few pleasantries and hoped there would be no empty promises under a dim porch light. Standing on the wooden porch, the pleasantries were brief because without warning her face was mashed against mine and a tongue that was not mine was in my mouth. I am certain this was not a new form of dentistry.
To say I was stunned would be an understatement. I thought there are rules to govern this. I was led to believe third date = first kiss. What the hell? Perhaps I was reading from the 1840’s handbook on dating. For her, it must have been like kissing a dead fish – not because of my breath, but because I just stood there, lips open yet unmoving under a dirty yellow light that seemed to be better at attracting moths than romance. I had no clue what I was supposed to do, so I just stood there like an idiot.
Fast forward in time and I was visiting my old haunts on the opposite coast (west), and I find myself on a much different front porch with Jackie Lee. A warm glow was cast upon the porch and the surrounding area. Or maybe the glow was because of Jackie herself.
I cannot speak for Jackie. For all I know this may have been a forgettable moment in her life. I certainly had no kissing skills other than a single pair of wayward lips on mine. But for me? Well…
In this moment, on Jackie’s porch, my anxiety level is super low and a kiss in this situation feels natural and right. And it was – all the so-called rules be damned. If I was a smart person, that kiss should have been the reference against which all other kisses are judged. I would like to use words like “fireworks” and “explosions” and you probably expect such proclamations because that is how kisses are supposed to be described. But no. This was better.
Her lips are soft, her tongue is small, and my first thought is “perfection.” A slowly building wave of warmth washes over my body, caressing not just my skin, but my soul as well. The moment is as ethereal as much as it is wanted. Everything on the physical plane is disappearing because it not necessary. No light, no sound, no porch, just us. I think I forgot how to walk for a moment.
The amazing thing for me is that everything felt natural. I know I already alluded to that, but we have to check in with anxiety for a moment. Because of anxiety, I often get caught up in thinking/worrying about what I am supposed do. Even in situations like this. But this time my lips and tongue moved naturally, in concert with hers. The embrace was what it should have been for the moment; not aggressive but still wrapped in each other. My brain had checked out and let my body do what felt right. And for someone who suffers from anxiety, that is a huge win.