Thursday, April 23, 2009

Anatomy of a (Sober) Kiss

First kisses. You always remember the first one – even if it was awful.

I had mine when I was 13. I couldn’t tell you what I was wearing, or even much about the kiss. I just remember my heart racing and my stomach flipping over and over again.

That feeling never really goes away. Sure, it’s a little less intense after that initial experience, but it’s always exciting to kiss someone you really like for the first time - even if it makes you feel like you're going to vom.

Then there are those once-in-a-lifetime, heart-pounding, heel-popping kisses, that make you completely lose yourself in that moment, so much so, that you want to stay there forever. They’re the ones that make love stories great, and can catapult an otherwise boring date into exponential proportions.

I experienced that feeling – maybe for the first time, ever – last night.

The Hoff and I went out to dinner. Over the weekend, we talked and decided we want to try and work things out. I suggested that we come up with a list of ways we want our relationship to improve. I figured it was the first step to starting on a clean slate.

After dinner, we were going to go to a movie, but decided to walk around the mall instead. The whole time, it seemed like there was an unspoken tension between us. Maybe because we’re so used to the way things were that we weren’t sure how to act around each other.

So, we found a bench and talked. And then hugged. He kissed me on my cheek, softly, but intently. My heart started racing as I grew anxious with anticipation of what was about to happen.

I moved my face closer to his and kissed him a couple of times. After a few minutes, our faces got closer again and we started kissing.

It was the most involved I’ve ever been in a kiss. I picked up on everything – his smell, the softness of his lips, his fingers brushing against my cheek and then through my hair. I know it sounds cliché, but everything around us faded. I felt like we were in our own bubble – nothing else mattered but that kiss and that moment. I have no idea how long this went on, all I know is I didn’t want it to stop.

When we finally parted, after sitting in silence for a few minutes, I finally asked, “Was that what our first kiss was like?” (Our first kiss was at a bar on my birthday when we were both wasted. I remember him being a really good kisser, but I don’t remember any of the details from it like I did from the one we had just had. The Hoff doesn’t either.)

Then, he said, “I think that’s the most passionate kiss we’ve ever had.”

Agreed, The Hoff, agreed.

I started thinking, and the last time I remember feeling anxious and excited about a kiss was my senior year of high school. Probably because a majority of my kisses in college and post-college have been alcohol-induced. Making out when you’re drunk can be fun, but you can also wake up the next morning, find pictures of your scandalous smoochfest from the night before, and wonder a) the name of the person you played tonsil hockey with all night and b) why you left your standards at the bottom of an empty Jack Daniels bottle.

Holy shit, the feelings associated with a sober kiss (unless you’re making out with Slobbery Mcslobberson or someone who hasn’t shaved in eight months), are so much better than a drunk one. How the hell did I go seven years without feeling anything remotely close to what I felt last night?

Or maybe that kiss was just that good…

Either way, I’ve decided I want more of the sober kisses and less of the drunk ones.

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