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Notes: 10 / 7 months ago from georgiaisyourfriendAssorted First Kisses
(via georgiahardstark)
J.P. - The First First. Spring. Affter school, I’m walking back from Sal’s Pizza on Main Street, towards the auditorium. Passing through the soccer field and the baseball diamond. We are holding hands… we keep stopping, half facing each other, but we only stand there and talk. This happens three times perhaps. I am not yet comfortable enough to make a joke about how silly this is. Eventually, several minutes into one of our stops, I find myself inside my first kiss. It is not clear how to proceed. I base my technique largely on three kisses I witnessed prior: the first on the floor of a school dance that was quickly broken up by chaperones, and the second on the bus on the way home, after which the kisser described the kissee’s tongue as “stiff.” The third is the elevator scene in Rainman. With these references, I feel unsure of the rhythm but more pleased with the end result than I might have expected.
A.E. - We leave your house and I head to my car parked on the street. A beige 1982 Volvo 240, befittingly nicknamed the Swedish Tank. You are saying goodbye. I hug you, and you kiss me. I am surprised because you kiss me quite aggressively, and I later think you had something to prove. I will often recall the particular physical sensation of this kiss. It was thrilling.
K.G. - We are in your driveway standing next to your Nissan. It’s night time, and we are identifying constellations in the sky. We know three. We are wearing heavy duty black paperclips on our shirtsleeves; a kind of non-conformists version of the going-steady ring and occasional target for ridicule by our mutual friends. I ask you if I can kiss you; you tell me I don’t have to ask, and I take that as a yes. I later learn that girls hate when you ask to kiss them, with good reason. However, I only ask because a camp counselor once told me that if you weren’t sure if the time is right, just ask her. In retrospect, he was clearly a virgin.
L.P. - We get up from the swings and stand together in the middle of the deserted park, huddling for warmth. It is January 7, 1995 and it is around 10pm. You run your hand along my face and tell me it’s soft. I take your hand in mine and run it the other way, against the grain, and tell you it’s only soft one-way. We kiss, and our noses and cheeks and lips are very cold. We will spend a great, great deal of time together following this evening, and you will become an ardent fixture in my life for the next four years.
R.L. - We are extraordinarily drunk, the kind of drunkenness that seems to allow for finding kinship in others simply because they share a similar level of inibreation. We are standing on a small deck outside a party as it comes close to breaking up, and I kiss you with great ease. You say I need to keep kissing you. You drive us to your apartment; it is a bad idea to get behind the wheel, but it’s not far. What do you want?, you ask me.
M.S. - You have just spent the weekend visiting me in Vermont at my parents’ house. In your car, you are crying as you leave. I kiss you and your lips are chapped and wet with tears and it feels very dramatic and meaningful. Every one with you will.
S.R. - You are out for the evening. We have been living in the same apartment for a short time as roommates, and I leave a note on your computer keyboard recommending that you get in bed with me upon your return. You do so, and I pretend to be sleeping, even though I have been unable to do so as warranted by the anticipation of you finding the note. I roll over towards you and we kiss. While this is technically the first, it is not the first that I believed in. The first that I believed in takes place a few weeks later in the back of a taxi cab we are sharing on the way to work in downtown Manhattan. I carve “MM + SR” into the back of the seat with my key and draw a heart around it. That’s nice, you say. I kiss you, in the moving cab, in our work clothes, in the daytime, your head pressed against the seat. It is the best kiss of my life.
A.S. - We spend most of the evening laying about on the carpet in front of the fireplace in my apartment. It’s very warm, and we doze off, or come close to it. It is the fourth time we have seen each other. As you are preparing to leave, I approach you and ask if you like me. You nod. I tell you that I am going to kiss you, and then I do. You are very reluctant. It feels forced and awkward and I am unsatisfied with my attempt at being more forceful. Future kisses will become more organic to the moment, but they will never feel perfect.
A.?. - We are in a basement bar in Santa Monica where a friend has invited us. It is the first night I have met you. I am drinking gin and tonics. We dance, which is quite rare for me, and it feels flirtatious and even transcendent at certain moments. Afterwards, sitting in the booth, I kiss you. It is the second time I have kissed a girl in a bar, and it feels so incredibly smooth and almost inconceivably effortless. I will see you one more time.
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M.B. - We are walking down a cobbled road in London, dizzy from drinking and dancing for hours. A light, stinging rain...
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