A Reflection of Kisses-Revised

In my mind our lips press tight together.  His hesitancy says he thinks we should just stay friends, but I’ve waited too long for this.  I want to feel his body pressed against mine, even if it is only in my dreams.  His arms, so strong, so warm, slowly circle around my waist, and he pulls me in closer.  Even though we shouldn’t, I can tell he wants to kiss me too.  And so he does.

The rain was pouring and we grasped for whatever little shelter we could find under my garage.  Our first kiss, his first kiss, and not a hint of hesitation.  Six months of dating, and he was finally ready for this.  The moment was perfect, like something scripted by a great Hollywood screenwriter, but then he ruined the spell by asking me if he did it right.  All I can do is tell him yes, and hope that he’ll kiss me again.

When we kissed he tasted like coffee and promises made to be broken.  I kissed him, full of curiosity and thankfulness, enjoying the fact that I finally got to settle a question 5 years old.  I learned what satisfaction tastes like, the satisfaction of finally holding in your arms the person that you’ve been staring at across the classroom for 5 years, always wondering what it would be like to date him.

I could taste his fear as our tongues meet for the first time.  He has never done this before, but he loves me, so he’s going to try to make me happy.  Lying back on the recliner, we were locked in a passionate embrace, when he hesitantly took the next step.  

One of many, blending together.  Lips pressed together on a rock overlooking the river, his tongue searching in my mouth, an unpleasant experience.  The kisses never lasted long, neither of us able to hold on for more than a few minutes.  When I pull away, my mouth is wet, like I just took a dive into the river below and resurfaced to find him smiling at me, the same goofy smile that I had always loved.  Even though he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, I relished every moment, knowing soon that summer would be gone, and we would be apart.

The lake knows all our secrets.  If you look closely at the wooden picnic table, you might be able to see the faint remnants of the initials that I carved out with my car keys one December afternoon about a year ago.  I had to erase that permanent reminder of us, the forever symbol that there had once been a love blooming at that lake, and there was no longer a need for a reminder.  It had been a sweet gesture when he first did it, but now, it’s just a bitter memory of all the things I would rather bury under the layers of hurt brought about by his one track mind.  I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his neck, thinking that no one would ever do anything so sweet for me ever again.  I never suspected that he just did the sweet things to hide the fact that he had very sour intentions.

Hidden in plain sight, his hands explored all the places I didn’t want him to go, but I was young and stupid.  Our mouths pressed together, sweaty and fumbling, I let him do everything because I thought I had to.  Seventeen years old, and I was blind to lust.  Every word out of his mouth dripped with the poison venom of lies, and yet, I believed it all.  Hoping my innocence didn’t show, I let him take advantage of the fact that I didn’t know what to do.  I should have said no, I should have pushed him away, but I didn’t know how.  He told me I was beautiful, and I believed him.  Little did I know, the kissing and the petting was all he ever wanted.

The little bird hesitantly hopped over to us, seated on a rock over looking the ravine.  She got closer than I had ever seen a bird get; so close, that if I hadn’t thought it would scare her away, I think I could have reached out and pet her if I wanted.  “I think she likes you,” he whispered in my ear after she flew away.  I just smiled, and kissed him again.  The cold wrapped us both in each other, and I was snuggled tightly in the coat he’d brought for me.  The view from the ravine was nothing spectacular, just some brown trees and the average house, but being there with him, feeling him so close to me, it’s perfect.

Sitting on a pullout bed, TV on in the background, his kiss was totally expected, and yet it caught me completely off guard.  He kissed me at midnight on New Year’s because that was the thing to do.  You kissed the one you loved on New Year’s; it’s just the way it is.  That one, wonderful kiss, made up for the fact that he was too shy to do it last year, skittering away from kissing me under the watchful eyes of his parents and his sister.  She kept looking at us, expectantly, waiting for something to happen; but nothing did.  This year, I can forgive him for that, and everything else he’s done.  I’m in love.