The other day I was writing a scene where my main character nearly got her first kiss. It was so romantic. I was smiling ear-to-ear the whole time a was writing it. My heart pounded, my palms were a bit clammy, and my stomach fluttered. It was as if it was my own...
But not hardly.
My first kiss has been written off--an event I never want to remember. I don't really count it as my first kiss, because it was forced on me. That's a terrible thing. What kind of boy steals a girl's first romantic dream and turns it into a joke? The villain kind, that's what kind--they make for the most weaselly of characters.
I count my first kiss with my husband as the true memory to cherish. But even that was not what one would expect. I was sixteen years old, and dating the cutest guy in school--I'm still not sure how that happened. One day, he was just sitting there and I worked up the courage to kiss him on the cheek. Of all the moments to turn and ask me something, he chose that one--my lips landing right on his. I was startled, frightened, horrified, and pulled away--eyes wide. I waited for him to say something, do something, maybe even kiss me back. But instead, he stood up, walked out of the house, got in his vehicle, and left.
Not exactly the best first kiss a girl could ask for, right?
I walked around like a zombie for the rest of the day, wondering why in the world he left. Certainly the kiss hadn't been that bad!
Then, as evening approached, his car pulled back into the drive. I was outside, my heart pounding in my chest, and my stomach suddenly filled to bursting with a multitude of butterflies. I watched him get out of the car, looking handsome and sure. He walked straight over to me, took my face in his hands, looked at my with beautiful blue eyes, and lowered his lips to mine. This was my first kiss! It was perfect, pure, sweet, romantic--everything a girl could dream of.
He pulled away and looked at me, my breath frozen at the back of my throat, all words gone, all thought puzzled...just the tiniest of smiles turning up the corners of my lips. He smiled, too. Then he walked away, got in his car, and drove off...
Since then, I've had an endless line of 'first' kisses. My first kiss as a bride. My first kiss when my husband came back from war. My first kiss as a mother. My first kiss as a wife married for ten years...
The romance only increases and I cherish every moment of it. I noticed, as well, that as I come to mature in romantic love and understand how ornate and precious it is, so it does in my character's lives as well.
My true first kiss might be buried in the deepest, blackest parts of my memory, but the first kiss with the man who I would marry, is one worth writing about.