First Kisses
Last night I had a dream that Lisa Tucker, the girl from American Idol who so wants to be Whitney but seems destined for any future Disney Channel variety show (a la Mickey Mouse Club or Kids Incorporated), did a super-hot performance that reminded me of Janet Jackson during the Rhythm Nation tour. All of a sudden she developed amazing syncopated rhythm and could dance up a storm.
And then I dreamed that I kissed a girl. Okay, it wasn't me actually. It was one of my main characters. I've been struggling this week over her first love scene with a girl. Actually, it's her first kiss etc. with anyone, and I'm trying to remember what that was like.
My first kiss (beyond the peck on the lips) came late in my life. I was seventeen years old and I finally had a boyfriend I considered worthy of delving into that foreign territory with. Well, to be honest, I'd thought I was ready for ages and ages--or at least once my fickle, short-lived middle school relationships had ended. But during high school I had been plagued with "just friends" relationships that always involved me crushing hard and the guy flirting like crazy but just not ready to take the next step. Or I was bombarded with waves of unwanted crushes by perfectly nice boys who just didn't inspire any passion in me whatsoever.
Anyway, finally in my senior year of high school, one of my friends set me up with a guy she knew. He was "older", a freshman in college, and he lived about 30 minutes away. We exchanged letters, and then phone calls, easily managing to talk for hours about any and everything. And finally we met. I'd be lying if I said that for me there were instant fireworks. But, there was definitely potential.
He was incredibly tall--almost a good foot and half taller than me--had dark, wavy hair, soulful brown eyes, and a smile that could make you feel like the most special girl in the world when he flashed it in your direction. He was smart, kind, generous, romantic, and he knew more music than anyone I'd ever met before with the exception of my oldest brother, the guitar virtuoso. In short, I was soon smitten.
We talked about what we'd do together before we did it. And that included, especially, the intimate moments. Everything to us was new and foreign. We talked about what we hoped for, what we felt about it, how nervous and excited and scared we were. It was refreshing to get those things out in the open, so I wouldn't have to worry so much what was he thinking? But the downside of it was, it took a lot of that suprising, pleasantly overwhelming mystery out of things too.
Our first kiss was at one of my favorite parks somewhere in between his house and mine. It was strange to be in this park, holding hands, and talking with this...man/boy, who was so serious about his growing affection for me. I was used to standing on the sloping hills, watching sweaty female runners trot by, me with my bum knees and a stopwatch in hand for my high school's nth cross-country race of the year.
Instead, I was waiting for it. Our first kiss. I nervously glanced at C and away, watched the cloudy sky and jumped at unexpected noises coming from other park dwellers walking by. I remember touching his large, pale hand and looking at the gold (or was it silver) pocket watch that C's grandfather gave him, which he always kept in his faded black jeans pocket. The afternoon suddenly seemed like it was never going to end, and I figured C had changed his mind about wanting to kiss me. I was starting to think maybe that was okay, maybe I wasn't ready for that next step either.
So, we headed to my car, sat in the front seats and listened to one of dozens of glorious mix tapes he would make for me over our almost three years together. We turned toward each other, moved closer and closer, I held my breath, and then...boom. Our noses smashed together, and I couldn't breathe. C didn't seem to notice. We kissed each other's lips softly, slowly. It was nice, sweet. And then we dared to open our mouths. C's tongue darted in and out of my mouth like a child poking at a dead snake with a stick. I almost fell out laughing. I had to pull away a couple times before I finally told him, "Relax, slow down." He tried. We tried. It was awful.
But then there were the moments after. We put our arms around each other and just relaxed with our heads on each other's shoulders, listening to the swinging swoon of Frank Sinatra. I felt safe. I felt comforted. I felt like ah, this is what Frank means when he sings, "I've got you under my skin, I’ve got you deep in the heart of me..."
And then I dreamed that I kissed a girl. Okay, it wasn't me actually. It was one of my main characters. I've been struggling this week over her first love scene with a girl. Actually, it's her first kiss etc. with anyone, and I'm trying to remember what that was like.
My first kiss (beyond the peck on the lips) came late in my life. I was seventeen years old and I finally had a boyfriend I considered worthy of delving into that foreign territory with. Well, to be honest, I'd thought I was ready for ages and ages--or at least once my fickle, short-lived middle school relationships had ended. But during high school I had been plagued with "just friends" relationships that always involved me crushing hard and the guy flirting like crazy but just not ready to take the next step. Or I was bombarded with waves of unwanted crushes by perfectly nice boys who just didn't inspire any passion in me whatsoever.
Anyway, finally in my senior year of high school, one of my friends set me up with a guy she knew. He was "older", a freshman in college, and he lived about 30 minutes away. We exchanged letters, and then phone calls, easily managing to talk for hours about any and everything. And finally we met. I'd be lying if I said that for me there were instant fireworks. But, there was definitely potential.
He was incredibly tall--almost a good foot and half taller than me--had dark, wavy hair, soulful brown eyes, and a smile that could make you feel like the most special girl in the world when he flashed it in your direction. He was smart, kind, generous, romantic, and he knew more music than anyone I'd ever met before with the exception of my oldest brother, the guitar virtuoso. In short, I was soon smitten.
We talked about what we'd do together before we did it. And that included, especially, the intimate moments. Everything to us was new and foreign. We talked about what we hoped for, what we felt about it, how nervous and excited and scared we were. It was refreshing to get those things out in the open, so I wouldn't have to worry so much what was he thinking? But the downside of it was, it took a lot of that suprising, pleasantly overwhelming mystery out of things too.
Our first kiss was at one of my favorite parks somewhere in between his house and mine. It was strange to be in this park, holding hands, and talking with this...man/boy, who was so serious about his growing affection for me. I was used to standing on the sloping hills, watching sweaty female runners trot by, me with my bum knees and a stopwatch in hand for my high school's nth cross-country race of the year.
Instead, I was waiting for it. Our first kiss. I nervously glanced at C and away, watched the cloudy sky and jumped at unexpected noises coming from other park dwellers walking by. I remember touching his large, pale hand and looking at the gold (or was it silver) pocket watch that C's grandfather gave him, which he always kept in his faded black jeans pocket. The afternoon suddenly seemed like it was never going to end, and I figured C had changed his mind about wanting to kiss me. I was starting to think maybe that was okay, maybe I wasn't ready for that next step either.
So, we headed to my car, sat in the front seats and listened to one of dozens of glorious mix tapes he would make for me over our almost three years together. We turned toward each other, moved closer and closer, I held my breath, and then...boom. Our noses smashed together, and I couldn't breathe. C didn't seem to notice. We kissed each other's lips softly, slowly. It was nice, sweet. And then we dared to open our mouths. C's tongue darted in and out of my mouth like a child poking at a dead snake with a stick. I almost fell out laughing. I had to pull away a couple times before I finally told him, "Relax, slow down." He tried. We tried. It was awful.
But then there were the moments after. We put our arms around each other and just relaxed with our heads on each other's shoulders, listening to the swinging swoon of Frank Sinatra. I felt safe. I felt comforted. I felt like ah, this is what Frank means when he sings, "I've got you under my skin, I’ve got you deep in the heart of me..."