Hesitant, Hopeful

Do you remember your first kiss? The first kiss with your significant other, a first kiss with a lover somewhere along the way, the one defining kiss that's sealed itself in your brain so completely that when you think about kisses, it's your only memory?

Some ladies in one of my Facebook groups were having a lively discussion about kissing earlier this week, sharing memories about their first or most memorable kisses. I didn't jump in because I'm a lurker in most groups and also because I don't remember my first kiss. I have no idea when, how long, or who my kissing partner was. I do have one bad memory of an attempted kiss when I was 15 years old that never happened because, quite grossly, his mouth was wide open and I took off before he could suck my face. Not surprisingly, we broke up that afternoon.

But, my most memorable kiss was and still is a good memory. One that will forever rise above all others and that, thanks to that Facebook group chat, has been floating around in the front of my mind for a the past few days. I don't think about it most of the time. Almost never, until this last week. It's just a thing that happened, in my past, when I was 18 years old... twenty-three years ago. Maybe I remember it because I was young and my mind was still capable of hanging on to memories like that. When I was a little less cynical. But, I like to think it's because the kiss was remarkable.

It was the mid-90s and I was working a seasonal job at a local department store. This particular night was dark, it was almost ten o'clock, and the late October/early November desert air was cool. I was wearing a light weight black dress with a pretty floral pattern, the back had a double strap crossing pattern that exposed just a little bit of my mid-back. The sleeves were short and the dress was just above the knee length. It had a slightly low-cut sweetheart-like neckline.  It was pretty and was my favorite.

I had been working during closing that evening and was walking out with a co-worker to wait by the back door for a friend who was taking me home. There was a small, dim light above the back door, but it didn't shed much light. The co-worker I'd walked out with, a very good looking, early 30's guy, waited with me. He worked loss prevention and though his truck was parked around the corner, he didn't want to leave me standing alone in the dark.

We must have been talking about something, but I can't at all remember what. It's not significant. What I do remember is the warmth of his hand on the side of my face before he kissed me. I remember the color of his hair and eyes, the style of his frames, his height and stature. I won't go into detail about how it felt, how I felt, other than to say I felt warm and... desired. It was the first time I had felt truly desired.

Maybe it was the circumstances, the night, my age, his age, some other things happening in my personal life at the time. Maybe it was the illicitness of the kiss. We were both otherwise attached and we definitely should not have been kissing in the dark. Whatever the reason, that one single kiss is imprinted on my memory. It wasn't the only kiss I shared with this person, but it's the only one I remember in such striking detail.

In the twenty-three years since then, this is the first time I've shared that memory with anyone. I've never spoken about it or put it into words, even to friends who knew what was going on in my life at the time or since. It certainly wasn't something I wanted to share with a group of judgmental strangers on Facebook and I'm not even sure why I'm sharing it here, other than to get it out of my head and because, even though it wasn't appropriate circumstances, it's one of my best memories.