The following example of The Ultimate First Kiss is
a combination of the romantic-just-beginning kiss and
the passionate-can't-keep-away-from-each-other-needing-lusting
kiss.
Should you desire to ignore all my recommendations
to be patient and allow things to build up, you can
skip the essence and the romance of this column and
go straight to a shortened version
of the ultimate kiss.
The Ultimate First Kiss
Her name was Jo. Jo was that oh-so-attractive,
sexy, sarcastic, flirty, fun, witty, wise, and entirely
unattainable woman that always exists in the office
or social circle. She's that girl all guys love to
be around, that girl all guys can't help but to look
at when she walks by, that girl all guys secretly wish
to be with but never actually pursue because they know
they'd be totally shot down.
And, of course, she is that girl who always has a boyfriend/fiancé/whatever.
Because of this latter fact, I never paid much mind
to the flirting. I laughed off the sexual innuendos,
the suggestive glancing touches, those times when she'd
look at me with that "I wonder how you kiss"
look. I figured this was just her personality -- something
that many people do because, let's face it, it's a nice
feeling to be wanted and liked.
One day she came up to me and said, "One word:
INTRIGUING."
I waited for an explanation, but she gave none. I
held up my hands and she just walked away with that
remarkably appealing flirtatious grin. A few days later,
she finally explained, "I spent all day reading
your columns and stories. You are very intriguing.
Some of the things you wrote made me wonder..."
"Wonder what?" But she left again with that
flirtatious smile; this time, though, with a touch.
I knew something was going on, so the next time we
had a chance to talk, I asked, "Intriguing...
so what does that mean?"
She looked at me for a moment, her smile turned serious,
thoughts running through her head, carefully choosing
her words. "You tell me."
I knew what I suspected. But it was difficult to come
right out and say because we worked together and because
she has that dang boyfriend/fiancé'/whatever. I chose
my words carefully. I said, "It could mean several
things. 1) That you like my stories and enjoyed how
I took you places with my words. 2) That I raised questions
in your mind and you'd like to sit with me and pick
my brain. 3) You wonder if you can visit me on my island
and hang out in my treehouse as I talk to lunatics strolling
by. (You'd have to read the story to get that one,
but it made sense at the moment.)
"Or maybe you'd like to spend a weekend with me
and get all the questions and intrigue out of your system
before you commit your life to someone you're deeply
in love with."
Her eyes lit up, "How about all the above."
She looked at me directly in the eyes for a long time.
I said nothing. I played it cool, but I was really
shouting and screaming and jumping for joy in my mind.
I figured it was best to let her continue making all
the moves. She added, "Walk me to my car after
work."
Work flew by, of course. We met. We walked. We talked
about something useless and irrelevant. I leaned against
her car as our conversation continued.
She exuded confidence, charisma, craving. Being outside
served as a strange force keeping us apart, but the
desire to touch pulled us together. Slowly. Slowly
she circled, moving closer without being noticed, like
a feline patiently stalking its prey.
I noticed this. I felt it. I felt her body, her energy.
I welcomed her into my personal space. Soon she stood
less than a foot away, coming closer still. I think
we were talking about hiking or maybe boating on a lake,
but nothing she said registered.
Inches away -- wonderfully patient, her smile - devilish,
her smell - erotic. She stopped mid-sentence, both
of us knowing that the conversation was just an excuse
to avoid saying goodbye, a means to an end -- to a beginning,
something to pass the time while we built up enough
courage to ignore the cars around us, to ignore being
seen by someone that could lead to trouble. We knew
we should be more careful, but...
Our lips touched. Only our lips and I melted into
hers as they were so soft. The sensation hypnotized
me. Our lips slowly moved, slowly explored. First
both at the same time, then the upper, back to both,
the lower. I cared about nothing other than how her
lips felt. There was no tongue, no touching. Just
lips.
Because we were patient, because we both enjoyed the
build-up so very much, we didn't rush any part of the
experience. They say if you kiss your partner for just
ten seconds straight every day, it would increase passion
in the relationship ten-fold. Ten seconds is a long
time for one kiss. We kissed this way -- only the lips
-- for a good 2-3 minutes.
I wanted to feel more, but I couldn't take my lips
away from her face. so, with my lips, I caressed hers.
But I did it so lightly -- sometimes not even touching
but so close you can literally feel the heat, the energy
-- that it tickled to the point of developing that tiny
itch. And just as the itch got a bit too much, I kissed
her full again. This, then, feels even more incredible
because not only are we connecting again with the passionate
kiss, but it also satisfies that itch -- making it feel
even more welcome, more desired, more needed, more sensually
fulfilling.
Sometimes it feels expected, almost obligatory, to
add the tongue. And in most cases, people rush in too
soon with the French kissing. With her, while I didn't
want to end kissing just her lips, it became almost
a need to feel her tongue -- to see if she was just
as sensual, just as elegant, just as erotic.
She was tentative at first. She didn't thrust her
tongue down my throat and she didn't immediately switch
to all tongue. Instead, she parted her lips just a
bit more and very lightly touched the bottom of my upper
lip. Then she kissed me again with her lips -- full,
solid, intense, passionate. She did this several more
times -- very lightly touching and exploring my lips
with her tongue. Occasionally I met her tongue with
mine, just barely, though. And it was always followed
with that intense, passionate kiss.
Because I so much enjoyed the super-light caressing
followed by the intense, satisfying release kiss, I
touched her tongue very tenderly. And because we so
thoroughly gave ourselves to each other and to the gentle
sensations, it felt like we became psychic, like she
knew exactly what I wanted -- my pleasure was felt by
her, which intensified her pleasure, which was also
felt by me.
Some people, especially those in Hollywood, think that
the more intense, the more passionate things become,
the harder the kissing and touching must be. This may
be true at some moments, but often it's the opposite.
Having to hold back, having to restrain ourselves while
our lips and tongue are touching is like trying to keep
two powerful magnets apart while bringing those magnets
closer together. The closer they get, the harder it
is to keep them apart. So we feel the build-up. We
sense the tension. We allow the passion and craving
to become even more intense by somehow holding back
with the light caressing -- the more it's done, the
stronger the magnetic pull, to the point where it's
like our muscles are straining to keep the magnets apart.
Our tongues continued the tentative flirtatious dance.
I could no longer hold myself back. After exploring
and feeling her lips in every imaginable way, I couldn't
help but to want, to need, to feel her tongue.
So I explored hers with mine -- mostly just the tip,
and still very lightly. Remembering to avoid the uncomfortable-mouth-open-way-too-wide
Canyon Competition kiss, I parted my lips just enough.
Sometimes, my tongue seemed to be more in her mouth,
sometimes hers moved just slightly into mine. She somehow
knew that I'm not a big fan of feeling the tongue shoved
down my throat (the Coal Miner kiss). So our tongues
danced, they touched, they explored.
Up to this point, we still have not touched each other
with our hands. I think. It's possible we absent-mindedly
held hands, but if so, they were down at our sides.
Not touching caused the entire focus to be right on
the tip of the tongue.
A light bulb can illuminate a room and you won't feel
any heat, any warmth whatsoever. But if you were to
focus all that light into one tiny laser beam, you could
burn through steel. It was the first time I've ever
focused 100% of my attention on that one very specific
part of the body and because it was this way, each and
every sensation was magnified, each movement, each caress
of the lips was felt throughout the entire body.
At times, she actually sucked on my tongue, switching
back and forth from just tonguing it, to gently sucking
in just the tip of my tongue, to even simulating every
man's dream -- fellatio. But we would soon return to
the light caressing. And always back to the small kisses
with only the lips.
I have relived this kiss, this make-out session many
times. But I don't like to call it a make-out session
because that somehow seems to lessen the sensuality
and the spirituality of the moment. From a psychological
standpoint, one could say that we restrained ourselves
from touching and pulling ourselves into each because
we knew we couldn't do anything other than stand there
and kiss, and because we were in public view, in a parking
lot, knowing full well that someone we know might see
us.
It's possible this is the reason, but another part
of me knows that we so much enjoyed each aspect of our
kiss, that we just didn't want to move on to something
else. And so, our lips caressed. Our tongues danced.
We tasted, we smelled, we invited each other in.
This wasn't one super-long never-separated mega-kiss,
but rather little kisses that built up into a grand
finale. And yet, it felt as though it was one continuous
sensation.
Eventually, we did pull away and look at each other.
Catching my breath, gathering my bearings, I thought
out loud, "Wow. That was..."
And she finished my sentence, "... incredible!"
We just looked at each other for a moment, amazed,
stunned, exhilarated. Her eyes seem brighter than before,
more familiar. Her smile more devilish. Her facial
structure... I'd forgotten how beautiful she was.
Her lips... did I just kiss those amazingly luscious
lips?
I touched her cheek, traced her eyebrows, the side
of her face -- I felt like I held a priceless, delicate
sculpture, something like in the fairy tales that was
so beautiful it mesmerized people to the point where
they needed to touch it. Experiencing this beautiful,
delicate structure with just one of the senses was not
enough.
When my fingers reached her lips, I had to kiss her
again. The moment, somehow, was both tender and incredibly
intense. Now, I wanted more. Even though focusing
the laser on just the lips and just the tongue was a
remarkable pleasure, I now wanted to feel and touch
and taste and smell as much of her as possible. I wanted
ALL of me to be in contact.
I pulled her tight against me with one hand. My lips
followed my fingers: I caressed her lips... I kissed
her lower lip. I traced an eyebrow... I kissed her
closed eye (so gently because they're so beautiful).
I brushed her hair back from her neck... I kissed right
below and even behind her ears. And when I got to the
ears, I whispered my thoughts, "You feel amazing..."
She leaned hard into me, literally massaging me with
her entire body. I reached up with both hands, intensely
squeezed her face and neck, drew her lips to mine, and
gave her the most gentle kiss I could manage. The contradiction
of the passionate touch and the light kissing served
to intensify the desire and soon she was pushing harder
into me and we were kissing and sucking like it was
a drink of water in the desert. We needed it and we
couldn't get enough.
We couldn't feel enough of each other's body. We couldn't
taste enough, smell enough. And the more we satisfied
our needs, the more we needed. I can understand why
people do drugs. But I can't understand why they do
them when there are far more effective ways to achieve
the same high simply by using the mind.
We both realized that we were too much in the public
eye. We shouldn't have been doing what we were doing
where we were doing it. We were just kissing, but still,
she had that boyfriend/fiancé/whatever it was; plus
we worked together -- not forbidden, but definitely
taboo.
We would pull apart. One of us would say, "Ok,
I'm leaving now." But neither of us could let
go. We still held each other. So we'd kiss again.
"This is the last one," she said.
But she didn't walk away. "Alright, one more
and that's it," I said.
Eventually, we were able to leave. I almost drove
off with my briefcase on the back of my car. She pointed
this out to me -- her devilish smile returned, pleased
to actually see how she so thoroughly put me in a stupor.
I drove home with the sensations of our kiss running
through my mind. Even now, I can clearly picture how
she stalked me with that confident twinkle in her eye.
And each girl I've kissed since then, there's a little
part of me remembering, a little part reminding myself
to relive all those incredible things she did with me
in the middle of that parking lot.
And that, my friends, was the ultimate first kiss.
Being the storyteller that I am,
a part of me wants to continue the story, to tell what
happened after our blissful evening. But I've chosen
not to do this. Instead, I'm just going to leave it
as it is...
A wonderful memory.
LetusPonder
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