The Paranormal Plumes were kind enough to take me under their wing, and in honor of Valentine’s Day they’ve put together a blog hop that dares to kiss and tell about our first meaningful pucker.
Kiss and tell?
Me?
Always.
The setting was simple, high school, senior year.
Fourth period.
Mrs. Johnson's English class.
I sat on the girl’s side of the room, (we had inadvertently self segregated by gender and only later did I find out that the boys were enjoying the peek-a-boo view our miniskirts afforded, but that’s not my story to tell.) The only view I enjoyed was of a brown-eyed boy with lashes that could touch me from all the way across the room. A smile that had the power to slay females for a ten-mile radius and often did. And, a personality that demanded your attention, held onto you and followed you into your dreams. The best part was, all of those great attributes were rolled into one person. And he was the star football player. Incredible, I know.
It was torment only having him in one class. Sure, I got to see him perform on the field, even cheered from the bleachers but so did everyone else. To him I was just another face in the crowd.
Every day I grew a little bolder and smiled a little longer in his direction. I let our gaze fall naturally, then let it linger until my cheeks burned and I had to look away. Weeks, grew into months and we progressed to polite hellos in between classes. At least he knew I was alive, but deep down inside I wasn’t happy with that. I wanted more. I wanted all of him.
Prom rolled around and I burned to ask him. I wanted to extend the invite and finally declare my insane obsession with him, well, maybe at least the fact I was interested, but the moment came and went. I ended up going to prom with a friend who asked me and the boy I really wanted, the high school football star, stayed home instead.
School was wrapping up. Our senior year was done. Two days until graduation and Mrs. Johnson let us sign yearbooks the entire class.
I spent the entire hour anxiously waiting for him to cross my path, but we artfully avoided one another and the hour passed.
That night, in a fit of frustration I swore to myself I was going to exchange yearbooks with him the next day. I stayed up all night trying to think up the perfect thing to say to the boy I spent my entire senior year worshiping from afar. I made my friends read through a dozen prospective entries to help me narrow down just the right sentiment. It went something like; I hope we can K.I.T this summer. I would really like to get to know you better! #555-callme (Yes, at the end of the day brevity won out.)
The bell rang and it was fourth period, our very last day in Mrs. Johnson's English class. The hour began to sift by at an alarming rate and five minutes before the bell let out I walked bravely over. OK, well, not so bravely, because I was sweating and red-faced and I think I may have tripped in the process, but that’s beside the point. We exchanged yearbooks.
I thought maybe I’d hear the hallelujah choir, but instead we feverishly wrote our inscriptions and handed back our books just as the bell rang.
“Thank you,” I said.
He smiled and nodded. He could rule an empire with that smile.
I tore into the girl’s bathroom and whipped open the yearbook. It read, “Too bad we didn’t get to know each other better, you seem like a really cool girl. Maybe we can get together over the summer. K.I.T. #555-callme”
He said the exact same thing! Well, OK, not that same thing, but still!!!
Lunch rolled around. I went out to the courtyard and he waved me down, started heading in my direction.
“Hey,” he gave a bashful smile, “so, you would be interested in going out with me?” He seemed unsure.
“Yes!” It may or may not have come out in one lusty cry akin to someone who had just won the lottery.
Without warning he leaned in and planted the softest, most memorable kiss that I had ever experienced before or after. I let it linger like all of those stolen glances we had exchanged so many times before.
I pulled back, shocked and slightly more than elated by his bold gesture.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I bumbled like an idiot. “I’m not that good.” I confessed as we finally pulled away. (Yes, that was my stupid confession to the denizen of the football field that graced me with his lips, but I digress).
“It’s OK,” he wrapped an arm around my waist like I was his girlfriend, right there in the quad in front of God and all of the cheerleaders-- my girlfriends geeking out in the back. “We have the rest of our lives to get it right.”
I thought that was a bold sentiment when he said it. But you know what? He was right.
We married while we were still in college.
Well there it is, my first meaningful kiss.
Please, don’t be a stranger, tell me all about yours.
I really do want to know.
