Ingrid Bergman said that "a kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous."
Isn't that just lovely? Isn't it? Is there anything better than a soul-searching brushing of two sets of irresistibly attractive lips?
I bring this up only because I was recently ruminating, foraging into the forgotten, reliving regrets and smiling over successes. I took a walk down memory lane basically, and as I looked to the right of me and looked to the left of me, I saw different scenes... Mare-Ingenii of Christmas past... Mare-Ingenii of birthdays past... and then I had to stop, when I saw Mare-Ingenii of Kisses past.
My first kiss was one of the drier moments in all of erotica. He was tall and gangly, four years older than me and, well, rather geeky. Oh Lord. He was Steve Erkel, but without the charm, the grace, or the wit.
It happened on my driveway, no more than a quick peck on the way to a hug. You know? The kind that, if lips meet, it's more by luck than by strategy. Our handful of kisses never went beyond that stage, for which, looking back, I'm extremely grateful. He always seemed to have very chapped lips, you see.
The second boy who ever kissed me... well, he was a different story. A rebel in every sense of the word. Well, as rebellious as you can be when you're only 15. His hair was long and black and he wore flannel shirts 3 years before everyone else did, with army pants tucked into 18-hole Docks that I regarded with something akin to nervous fear. Fittingly enough, we met in detention. D'you know, I still have the note we passed back and forth that day. It's kind of crumbly from having been read and re-read, folded and unfolded so many times. But I smile when I bump into it during my drawer-cleaning tangents, and I'll probably keep it forever. He called me beautiful, which had never happened to me before. Heady stuff, indeed, for a teenager laden down with coke-bottle glasses and incredibly bad hair.
And when he kissed me... oh Lord... that boy knew what he was doing. Not too hard, not too soft, not too wet, not too dry. He held my face, something I grew to love and miss even now as an adult, when the guy who's kissing doesn't do it...
Hmm. I should look him up...
Have a lovely day, all. Kiss someone and mean it.
0 comments so far