#1: First Kiss, 100_prompts
I realise I haven't actually been accepted in the
100_prompts community yet, but I was inspired to write this anyway ... at two in the morning. I have no doubt I'll regret it tomorrow. And I suppose this should be rated PG-13 if I were being conscientious and I suppose it's fair to say that this contains descriptions of bumbling, post-pubescent snoggage. Yummy. You've been warned.
It's clumsy, some might even say messy, as you manoeuvre around one another awkwardly. Your hands untangle themselves from his and move up to grasp his shoulders only to slide back down a moment later to clasp his elbows, unsure of where they should be or what they should be doing. He's equally uncomfortable as his hands gingerly hold your waist, embarrassed by the closeness the act of kissing seems to require. Was he planning to waltz at the same time, you wonder? Lord, you hope not, it's difficult enough as it is.
His tongue roughly and oafishly swishes around yours, and you can't help but fail to understand the complexities of romance, or indeed, see any romance at all. It was like he was licking clean a dinner plate after a meal - certainly not the idle notions you'd imagined and read about in romantic novels.
Where was the life-altering moment of realisation? Where was the epiphany you'd always been told accompanied a kiss? You have your eyes closed expectantly, waiting for ... something. You're not entirely sure what. A heavenly chorus, perhaps? Electricity to suddenly spark between you? For one or the both of you to spontaneously combust?
You steal a glance at his face and judge by his expression that if something incredible was going to happen, it would be the latter. His eyes are screwed tightly shut, blurred slightly in the closeness ... was he in pain? Or was he simply so repulsed he couldn't bare to open his eyes? A shudder of revulsion scitters down your spine as, once again, he readjusts his posture and turns his head the other way, a string of saliva the only thing connecting the two of you for a moment. You hope he doesn't notice.
Just ... the thought of what you were doing, swapping bodily fluids, tongues flopping around like a pair of bewildered elephant seals, hands flailing uselessly at your sides. It was so ... disgusting. But finally, after what seems like a week and a half, it's over.
You're shaking slightly in apprehension, the hands that seemed to have detached themselves from the rest of you are suddenly preoccupied with tidying the hair that curls about your ears, desperately trying to resist the urge to reach up and wipe away all traces of him from your mouth. He's smiling half-heartedly, equally discomfited.
"That was awful, wasn't?"
"No, no, not at all," you try to smile reassuringly but you're too quick to answer, and you know he's noticed. "Slightly, yes." For a moment you think you have burst into flames as embarrassment warms your cheeks, or rather you wished you had.
"Right," he nods to himself, lips pursed in thought. A few seconds of silence passes between you. "It's your fault."
"Wha - mine? E-excuse me," you sputter indignantly. "How exactly did you come to that conclusion?"
He's grinning now, and looks up at the sky in search of patients, as though talking to someone incredibly dull. "I've never had any complaints before."
A incredulous laugh escapes you and you swat him on the shoulder. "Before? Oliver Redfern, you and I both know -"
"Ah," he places a finger over slightly reddened lips. "Joan, m'dear, don't start. Not now. You'll ruin the moment." He smiles at you mischievously before hopping off the bench and walking down the secluded path towards the school. "I'll see you later?"
You sigh and shake your head at him hopelessly. "Perhaps."
"Have a heart, Joan," he calls back just as he reaches the bend. "It's not everyday you get to kiss the man of your dreams."
"Oh, really? Where is he?" He doesn't reply, but you're sure he heard and you know you'll probably pay for that later. You sit on the bench long after he's gone, nauseated and confused. This was romance? This? You couldn't understand it. Why weren't you confessing eternal love to one another? It didn't make sense.
That's when the epiphany you were promised finally arrives. Love is something altogether disgusting and gruesome and uncouth but ... that was how it was supposed to be. You realise you are going to spend the rest of your life with that man, whether you like it or not.
100_prompts community yet, but I was inspired to write this anyway ... at two in the morning. I have no doubt I'll regret it tomorrow. And I suppose this should be rated PG-13 if I were being conscientious and I suppose it's fair to say that this contains descriptions of bumbling, post-pubescent snoggage. Yummy. You've been warned.
It's clumsy, some might even say messy, as you manoeuvre around one another awkwardly. Your hands untangle themselves from his and move up to grasp his shoulders only to slide back down a moment later to clasp his elbows, unsure of where they should be or what they should be doing. He's equally uncomfortable as his hands gingerly hold your waist, embarrassed by the closeness the act of kissing seems to require. Was he planning to waltz at the same time, you wonder? Lord, you hope not, it's difficult enough as it is.
His tongue roughly and oafishly swishes around yours, and you can't help but fail to understand the complexities of romance, or indeed, see any romance at all. It was like he was licking clean a dinner plate after a meal - certainly not the idle notions you'd imagined and read about in romantic novels.
Where was the life-altering moment of realisation? Where was the epiphany you'd always been told accompanied a kiss? You have your eyes closed expectantly, waiting for ... something. You're not entirely sure what. A heavenly chorus, perhaps? Electricity to suddenly spark between you? For one or the both of you to spontaneously combust?
You steal a glance at his face and judge by his expression that if something incredible was going to happen, it would be the latter. His eyes are screwed tightly shut, blurred slightly in the closeness ... was he in pain? Or was he simply so repulsed he couldn't bare to open his eyes? A shudder of revulsion scitters down your spine as, once again, he readjusts his posture and turns his head the other way, a string of saliva the only thing connecting the two of you for a moment. You hope he doesn't notice.
Just ... the thought of what you were doing, swapping bodily fluids, tongues flopping around like a pair of bewildered elephant seals, hands flailing uselessly at your sides. It was so ... disgusting. But finally, after what seems like a week and a half, it's over.
You're shaking slightly in apprehension, the hands that seemed to have detached themselves from the rest of you are suddenly preoccupied with tidying the hair that curls about your ears, desperately trying to resist the urge to reach up and wipe away all traces of him from your mouth. He's smiling half-heartedly, equally discomfited.
"That was awful, wasn't?"
"No, no, not at all," you try to smile reassuringly but you're too quick to answer, and you know he's noticed. "Slightly, yes." For a moment you think you have burst into flames as embarrassment warms your cheeks, or rather you wished you had.
"Right," he nods to himself, lips pursed in thought. A few seconds of silence passes between you. "It's your fault."
"Wha - mine? E-excuse me," you sputter indignantly. "How exactly did you come to that conclusion?"
He's grinning now, and looks up at the sky in search of patients, as though talking to someone incredibly dull. "I've never had any complaints before."
A incredulous laugh escapes you and you swat him on the shoulder. "Before? Oliver Redfern, you and I both know -"
"Ah," he places a finger over slightly reddened lips. "Joan, m'dear, don't start. Not now. You'll ruin the moment." He smiles at you mischievously before hopping off the bench and walking down the secluded path towards the school. "I'll see you later?"
You sigh and shake your head at him hopelessly. "Perhaps."
"Have a heart, Joan," he calls back just as he reaches the bend. "It's not everyday you get to kiss the man of your dreams."
"Oh, really? Where is he?" He doesn't reply, but you're sure he heard and you know you'll probably pay for that later. You sit on the bench long after he's gone, nauseated and confused. This was romance? This? You couldn't understand it. Why weren't you confessing eternal love to one another? It didn't make sense.
That's when the epiphany you were promised finally arrives. Love is something altogether disgusting and gruesome and uncouth but ... that was how it was supposed to be. You realise you are going to spend the rest of your life with that man, whether you like it or not.