A Kiss Isn't Always Just a Kiss

In my previous entry, I promised to tell Ed's version of our first kiss. I'm a little reluctant to do so because it will ruin my reputation as a good girl and an arbiter of morality and... *snort*. Yeah, okay. Who am I kidding? However, keep in mind that at the time, I was very inexperienced and innocent. My dating/kissing experiences before that time consisted of 1) an older boy of 16 who tried to ram his tongue down my throat at a church sleep-over for the youth group when I was 13, 2) the editor of the school newspaper, a senior and, therefore, impressive to a sophomore, who invited me to a movie and attempted to climb on top of me in his car right in front of the theater, and 3) another senior from a nearby school who took me to see The Tamarind Seed and kept trying to stick his tongue in my ear and his hand up my shirt when all I wanted to do was sigh dreamily over Omar Sharif. So I was dubious about this kissing thang and a little wary, especially of Older Men.

Now, I didn't remember this story AT ALL, but one of the things I adore about Ed is that he remembers exactly what I was like as a teenager. Talking to him after all these years has been like getting little pieces of my history back. All right, I've delayed long enough. Our first kiss went like this: We'd skated for a while and were sitting and talking. Ed claims I moved in for a kiss, but he'd recently gotten over mono and was worried about passing it on to me, so he pulled back. Yes, the dreaded Pull-Back. We talked a little more, and I repeated the move, with the same result. (I have to state, for the record, that I'm shocked--shocked, I tell you--that I made not one move, but TWO.) Ed was worried about what I was might be thinking about his avoidance tactics, so he confessed that he'd had mono. Without missing a beat or batting an eyelash, I blurted out, "Oh, it's all right. I've already had mono."

TOTAL LIE. I'm afraid that I was not only a complete and utter hussy, but also a little liar lips. Hey, it worked, though. Ed wasted no time in testing my theory on immunity and repeating the test several times to ensure valid results. Scientific method, you know. I changed my opinion about kissing and decided it was my new favorite activity. That experience also showed me that older men could be a lot of fun, especially when they had a little finesse about the whole thing.

Of course, I was mortified when Ed told me this story. I'm still bewildered by my forwardness. I'd NEVER acted that way before, and I don't think I've ever been that forward with anyone else since. Ed says he loved it, though, and I have to say, he did respond rather favorably to it. Even now, I'm a lot bolder with him than I usually am with men. I'm not sure why, but I think it has something to do with trust. Well, and people are more likely to repeat behavior when they get a positive reaction, and Ed's downright delighted when I'm forward.

At 15, I thought he was the best kisser in the world, and over the years, other kisses never quite measured up to my memories of him. I kept telling myself that was silly, and I was remembering him through a romantic haze and all that. I tried to be sensible and realistic. When we were making plans to meet in Savannah, I couldn't help thinking about it, however. The entire, seemingly endless day of flying to Charlotte, waiting through a two-hour layover, and finally flying to Savannah, I kept wondering whether I'd feel the same way when he kissed me again. When he finally did, all the wondering was over: I did feel the same way. After thirty-five years, that seems like a miracle to me. I wish I could explain it better, but the best I can do is to say his lips fit mine perfectly, and I'd be happy to never kiss any lips but those for the rest of my life.

I'd planned to write more about Daniel's reaction to all this and what the current situation with Kevin's living arrangements are and try to answer questions some people had in the comments, but clearly I have kissing on the brain tonight, and that's about all I can focus on. I'll get to the practical stuff in the next entry. Oh, and I'm also thinking I should change the name of this blog to reflect the apparent loss of my sarcasm. What can I say? I'm too happy to be cynical! How about "Finding Love at Fifty: All Sentimental Hoo-ha, All the Time"? OK, maybe I haven't completely lost my edge. :)