Nothing beats a great first kiss


I’m always wondered about the relative importance of the first kiss to people. It’s anticipated and feared in equal parts. It can be prepared for with groundwork laid hours, days, even weeks in advance (depending on how much of Rules girl you are), but can also be equally unanticipated (typically coinciding with excessive drinking and a mystery meat taco eaten from the sketchy Mexican van off of 18th).
The elevation of the first kiss to mythical proportions probably stems from rumor, conjecture and way too much Judy Blume consumption. We all know it’s not Disneyland, there are no cartoon bluebirds floating around anyone’s head (not unless you went for that 3rd capirinha) and the guy sure isn’t a Prince Charming (not with those shoes). And yet, and yet… a bad first kiss can shade the remainder of the evening, temper excitement about a next date, even prevent the damn thing from getting off the ground. As though encountering a mediocre or bad kiss means ‘the wrong guy’. But does it really?

We all have our horror stories; the guy who insisted on chewing my bottom lip (I assumed he mistook it for my labia), the saliva guy whose teeth even seemed to produce liquid, the open mouthed ‘guppy’, the tight pursed ‘butt hole’ kiss, the guy who tried to eat my tongue (since nicknamed Hannibal).. the list is frighteningly long. And don’t get me started on the guy who just covered my mouth with his lips and kind of ‘hung out there’ without moving. I wasn’t sure if we were going to start practicing mouth to mouth resuscitation or if he was waiting for me to regurgitate my food into his mouth? Bad kisses which definitely didn’t lead to a second date. Are bad kissers rehab-able? Maybe, I’ve always thought chemistry took care of things and it potentially was a sign of a great physical connection.. the naked sort.

Great first kisses. The list is horrifyingly short. Just two.
Fran kissed me at age 17, standing beneath a pool of light, leaning against his powder blue Mini. I didn’t think my knees would hold me up and I honestly couldn’t catch my breath.  Needless to say, our physical connection was insane and we seemed to specialize in getting caught  ‘christening’ places (the stairs, the kitchen, the backyard, France).. Great kiss, great guy, great relationship.

‘E’, I kissed 45 minutes into our first date, standing outside a bar on a busy street. Time stood still. I think I might have blacked out momentarily, because everything went so quiet and I literally ceased to see anything. I went back for seconds assuming I had coincidentally kissed him during a stroke – but nope, complete repeat experience. We tried to date, but his Republican views, our mutual divorces and basic lack of compatibility outside of the bedroom really didn’t add to up anything.  Great kiss, great guy, no relationship.

So it seems that these amazing, heart stopping kisses mean nothing other than ‘our mouths fit together incredibly well’. And it seems other parts too. But since I’m married to neither, I think its safe to say the kiss – in the broader scheme of things – means nothing. It neither signifies ‘the one’ or ‘definitely not the one’ though the overproduction of saliva is definitely going to be propelling you in one direction more than the other.  I married a man who I liked kissing, but he never make my knees weak. I’ve dreamt about kisses from guys I’ve met once.
So why do we judge it?  Why is it such a big deal?

Because, whether we’re superstitious or not we take it as a sign. A straw we clutch onto that might mean a spark exists. That the two of you might ‘be’ something more than friends, buddies, whatever. 
Well here’s to the next first kiss. Maybe it will be my last.

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