Friday B came over to watch the Opening Ceremonies with me. In our email exchanges, he seemed unsure about whether or not I wanted him to kiss me, so I made it clear that I did. Great. Scheduling my first kiss since I was thirteen–I hadn’t intended to do that. All week I knew that we were going to kiss the next time we saw each other. All week I kept thinking, on Friday, I will be kissed. It was not a very restful week. I’m exhausted and my stomach is still one big knot.
When I answered the door Friday night, he was standing there in a blue button up shirt, a covered casserole dish in his hands. To my pleasure, I realized I thought he looked (and smelled) quite nice. Like, sexy, attractive nice. All of those chemicals in my brain must be working just fine. He came inside and I positioned myself by the doorway to the kitchen. “Put that down,” I said. “I’m going to hug you.” And I did, awkwardly, with both arms, putting one hand on the wall to reestablish my balance when the hug was over. It was one of those short person/tall person things where one of my arms was around his waist and the other was on his shoulder, and as we hugged, I said, “See, I can do this, it’s okay.” So, first hugging practice session over–I initiated contact, followed through, survived. This was after sleepless nights, planning exactly where I would stand, etc. The whole thing is ridiculous, the way I build things up and stress over them.
I’d realized even though on Monday we had agreed, we are, in fact dating, I didn’t know if we had the same definition of the word. So I asked him about it. “Do I use the term ‘boyfriend’ now, or are we not there yet?” He said he thought we were and didn’t I? I said yes and that I just wanted to be sure we were on the same page. It was really important to me that these things were clear before I told anyone in my family. I wanted to be ready to withstand the onslaught of questions and teasing that would come. So yes, I have a boyfriend.
I need to not write a book about this. We enjoyed the Opening Ceremonies. B kept his arm around me, caressing my shoulder, running his fingers up and down my arm. I managed to take his hand, hold it in both of mine, trail my fingers along his wrist. Just get used to touching him. The broadcast ended at midnight and I turned the tv off. Interestingly, I hadn’t been stressing about the kiss all evening; I’d just been having a nice night. But now it was time. It was time for me to be twelve again. I couldn’t look at him. I admitted that it was awkward and scary. He asked if we should just hug so we didn’t have to make eye contact. And so I leaned myself across him, my head over his heart, right hand reaching around his shoulder. I tried to breathe and relax, and he held me and and smoothed his hands over my back. “Still freaking out?” he asked. “Yeah, pretty much,” I said, not moving.
Eventually I sat up, still unable to look at him without immediately breaking eye contact. Inside I was thinking, ‘Please just kiss me. This is so beyond awkward and I can’t fix it.’ Somehow, finally, he did. And it was not at all what I expected. I thought he’d start with something simple. But he really, really kissed me. I’ve always thought kissing was a strange thing. Lips and mouths, saliva, tongues, stubble in this case. Weird. Of course I was thinking the whole time, rather than being swept away. Trying to make sure I kissed back, not sure how long this thing was going to go on, not sure if I liked it. Meanwhile, B was wrapping his arms around me, running his hand over my stomach and up my side, caressing my hip. That part I definitely liked. Finally, I ended the kiss, just by turning my head, not pulling away.
We looked at each other and smiled, and he was adorable B again, rather than the heavy-breathing, sex-starved, passionate B I was so surprised to meet moments before. “Too much for a first kiss?” he asked. Honestly, I don’t remember how I answered.
We chatted, about my bony hips (he likes them), about his soft hands (I like them), and we decided that he would come over again on Saturday for some more Olympics. He kissed me again. My ear and my neck, too–that’s all warm breathy and tickle-y in a very nice way. I told him that I liked his blue shirt, and that if he gave it to me, I’d answer the door in it the next day. (Who, me? Yes, I said that.) Of course he gave me the shirt.
When he’d gone, I took deep breaths and mumbled, “Oh. my. goodness.” a lot. So there we have it. My first kiss(es) as an adult.