I recently wrote about the things I want in my love life and one of the items in my list, precisely item #4 – kiss someone passionately – has been a lot in my mind lately. As I mentioned then, barely husband is not a big kisser (never been), so it’s something I will not get from him.
Then I tried to answer my own question: how long has it been since I was last kissed the way I want to be kissed. I have to admit the answer shocked me: 22 years!
I was 17 years-old, believe it or not. Back then, around Christmas time every year, my family crossed the country to spend the holidays with my paternal grandparents, who lived in a farm roughly 20 miles away from the small town my dad had been born in.
It’s a large family and I always loved seeing my cousins, who I never spent enough time with since we moved. Christmas was obviously a family thing, so we stayed at the farm. However, for New Year’s Eve, my cousins and I would take the trip to the town club.
It’s a small town and everybody seems to know each other and I still had a lot of childhood friends I enjoyed being around. That year, I ended up hooking up with this boy – let’s call him Andrew. He was one of Aline’s best friends (Aline = my cousin) and I had previously dated his cousin on another holiday (in small towns it seems everybody ends up dating someone related to you).
Andrew was super fun and we’d always laughed together, especially when he was teasing Aline about her crush, who he thought was a bit too nerdy. It was just friendly banter and he even made up this song about it – he used to walk by her house randomly sometimes while whistling the tune, which would drive her up the wall!
So, yes, we’d always got on but there had never been anything romantic. Then THAT kiss happened and I didn’t know what hit me: it was sweet and gentle, but full on at the same time. His tongue moved softly and slowly, gently caressing mine, then sucking just hard enough to send chills down my spine. He held me close and I interlocked my arms around his neck. He was way taller than I am but it never felt awkward. We just fit together there and every touch had a purpose, even if it was just a finger brushing the back of my neck.
You may think age might be a factor, but he was only 16, even younger than I was. Kissing him was easy and we were both completely giving ourselves to that. We couldn’t stop! Kissing, I mean. It didn’t lead anywhere else as we were both innocent, virgin teenagers then. I bet if that make out session had happened a few years later, it would have led somewhere else, but I can only imagine that and what it would have been.
I think we kissed and kissed for 3 hours straight and probably only let go because it was time to get back to the farm with my sniggering cousins. We met again before I went home and the kissing was still amazing, but there would be no chance of a relationship with us living so far away from each other.
I am glad to have shared that with him and while writing about kissing him I still get the chills, but he caused me a lifelong problem: every kiss after that paled in comparison! It’s a very hard life!
I am (was) a serial kisser and over and over again I caught myself analysing the kisses and grading them in comparison to Andrew’s. There was always something I wasn’t happy with: a tongue that felt like it was poking my mouth or moving so fast I didn’t have time to fully capture all sensations, an awkward position or clashing that shouldn’t exist, being held too tight or not tight enough, or even a drool horror that seemed like an English Bulldog in my mouth (Yuck! Sorry for that!).
An old friend once told me she thought kissing showed deeper feelings than having sex. For her it was the gateway to the soul. She thought if you were able to give yourself completely to kissing someone, the sex with that person would probably be amazing. I thought it was silly, but now I think I agree with her, because I keep imagining making love to someone and that type of kissing would be a requirement. I use that imagination to write the love making scenes in my book and they make me very hot indeed.
I laughed to myself when I realised that’s an old prostitute wisdom – they let themselves be fucked for money but don’t kiss. Just for the record, my friend was never a prostitute, in case you’re wondering.
So, here I am, slowly approaching my 40th birthday, still craving that teenage kiss. What have you done to me, Andrew?
Soundtrack: Kiss me – Sixpence None the Richer