Photo © Valentina Lari
The First Kiss
“How did it happen that their lips came together?” Victor Hugo.
I remember it clearly, that long awaited kiss, my first real open-mouthed glimpse of all that lay before me. The possibility gripped my stomach and tormented my psyche. Many daisies had been picked in preparation, many petals plucked.
I was 12, desperately curious, innocent of deed but not of thought. I’d imagined celluloid 1940’s black and white poses, dramatic and passionate. I had envisaged falling into his arms, into a clench, a grip. My eyes would close, my lips gently pressed upon his would open and my heart, well, my heart, would be in my mouth, dancing upon my tongue.
The reality was the front room of a suburban semi in the Dublin suburbs. My cousin had invited me to join her in a game of Spin the Bottle. I was nauseatingly grateful; aware I had gained entrance to the inner sanctum of teenage coolness. Already the girls were tapering their skirts, rising the hems above knee level and wearing make – up. They had or were in the process of having relationships. The simple issue of a statement via an interloper, usually one’s best friend, and conveyed in teen pitched Dublin- see, would corner the desired boy and proclaim, ‘X wants to go with you,’ The response being either, ‘Okay den,’ and the deal clinched or, ‘No way, year one’s a dog,’ and crudely declined.
We sat cross-legged in a small circle, boy, girl, boy, girl. There were eight of us, a revolving bottle and ardent expectations. The bottle was an empty whiskey bottle, I cannot recall the brand but all of us had taken a sniff, the closest we would get to alcohol. It was lemonade for us; seven up, Coke, crisps and nuts. ELO and Supertramp blared from the stereo system. My cousin, whom the host was in painful and unrequited adolescent love with, allowed her grand gesture of first spin. So, the game began and I waited anxiously wondering when I might be picked.
I was at the awkward stage of not quite being one thing or another. My body was plump with an excess of baby fat. My hair, lank and greasy, matched the lucid shine on my T- zone setting off the beads of sweat gracing my upper lip and all topped by a metallic smile. In retrospect, not such an alluring proposition for any potential suitor. Thus, I remained un picked, when all others had been kissed not once, but twice at least; we were already an hour and a half into the game. My heart sank on each revolution. However with a little bit of careful repositioning following a toilet break, the bottle neck came to a pointed and definite stop by my right grazed knee. None could deny its position, though some tried. Finally, I had control. I could choose whom to kiss and if declined, a forfeit would be demanded. I chose my heart’s desire and prayed he would accept.
We left the circle and went to a corner of the room. Every one stared at us as we stood face to face. Kisses were timed. I had only a mere thirty seconds to make an impact, the countdown chorused by the group. I was clumsy, wanting, eager and pressing my lips upon his. Impatient and greedy, my tongue jutted into his mouth. I was drenched in the reality of the occasion, the smell of his breath, Tayto crisp scented, cheese and onion, his skin, Old Spice, the clash of teeth, the feel of his tongue and then the abrupt push away when zero was reached. Quickly, we returned to our places in the circle.
Breathless, victorious, and despite the sorry nature of the event, I knew then that my life had unalterably changed.
I had been kissed. I had kissed.
©lcitron 2009
