I still can’t decide which was better: the way he kissed me or the way he looked at me.
I’m not sure how it even started. We were just standing in the kitchen and before I knew it, my back was pressed against the countertop’s edge, his arms around me, his lips kissing mine, tentatively at first, then more passionately later, but never forceful.
His hands didn’t wander like the hands of men before him or the way the hands of men to come would. They rubbed my back, and occasionally they found their way into my hair. He was respectful and soft, yet still sexy and strong.
Every once in a while, we’d stop for a few seconds and look at each other. Not in the sickeningly-sweet-romantic way, or the I-can’t-wait-to-rip-your-clothes-off way. It was more a mixture of curiosity and surprise. I had no idea I was even attracted to you, my eyes must have said. Me either, his said back. But now we know and we’re wasting time, so let’s get back to it. But not before he smiled at me—the sexiest, sweetest, most beautiful smile that had ever been intended solely for me. I could feel my heart trying to pound out of my chest. I smiled back at him and we both laughed.
Something happened when we kissed. It sounds crazy, but we seemed to get each other without even really knowing each other. Or maybe it was just that we came together when were at exactly the same place. Looking back on it now, maybe that’s what brought us together.
It would be years later before I understood the place I was in that night. (Why does hindsight make us so smart?) My self-esteem had taken a beating in my two previous relationships and though I didn’t know it at the time, those relationships were the beginning of an abusive dating pattern that would last for years. Carrying all that history around had made me a little fragile. I didn’t trust anyone, and I wasn’t sure I would ever find anyone who could deal with all my flaws.
So when we took another kissing hiatus and he stared at me as if I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, my stomach did flips. No one had ever looked at me like that before. I didn’t get it. I didn’t even know him. But we seemed to understand each other on so many levels. I felt like maybe he had his own history and that helped him identify and understand mine. And he was okay with just kissing me. He wasn’t pushing for more; he wasn’t trying to hustle me back to his house to see how far he could get with me.
We went on like that for maybe fifteen minutes, kissing, staring, smiling, and laughing. Then we heard footsteps coming into the kitchen and we remembered we weren’t alone. We pulled away from each other and reality came crashing back in. It was late and people were going home. We said goodbye, careful not to do anything that might give us away to the others. As he walked out the door, he turned and gave me that amazing smile again, but it was even better now because it held a secret that only the two of us knew. I waved to him and said good-bye.
I never saw him again.
But to this day, that was still the sweetest, sexiest kiss I’ve ever had. I like thinking about it every now and then and wondering where he is. It gives me a little hope of what—and who—might be out there for me.