The Kiss

We were at the movies. It was really just an excuse to get you out a bit -- there was really nothing worth seeing. We sat through part of the lightweight film, but left less than a half hour into it, cursing ourselves for paying for that bit of Hollywood slop. We sat in my car for a bit then, grateful for the company and conversation. I was bored; He had been working twelve hour shifts, so my evenings were empty. You were just happy to be out of the stuffy confines of the house.

All in all, it had been a good evening. It didn't have the usual awkwardness of day-after feelings (the bank), though it probably should have, the both of us being adulterers. In fact, there was almost no hesitancy between the two of us in holding hands through the movie. It was like we were on a date -- the intimacy of your arm around my shoulder, me talking about nothing through the previews. But I had to admit, I was feeling the consequences of all the innocent touches, the weight of your arm on my upper arm...I was trying find a reason to stop somewhere private, but I was drawing a blank. Then you spoke.

"Well, since the movie will still go on for an hour or so, why don't we go up to Krug Park and look at the stars?" you said, innocently. I was confused. Did you really want to look at the stars or was it an excuse to do the same thing I wanted to do?

"Sounds good," I said, and we left. We didn't speak much on the way up there. It wasn't awkward, though, it was comfortable. I parked at the top of the hill, looking down onto the green (though mostly black-looking) hills leading to the amphitheatre and the lagoon. It was already about 8:30, and the summer months were beginning already to fade, the long days growing shorter by minutes. The sky was a dark, seamless blue-black, and from the hill we could just faintly see the small stars overhead. I retrieved a couple of small blankets from the trunk for us to sit on, and you took my hand, leading me into the even darker shade of the trees. We sat under a little birch, and I was reminded of Texas again, under the tree. We lay motionless nest to one another, the hands between us clasped together. It was probably one of the most wonderful moments of my life -- purely loving and deserving.

I must have drifted into sleep for a minute, because I awoke sensing your lips right above mine with no notion whatsoever of how they had come to be there. I felt your breath, sweet and warm on my face, and your inhale felt like stealing to me. I opened my eyes, looking into the dark pools you boasted and smiled, thinking to myself that just yesterday these lips were on a different set of my own, and how different they seemed now! I slowly leaned my head toward you, lips suddenly throbbing in anticipation. I was worked up by the mere closeness to you, the possibility of a kiss, and my expectations were high. My eyes closed.

I was not let down. I shuddered involuntarily as your mouth touched mine -- a type of energy had come to me from you. It passed, and your lips were moist and soft, tenderly laying on my own in a seemingly chaste kiss. But I was not fooled. Your kiss turned warmer, then hot, and my own lips opened under your to invite your tongue in, making love to you in possibly the most intimate way people can. I had opened my body to you yesterday, now I opened my soul. My body was hypersensitive, I could feel every movement of my clothing on my arms and legs and stomach. My fingers twined delicately in your hair, and every fiber swept across my palm in a whispered prayer. I understood then the cliché of how the earth moves -- I felt it's core throbbing beneath me, its life force pulling us toward it as we spun, the only thing holding us together our lips.

I could feel the length of your body, I now knew all it's curves and shapes, and I took joy in it. We moved in unison, a chorus of hands and skin, all moving together to create the opera of our kiss. It had to end, I knew. Every song has its end.

At last I drew my tongue back, and our kisses again became simple, but not chaste. Now, these ending kisses had the intimate knowledge of each other, our mouths, of tongues, our bodies. These simple kisses now held not innocence and chastity, but depth and love. I held to you until at last the kisses dwindles, leaving my head cradled in the corner of your arm. We sat there awhile, and then silently, we rose, gathered the blankets, and returned to the car. We had been there almost an hour and a half. That kiss had enveloped us; heart and soul, and we were now forever forged in whatever bond it was that we had created: one of trust, honesty, and love. We left, then, making our excuses on our late arrival, and looking now at each other with an underlying knowledge we knew none other would possess of us. The kiss, one kiss, had married us.