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July 14, 2007 11:23PM
Nearly forty and never been kissed.
At least, never been thoroughly kissed. Oh my. And just when I began to think I had the hang of it, knew how his lips would feel against mine, knew the rhythm and pulse of it, the tongue and teeth of it... he changed it all completely, leaving my head spinning faster than the tilt-a-whirl; the floor of my emotions dropped out on me and I was left pinned to the proverbial wall going round and round, sheer and utter overload. I'm still trying to wrap my head around it, because I'm that kind of person, but I can't describe it. I've tried for several days now to capture it. The wordsmith in me throws up her quill in despair and wraps herself in a many colored shawl to go walking at midnight in search of inspiration, but comes back empty, simply empty of all but the want of it. There's a hole in my cerebellum where my preconceived notions once lived, and my mind is too roomy, my eyes too wide.
Safe kisses. Our meetings and partings were full of them: restrained kisses, hinting at what might be if ever we were alone. Kisses that skirted the edge of what passersby might actually be able to perceive without being affronted; not 'get a room', but several ladies have asked that I save some of his kisses for them. But these kisses were well within the realm of known passions. I've felt these kisses before, albeit years ago, ten years ago or more, when I took what I wanted without apology. Delicious kisses. Passionate kisses, strong masculine osculations with the occasional click of teeth or impudent tongue. I thought I had them all figured out.
Conversation strayed into dangerous waters over sushi and sake, and an involuntary reaction on my part apparently brought the whole thing crumbling down on his side of the wall. No more charade. Suddenly he stops me on a quiet side street and Kisses me. The texture of his mouth changed: his lips became full and wet, his mouth itself seemed to become a thing aroused... his whole being snapped into sharp focus, and that focus was triangulated on me, me alone and the body housing me... A caress of lips and teeth and tongue became almost Michael Valentine Smith in its intensity. Time is.
No playing, no games, no pretense. Serious in their intent, fluent in their message, the heady rush of breathing unconsciously in synch, a full-blooded feedback loop between two bodies pressed against each other. Me, whose brain never shuts up, stunned suddenly into an absence of thought entirely. Me, who holds even herself at a mocking, inaccessible distance--from herself--reduced to involuntary trembling, the origins of which were not muscle, but soul, the very spark of existence itself. Utterly lost in the moment--the heart pounding, heart stopping moment of it. I have never been kissed so completely. I would not have been able to answer any questions posed to me at that instant, not my name, my son's name, the planet I lived on. And even as I foundered trying to catch myself on the edges of this whirlwind, the unspoken conversation shifted again, moved from the realm of need into that of want... and telegraphed straight to the core of me was the realization of that mouth with all its infinite possibilities, the gift it was offering, the gladness with which I was accepting...
"Breathe," he whispered. "Breathe, little one." I hadn't realized I'd stopped. Indeed, I had no knowledge of the last time my lips had parted for anything other than his kiss. So this is what the phoenix knows, within the fire.
I have been unmoored ever since, rendered incapable of coherent thought or decisive action. I have finally been thoroughly kissed.
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