First Kiss
by Jonathan Quince
Thursday, March 24, 2005 22:17:44
Looking at her across the table, I saw her gazing back at me, yearning, intent, yet tremulous. Outside the wonderings of her dreams, she had never been kissed, never felt a man’s strong touch or the mouth of a lover on hers. A dark-eyed ingenue she was, so innocent and sweet, who had come into my embrace for an education this night.
Tonight…
As an evening of soulful discourse brings itself to consummation, the coffee cups on the table fall beneath my notice. I reach out and take her hand reassuringly. Moving closer to her on the kitchen-table’s bench, I long to caress her face, to wrap an arm around her shoulders, to bring her close.
Virgin girls lure hungry men by their very nature as both sides fall into temptation. If her heart was aquiver with the thought of being touched, being held, being kissed, then mine was thumping with hunger for the same.
Her hair falls softly over her shoulders, cascading across her back in a long shower of umber ringlets. I run my hand through it, wondering at its softness, its feeling of life and vitality. My fingers brush her cheek and she looks into my eyes, timid yet intent, as I marvel at the delicacy of her skin.
Nothing may happen betwixt two nervous parties; at some point, somebody must needs take the initiative. And once the process is started, there is no room for fits of anxiety: All too many sad stories of unfulfilling first-times begin with two teens scared and fumbling. I was not a teen like her, but I was young yet and quite hesitant. ’Though my blood raced through my veins, I steeled myself to take the jump — and furthermore, I was determined that once I landed with her in my arms, everything would be done right.
I was never to be sure of exactly how it happened. One moment, I am sitting beside her, a few feet away; then I place my hand upon hers, stroking it, caressing her with both lust and tenderness. Suddenly she is in my embrace, my lips pressed to hers, my hand tangled softly at the nape of her neck, cradling her head.
Sparks struck and lips meeting, instinct took its course. All jitters of unease just melted away in the heat of passionate desire. Everything was done right, not by plan, but by grace of Nature coiled tight ’round my core: Kissing had long been one of my favorite activities; and if she yet knew naught of it, I would lead her and teach her and find her to be a quick, eager study, besides.
She sighs and responds, sliding her hands about my back to pull me closer; shifting to nestle in my arms, she cleaves to me and opens up; my tongue is in her mouth, then hers is in mine. As our breath mingles and our tongues commune in wordless conversation, I find myself pressed full-length against a lithe package of nubile curves that squirm to me invitingly through the layers of our clothing.
We made out until almost four o’clock in the morning. She went to work with two hours’ sleep, and I banged up a borrowed car on the way home. Alas, nothing further happened that fateful and passionate evening; but it shall remain living in my memory as, I do think, it should in hers.