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Author Topic: From Meeting to Marriage : Part 2  (Read 1356171540 times)

AmeeJardin

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It All Begins with a...
« on: December 22, 2012, 09:09:54 AM »
It All Begins with a...

She was a good-looking woman. At thirty, she had her stuff together: She had a good job at Hughes Aircraft and a new Volkswagen Rabbit. She was buying the Ladera Heights town house she lived in. She could have taught a naive kid like me, all of twenty-four at the time, a thing or two about life. And she could cook.

But as I left her place late that night for the second time in a week, clothes rumpled and passions unrequited, there was something in an otherwise beautiful picture that I simply could not ignore: The girl could not kiss.

The two of us wrestled amorously on her couch for the better part of the evening, and no matter how I approached it, the result was always the same — the instant my lips reached hers, she'd open her mouth so wide that she could have easily administered mouth-to-mouth. I tried sneaking up on her lips, to no avail; whenever hers detected mine in the vicinity, they'd again open up — as if to swallow the bottom half of my face. In the end, both literally and figuratively, I simply could not get past the woman's mouth.

There are certainly bigger disappointments in life than finding someone decent, witty and earnest, who smells good and doesn't embarrass you with the way she dresses, and then discovering she doesn't know how to kiss, but there are hardly more frustrating revelations.

If you are a thinking adult over twenty-five who leads a fairly healthy social life and you don't know how to kiss, then one of three things happened: (1) A true freak of nature, you never in your life dated one single person who could kiss; (2) you simply refused to pay attention; or (3) you're a Resister, one whose mouth defiantly refuses to yield to experience and authority. Either way is a sad situation.

Especially when you consider what this deprived breed has gone proudly through life passing off as a kiss: dramatic, oral assaults of slobbering and slurping, probing, omnipresent tongues and clumsy teeth on the offense. Or indifferent, feeble, obligatory attempts at affection delivered with the romantic verve of a mannequin. There are those who view kissing as something only to be associated with impending sex. Indeed, there are others who don't like to kiss at all and will tell you as much. Get as far away from these people as possible.

For the faltering marriage there is counseling. For sexoholics there is therapy. Every other relationship-associated dysfunction has some type of aid. There should, therefore, be a school for kissing. Because without the kiss, you've got nothing. I know who would be the perfect teacher for such an educational institution: Shirley Brown. When I was sixteen, Shirley lived five doors down from our house. She was just a year older than I was, but seemed a world wiser. For some reason, most of the girls at school despised her.

Shirley's resounding, innate sexuality — her womanly curves, her insistence — scared the hell out of me. But apparently not enough to deter me from taking a nighttime stroll with her to the nearby State Capitol Historical Building, where, while sitting on the steps under a sexy, starry sky, Shirley gave me my very first kiss. She began by administering calming, lingering pecks on my lips before finally parting them with her wet, warm tongue and deep kissing me into a dizzying, euphoric vortex of passion.

After that night, Shirley and I would talk on the phone, and she'd persuade me to walk down to her house on Saturday evenings and watch TV with her while the aunt who was raising her fixed people's hair in the back of the house, giving us the opportunity to smooch. I'd find the nerve to work my hand up Shirley's skirt, rubbing her thick, hairy, brown legs until I'd reach the top of her thigh, where she'd gently but firmly stop my hand. If she had offered "it" up, then what? As it was, she gave up something sexier and infinitely more valuable: Years before I'd lose my virginity, I'd learn from Shirley that kissing was not an appetizer, but the main course.

Somebody once defined a kiss as something humans do when words are no longer sufficient. I have to agree. There are few things in the universe more powerful than a kiss. The moment you've experienced a great one, you won't settle for anything less.

Thank you, Shirley, wherever you are.

And kisses don't lie. Well, sometimes they do. But what a lie. A lie that no one would blame anyone for ignoring, for just a little while.


 

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