As they walked the guy bent his head down a little to listen intently to what she had to say, then his face lit up and he smiled happily. It was a very sweet image that got me thinking about my own children.
Well, about life in general, but about how I love to hear stories about first kisses and first loves. I wondered to myself if I would ever know about my daughters first kiss.
As the mom, I'm not on the top of her list of people to regale that story to, and that makes me sad.
When I was a teen I wouldn't have told my mom any of that to save my life. In fact I hid it from my mom. I doubt she knows now that my first kiss was when I was 15 and that I thought it was the grossest thing in the world. Further more, I know nothing about my mom's first kiss and first love.
So I'm going to tell about my first kiss... for posterity's sake.
--warning, lots of interjections to follow--
I was 15 years old when I met my friend Mindy's cousin. He was a broad shouldered skater with blond hair that hung down around his ears and I thought he was the most gorgeous guy in the world. His name was Richard (for the life of me I can't remember his last name) and he became my first boyfriend.
Since I wasn't supposed to be dating anyone for another year I kept the entire relationship hidden from my family. The problem was that Richard lived on the opposite side of town from me and went to a different school. I had to lean heavily on my friend Mindy if I wanted to see him (this frustrated her to no end) so our relationship was slow moving.
Slow in the 15 year old sense of things--meaning that we didn't kiss for about 2 months. I was getting very impatient and had been complaining to Mindy that her cousin was never going to kiss me. So Mindy leaned heavily on Richard but time seemed to crawl by.
Then one day we were walking around town with some friends and we came to this canal with a large copse of trees nearby. We decided to hang out there while the guys smoked some cigarettes--ironically the canal and trees were less 50 yards from my dad's office.
Richard had his arm around me and I wondered if he was finally going to kiss me. Our little group chatted it up and inhaled some cancer (the girls all second-hand) and I was beginning to lose hope when Richard leaned over and pecked me on the mouth.
It took about 2 seconds.
I was miserably disappointed. It was not at all like in the books... I got more fire in my belly from reading about it than I did from actually doing it! 15 years I'd waited for that and I wanted it back for a better time.
Then he leaned in again... for the real stuff.
It was disgusting. There was more saliva than I thought absolutely necessary and his mouth held the distinct flavor of cigarettes. Where I had been sorely disappointed before I was horrified then. But what can you do at a time like that?
Stop him and scream "Oh my gosh! What are you doing!!!? That's horrid!"
Yeah, it doesn't generally work that way. At least not at fifteen and not with the first guy (later in life I got pretty good at dodging the very few kisses I didn't want).
So I acted happy and ducked my head into his shoulder so he wouldn't do it again hoping to never endure that again.
A few minutes later our group gathered up their things and headed back home. All other opportunities to perfect kisses were held off until a later time. (Much to my relief and dismay).
Since I was the first of my girlfriends to get kissed I became the center of attention for awhile. Everyone wanted to know what it was like and I, not being the sort to sugar coat things, told them--it's like drinking coffee. The first time you taste the stuff it's horrible and you never want to taste it again, but after awhile you get used to it and then you can't seem to get enough.
And thus our super-secret kissing code was made. When we didn't want anyone knowing what we were talking about we referred to kisses like this:
Tea= a peck on the lips
Coffee= a french kiss
Mocha= make-out session
Richard and I had lots of coffee together for about 6 months before I dumped him and my friend started dating him.
My next coffee partner would not show up until I was 16. He was a much better kisser and taught me a lot about the art (which he seemed to know a lot about).
I didn't see Richard again for several years and then one evening at the roller skating rink I ran into him. I was sad and depressed (I was depressed a lot during those days) and seeing him brought back memories of a seemingly happier time. We had gotten into a lot of trouble together--sneaking around as we did, trying to hide it all from my mother and oldest sister who were much smarter than I gave them credit for.
I smiled at Richard and he smiled at me and we had a nice little chat about life... the way only people who share significant memories together can do.
I just thought maybe my mom would like to know that story.
(Just to cover my tracks, my coffee drinking phase lasted about 3 months)