He kissed me on on the hood of a car in philosophy city. I was trying to recite a foreign alphabet and I kept stopping and starting and laughing, and he just smiled and kissed me to shut me up. He doesn’t kiss me anymore but he still tells me to shut up.
He kissed me by a kiosk while his friend was buying beer and I was in the middle of a sentence. I don’t remember my words or his kiss.
He kissed me at a traffic light, after he told he wanted to kiss me, and I told him I knew because people get this look in their eye when they want to kiss someone, and he said that I must see that look a lot. And then he kissed me. I never saw him again.
He kissed me on some rooftop in the city, after hours of walking and drinking wine. He made me believe it was a special first kiss. It wasn’t.
He kissed me on a mattress in the living room while our parents were asleep in the next rooms. He was my first kiss and that was our only kiss.
He kissed me on the tiny balcony of his dorm room at dawn and we smiled at each other in the new light. He was a good kisser and a sweet boy, but I broke his heart.
He kissed me in his car at the beach after he told me he wanted to kiss me and I said, “I know”, even though I didn’t, and then he laughed and I laughed, and each laugh brought our lips closer together. He moved away the next week but still called me on Valentine’s Day.
He kissed me in an abandoned mansion on a warm autumn evening, in the dark, to the music of howling dogs. He called my scars maps to my soul. But in the end he didn’t want to read them.
He kissed me in the bathroom at our favourite bar. He followed me, he knew to follow me without asking. And we kissed, wordlessly, because he always knew how to read me.
I kissed him while he was talking because I was tired of waiting for him to kiss me. He held my hand and opened all doors for me. He taught me how to trust again.
She kissed me in a doorway in an alleyway, with closed eyes, with sweet lips, with her hands in my hair.
He kissed me in a dark corner of a garden party after we followed each other with our eyes all night. He kissed me again seven years later. We dont follow each other anymore.
I kissed him on the beach at dawn. He said, “Why me?” And I lost my cougar virginity.
He kissed me on Valentine’s Day just because it was Valentine’s Day. I don’t even know his name. But I remember that he was beautiful.
——
Speaking of first kisses… don’t know if it gets any worse than this:
http://startingoverat24.blogspot.com/2007/08/embarrassing-confession-my-first-kiss.html
Begging the question that kissing is a pretty bizarre ritual in the first place…
I suppose… But it feels so good!
Haha, I think everyone’s got an awkward kissing story like that!
love it
Thank you!
This is just perfection.
Thanks, Peter!
“He called my scars maps to my soul. But in the end he didn’t want to read them.” My word. I want to read that line over and over again!
I am glad something good came out of that disappointment!
this left me breathless.
i love it.
What a gorgeous reaction!
(And how belated is mine?!)