The First Time

The first time I kissed him I could feel the future on my tongue. The salt in his mouth was how desire should taste. I knew that from that moment on we would be connected. Technically, this was not our first kiss. It was just the first kiss that felt like more than just a simple kiss. Our real first kiss had been on my doorstep after we packed all my things into boxes until five in the morning. He grasped my shoulders and quickly pressed his lips against mine, forgetting to pucker his own and leaving as quickly as he came. It was a perfect moment. Our height difference made it comical. I wouldn’t have minded someone else seeing us though.

                The first time we kissed, in a real way, we were sitting on my couch, discussing ‘us’. He asked me to date him and only him, and we ended the deal with a kiss. A hot, clumsy, inexperienced kiss. His limited capability in the area of kissing was charming, instead of a turn-off, which was unusual. My vast numbers of kissed men made his two kisses before me seem sad and sweet. My own personal motto seemed to always be that the only way to get over someone is to kiss any and every person who walks into my path. Unfortunately this only resulted in the worst of the worst experiences—ones that frequently ended with my stumbling walk into my apartment at five am.

                The first time he put his hand on my back and unsteadily brought our faces closer together, I learned how it felt to be cherished. Hands that held me like I was going to fall apart before his eyes—no one had ever held me that way. Generally, the fleeting moments in my love life were devoid of the love factor, and full of muffled breaths and sobs into my pillow. But his hands—they were so much bigger than mine that I looked like a child holding the hands of her father—held me like I was precious. For once, I felt beautiful, and important.

                The first time he held me in his arms as we fell asleep, I stopped having nightmares. Miraculously. For the first time in my twenty years of nightmares, I woke up when I wanted to, instead of at three am, or four am, or five, depending on when my nightmare occurred. He was my safe place.