It’s January Carnival17 January 2009
…over at 20something bloggers. It looks fun, so I am going to share my own story.
There are many types of First Kisses. There’s the first closed-mouth innocent, first french, first I’m-so-in-love-with-you, first I-must-have-you-now, first let-me-just-sink-into-your-soul, first have-a-nice-day-at-work-honey, first morning-breath-is-not-sexy-but-you-are… you get the idea.
One other thing before I begin: I am of the camp that believes that a kiss Means Something. It doesn’t have to be love, it doesn’t even have to be affection, (hello hot-and-steamy goodness), but I firmly believe that a kiss should not be wasted.
For those of you who don’t know me (and let’s face it, the internet does not), I am not a typical girl. I do not do things “in order.” (hence the “jumble” part.) If this was intentional, I believe it would make for a cute quirk, an endearing trait, a Way to Be Unique.
However, I live out of order entirely on accident. It’s almost as if I just trip my way through life, bouncing off of whatever experiences happen along the way. Thankfully, I am able to be purposeful, to seize an opportunity and act… but my default mode is apparently labeled “Life Happens.”
As this appears to be my autopilot mode, one cannot be too surprised that my first kiss was not the sweet, innocent, chaste peck that one hears described, or sees in the movies.
No, my first kiss was… hot.
There was a guy, as there so often is. He was sexy and smooth. (and a complete sleazeball as I later learned, but hey. I’m not telling that story today.) He would walk me to class, and help me “study” for finals, which mainly consisted of him lying in my lap and distracting me madly, guaranteeing that instead of recalling which country pissed off the others the most during the Middle Ages, I would sit in class and doodle with a goofy smile.
During one of these study sessions – I believe I was attempting to read a 700-page book for a discussion class – he was playing with one of my hands, stroking up my arm and back down, and lightly tracing the pulse point at my wrist. My exact thoughts were somewhere along the lines of “shanahana…” but I was playing it cool, because come on, ladies, we have our pride. At one point, he kissed my wrist, then sat up. That’s right, giving all the signals that The Moment was here. My heart was already in my throat, so I was mildly afraid of choking on it, and worried that it had nowhere else to go. He must’ve said something smooth and cheesy, but I don’t remember what it was.
All I could think was, “Oh God, really? Now? I just drank a strawberry-kiwi Snapple and I want to brush my teeth.”
It wasn’t the sweet chaste peck, but rather an intense sort of whirlwind that leaves your breathing a little unsteady and it’s hard to pull away. I had no control over my hands; apparently they just ended up in his hair. (You watch enough movies, you begin to assimilate the “natural” moves.) When we finally broke apart, I had no idea what to do or say. I was certainly not going to tell him “oh by the way, surprise, I’ve never actually been kissed.”
Before I could even start to freak out about whether it was good or horrible, he leaned in again, and we were off. At some point, he informed me that I was a great kisser (what a line), but I think I ended up just pulling him back again.
I learned a lot of things with him those few months, mostly on accident. Turns out, you don’t have to be fully prepared for everything. Sometimes it’s okay that Life just Happens.
Now I want to hear your stories, so feel free to share! What was your first kiss like?