First off, I'm also guest blogging at http://www.scifiguy.ca/ today. Promo. Mushiness. Motivational speakerism. Check it out, but after you read this post about first kisses, of course.
If you don’t count the various kisses my six-year-old self bestowed upon the boy my mother baby-sat, my first official kiss came at the roller skating rink. His name was Cory. And yeah, Madonna’s Crazy for You was playing in fine late-eighties style. But there’s nothing really to that story. Persephone and Johnny’s first kiss is much more interesting.
Set up: Persephone had walked outside her house and entered the storm cellar where the werewolves kennels were kept. She’d lain down in Johnny’s empty kennel and fallen asleep.
I stood up, brushed hay from my backside. I headed toward him. “Sorry. Did Nana get scared?”
He didn’t make the polite step to get out of my way. He stood rooted in that spot, facing me. This close, I could see his expression now. He said, “I got scared.”
I couldn’t believe he’d just admitted that. Weren’t there strict rules against that in the guy-code rule book
“Johnny. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disappear.”
I waited for him to say something lewd, but he didn’t, and the silence thickened, woolen and warm, getting heavier and heavier as if a flood were rising around me, weighting me down and threatening to drown me. Suddenly, he grabbed my arms and pulled me close. For an instant he hesitated; then he kissed me.
I didn’t fight against it, but I wasn’t prepared for it either. My back stiffened defensively. I’m just not the kind of girl to collapse into a sudden kiss. Did that mean I’d never make a good Guinevere?
Johnny must’ve read the worst into my body language, because his lips went absent just as I thought to wonder how they tasted. “Forgive me,” he whispered.
He had taken my reaction as rejection, but I hadn’t pushed him away. It had just happened so fast. I wasn’t keeping up. His grip loosened, and he started to release me.
“No,” I said, my hands grappling for a hold, one coming up with his shirt, the other clinging to his side. He stilled under my touch. “Forgive me,” I whispered, a bitbreathless. I swallowed down my fear and said, “Once more?” Please.
“No,” he said softly, eyes glinting. “It’s a hundred kisses, or none.”
How could I deny that low, confident yet needful tone?
“A hundred it is.”
He leaned down and, this time, I was ready. I wanted his kiss. I wanted to know the taste of him. I shut my eyes.
Just before our lips met, he paused and hovered there as if these seconds could last an eternity. Desire mounted in me; anticipation filled every nerve. I inhaled deeply,taking the cedar and sage scent of him into me as if I could pull him that fraction more, so his lips would meet mine.
But it was his will holding him there, for whatever reason.
I opened my eyes. He gave a quick, lopsided grin; then he gave in.
His lips were soft, yet firm, as they pressed to mine. I trembled, and his arms encircled me. Heat brimmed within me. My eyes had shut again, and I thought of the motorcycle ride, of swaying to the hum of the engine.
But this, this was face-to-face, this was our bodies pressed together—Goddess, I held him tight—and the roaring music was my heart pounding in my ears.His arms were so strong around my waist and when he broke the kiss he didn’t loosen his hold. We stood, foreheads pressed together, catching our breath. “That’s one,” he said. “Ninety-nine to go.”
Just for giggles…