FIRST KISSKISS
She was sixteen. She was petite. She wanted to be five feet tall. She was close, but not there yet.
Her name was Shreya.
She had pretty dishwater black hair, a shy beautiful smile on soft gently formed lips. Lips that had practiced kissing on her pillow, on her forearm, and over and over again in her mind. She had finally found someone she wanted to kiss. They had talked about it. It was after all, a first kiss. What would it be like? How would it feel? When should we do it?
Those were legitimate questions in the much more innocent time that these two lived in. It was a time when bases were discovered, and discussed before you even got to bat. First base, second base, third base…and score. Few scored, but many lied about it. One could set limits on bases, before the first pitch- which was always a kiss.
His name was Daya. He was sixteen. He was a bit taller than her, but still on the short side. His lips were a bit heavier, shyness and him were never close companions. He loved her in that "I am a man" romantic way that: hormones, maleness, and 10 years of Catholic School seem to imprint on young boys. He was in love with her. He knew it. She knew it. Players, plastic boys who know how to arouse physical attraction, an aura of danger, and "bad boy" temptation, never understood boys like him. How he could be both emotionally and physically monogamous. Those kinds of plastic boys were just as foreign to him. Those were boys who kissed to use a girl, not to bond with her. They were not the kind of boys who asked the girl if it was okay to kiss her, like he did. They were the kind that just did. They scored a lot. But never had a home. Boys like him, didn't score a lot, but they made home …safe.
He and her had been friends for a long time. They had laughed together. Shared dreams. Walked next to each other holding hands, in wet weather, sunshine and snow. Hugging and cuddling, while whispering about a future that may, or may not come to be. When they talked on the phone, it was hard to hang up on each other. Their closeness had grown closer. More and more time was spent exploring the touch of skin, the heat of being just close, the differences between the soft curves of her femaleness, and the stark edges of his maleness. Talks were softer, more intimate, and gentle puffs of breath bounced of necks and cheek bones, as eyes as wide as saucers blurred cuteness into sweetness.
He had nuzzled her neck, barely grazing her skin with lips that were moist, full, and wickedly wet with desire. Her head turned to expose more of her neck, as natural a move at that point as breathing. Her breath was shallow with anticipation. She could feel her heart, her body, and her soul warming to his touch. Her own lips were now fuller, moister, and willing. This was no pillow. This was no forearm. This was no daydream. She knew that the next moment she turned her face towards him, tilting her head up a little, as his tilted down, that her mouth would seek his. They would kiss, and she trembled with expectation, not knowing what to expect.
As his lips passed her ears, he whispered in a voice husky with all that they had built to that moment: "I love you Shreya." And he did. He took his strong jaw, and used his face as a gentle caress to turn her head towards his, as she turned, he leaned. It is a lean that all boys find innate, and all girls respond to. It says: "Okay. I am ready. Let us share." Her young body, and his, had lost all sensation except in one place, their lips. It wasn't a chaste kiss, for her lips parted of their own volition, as did his. The preamble of of their lips meeting, holding, gently folding as they gave in to the pressure of leaning in to want more, was as sweet as biting through whip cream, then the strawberry juice, before finally hitting some resistance with shortcake. It was a treat with many levels.
Sighs, and other soft sounds, but no smacking sounds or drool, escaped from their mouths. Sounds made from the first blossoms of desire, of sharing, of loving with your whole being. It was their first kiss. It lasted forever... and a moment. Tongues learned to dance together, at first both failing to lead, then enthusiasm made up for technique. As the fear of the unknown faded into the joy of knowing, of wanting, of needing…the kiss got deeper, more involved, became…intimate. Sex can never match the trust and wonder of that first kiss, but it often starts with it.
When the kiss ended, she buried her head in his neck, tears falling warm upon his neck, he knew she was smiling through them. He was smiling through his. He laid his cheek on the top of her head, held her hair tight as his other hand caressed the long locks down her back. They would kiss again in a moment. Now though, they just held the embrace knowing that they had shared their first kiss. Not their first kiss with each other. Their first kiss period. It is a lucky combination.
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