Your Kiss is On My List

On October 15th of this year, I will be married. Words cannot express just how excited I am about it — I’ve always been a girlfriend guy, in more serious relationships than I have been casual relationships. I’ve always wanted to be married, even before I can remember I always loved being Daddy when playing House.

But, of everything, there’s one thing I’ll miss more than anything: The first kiss.

There was something wonderful about each of the first kisses I experienced, even moreso than the sexual contact that inevitably spawned afterward. It was a magical apprehension, a moment where eyes locked together, where trusts were spawned and started, and where relationships began.

My first first kiss was fairly amazing, and something that kept me up at night for weeks thinking about it. She was my sister’s best friend, and dating a boy who hated my guts. There was a definite chemistry between us, despite our fourteen years not understanding exactly what chemistry is beyond negative ions and NaCl. We talked a lot, and on nights she would spend the night, we’d often stay up talking to each other, sitting on the couch and laughing.

And then there was the fateful night, where her boyfriend at the time decided to pick a fight with her about something that matters nothing cosmically. In tears, she came to me for solace, and I gave it. She cried into my shoulder as we talked, sitting on my bed. We talked for what seemed like hours, and then our eyes met.

I licked my lips and somehow, we moved closer to each other. I felt her body push into mine as my head turned. Millions of years of evolution taught me what to do. My eyes closed, head tilted, and our lips touched. We pressed closer as we turned into each other, my hand inexplicably moving to the back of her head on her shoulder.

Fireworks went off somewhere in the distance, and that Hollywood manufactured sound of incredible joy blared in my head. Lights flashed in my closed eyes as our tongues met, tentatively. Hours went by as we kissed. In my mind, I saw everything; our wedding day and how beautiful she looked, our children, David and Alexandria, our retirement and eventual death. Our lives flew by in that kiss, and when we broke it, I could barely stop smiling.

“Wow,” she said. “That was great.” I blushed.

“Thanks,” I giggled. “You were my first kiss.”

“Mine, too. And my second,” she smiled, kissing me again. I didn’t say no.

Most of my first kisses have lived up to that feeling; the fireworks, the sound of joy, the nervous rapture of butterflies in my stomach being quelled as lips meet for the first time. I’m glad my first kiss with my soon-to-be wife lived up to the same feeling. In fact, I feel the same way each time I kiss her, and I never want that feeling to end.

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