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FIRST KISS
A first kiss is usually memorable, no matter how good or bad the experience. My first kiss was memorable, but that kiss that took place the last day of eighth grade was far from a positive incident. My sweetheart and I were two of the last people to leave school that day. Just as we were about to exit the building, he bent over to kiss me goodbye. I was caught totally off guard. Not only was I self-conscious, to add insult to injury, I was completely mortified when he emphatically announced, “Your lips are cold."
On the ride home that afternoon, I could think of nothing else. Instead of daydreaming about the kiss, his four words kept playing over and over in my head. I made up my mind, then and there, to do something about it. That summer was busy. I took swimming lessons and many bike rides with a neighbor girlfriend. But most importantly, I practiced kissing. I kissed my hand hundreds of times with my bed pillow running a close second. I practiced and practiced and practiced. I never tired of practicing. Never again did I want to hear those four wretched words. Never!
By the time school started again, I was ready for him. We didn’t have any classes together, but we did have the same lunch period. He carried my books as he walked me to the first class after lunch. We sort of dawdled, lingering in the hallway for that extra second or two to steal a kiss, and never again did he say those four words.
SLOW DANCING JOE
Her parents were strict, not allowing her to date until she was sixteen. If her birthday had fallen between January and June, that wouldn’t have been a problem. However, with a birthday in late December, she was the second youngest of her graduating class. That meant all the other girls had been dating some time before she reached her sixteenth birthday. In a school with 99 seniors, the boys worth having were already taken, so she really didn’t date until after high school.
Compensating somewhat for not dating, her parents allowed her to have parties in there large basement recreation room. The focal point of the room was a full brick wall and fireplace and on the far side. It was a perfect place for gatherings. The only promise she had to make to her parents was to wax the 30x15 tile floor before and after the parties. So, on hands and knees, She fulfilled her promise to them before and after the first party, her 17th birthday in December of 1975. Everyone who was invited attended, and a few who were not invited attended. Yes, her first party came complete with party crashers.
Many of her guests were already going steady, but since she had not yet dated, She was alone. With that fact ever present in mind, she focused her energies on her guests. Usually a quick study in most anything she attempted, her hostess skills developed rapidly. She learned to mingle with her school friends, offering them party fare, talking, laughing and, in general, making them feel welcome. Southern hospitality remained alive and well in the Harrell household.
Among those attending was a gifted artist, a boy named Shanny who had a semi-bad reputation around school, but was invited because he was always every inch the gentleman with her. When the lights were lowered for slow dances, he never failed to ask her to dance. Slow Dancing Shanny and she swayed about the room to the tunes of The Drifters, Johnny Tillotson, Bobby Vinton, The Crystals and The Supremes. At each and every party she gave those last 5 months of high school, Shanny was always there, and always asking her to slow dance with him. Extremely naïve in those days, She didn’t think anything about it when they not only slow danced; they kissed, slowly and passionately.
She learned quickly from waxing that huge floor before and after that first party, that it was much easier to just ask the kids to remove their shoes for a sort of sock hop. But it took longer for her to realize something else. Slow Dancing Shanny most likely had a crush on her.
Many times over the years, even during her marriages, comments were made about her kissing skills. Without fail, She always gave credit where credit was due, to the embarrassing first kiss and kisses from slow dancing Shanny. A few years ago, when she was dating an attorney, he said, “If you ever get in touch with shanny, tell him thank you from me and the other men who’ve been in your life.” she thought the remark was sweet, but dismissed it.
However, a couple of months later, the sun rose one morning, like all other mornings, but that day would be different. It was the day she launched a search for Slow Dancing shanny. After several calls to people she knew in Tennessee, she located him in Alexandria, Virginia, where he lived with his two cousins. When he answered the phone, she said, “shan, this is a voice from your past.”
Silent for a moment, he asked, “And who is this?”
“Wanda from high school,” she replied.
His voice conveyed happiness and puzzlement at the same time. It was then she announced her reason for calling. “Shan, on behalf of the men in my life, I and they wanted to thank you for teaching me to kiss.”she commented.
Across 900 miles, she could feel his face redden to a scarlet as he stumbled about for a response. Finally, he said, “Well, thank you, Wanda.”
She explained what had transpired over the years, and told him most sincerely that she, and the men she’d dated or married, genuinely appreciated his contribution to her life. After reminiscing for a few minutes, they discussed the present. When they ended there conversation, he thanked her over and over for taking time to call.
Slow Dancing Shan gave her much more than a dance partner all those years ago, he taught her how to kiss, and how to do it tenderly with passion and heart.
HOOVER
Two years ago, a bilingual world traveler and military secret agent persisted in asking me out. After several months of perseverance on her part, I finally acquiesced by accepting her invitation for lunch.
She arrived that sunny October afternoon in a very shiny and very expensive black sports car. In her hands, she carried the largest bouquet of autumn flowers I’d ever seen. Lunch was delicious, but the conversation was not as pleasing. To me, conversation is much more enjoyable when it flows in both directions, but our conversation was more of a one-way street. Her secretive nature and the habit of asking questions, revealing almost nothing about her person, most likely came from her work. Quite frankly, it was not a redeeming quality in a date.
On the ride back to my condo, I was alerted when she remarked, “I feel as if I’ve known you all my life.” No way on earth could he feel that she’d known me all her life in the time span of one lunch. That first date line must rank up at the top of list with the notorious 80s pick up lines dealing with your astrological sign.
During the twenty-minute drive, something was mentioned about a file I had on my computer, so I politely offered to print it out for her. Brought up with Southern social graces and hospitality, when we arrived at my door, I asked her in. Immediately, I went to the computer to print out the requested papers.
Just as I turned to tell her it would only be another minute, she pulled me into an embrace, and kissed me. Well, it wasn’t a kiss; her mouth was more of a suction apparatus. The so-called kiss was painful, and practically brought tears to my eyes. I pulled away as quickly as possible, using the printing as a ruse to divert her attention. When I turned to hand her the papers, she asked to see me again, but before I could answer, she quickly moved in for another of her kiss/sucks. In my youth, I heard kissing referred to as sucking face, but never did I believe anyone did such a horrid thing. I was wrong. This woman did. As quickly as possible, I pulled away again. I took a deep gulp and breath to gather courage before saying, “You need to go home.”
As if she were doing me a favor, she replied, “Oh, I don’t have to leave yet.”
Moving in the direction of the front door, I responded, “Yes, you do. You need to go home now.”
The look on her face was one of absolute bewilderment as I opened the door. With a sweet tone to my voice and my hand on the doorknob, I repeated, “You need to go home now.”
As she crossed the threshold to go outside, I thanked her for the lunch and gorgeous flowers. Finally safe from the torturer, and with the door shut behind me, I stood there for several minutes, leaning against the door and shaking my head. With a sore tongue, I stated out loud to an empty room, “That poor oblivious woman must have thought I was a piece of lint and she was a vacuum cleaner.” Hence, the name of Hoover came to mind for this particular wretched kiss.
REFRIGERATOR
As a writer, one would think a date with a publisher would be the absolute epitome of dates. Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!
A couple years ago, I agreed to have lunch with a local publisher at a restaurant in Jacksonville. At first glance, she was attractive. The first big mistake was sitting in the bar area of the restaurant where there was a TV. A decent conversation was next to impossible, because she kept watching the football game between bites of her food. Annoyed, I silently said, “Well, the lunch isn’t all that bad.”
When she walked me to my car, she asked to see me again. I was hesitating, floundering around for a nice way to say no when she leaned over to kiss me. In all my years, I’d never had a kiss like that one. It was hard, cold and flat. There was absolutely no tenderness or passion conveyed with her kiss. Fortunately, I was able to bid her adieu, get in my car and leave before she asked for another date.
She called several times after that, but thanks to Caller ID, I avoided her calls. She also sent a couple of e-mail notes, but I didn’t reply. For some reason, I was concerned about hurting her feelings, but when I think about it, her kiss conveyed she had very little feeling, if any at all. I could have gotten as much passion from kissing my refrigerator, a surface that is hard, cold and flat. Hence the name the Refrigerator kisser came into being.
GRAND CANYON
Awhile back, I met a woman who was tall, intelligent and good-looking. She had decent conversational skills, and was quite pleasant to be around. With nice full lips, my hopes were high for a good kiss. I was wrong.
We were seated on the sofa, just talking about life in general, when she leaned over to kiss me. With the kissing experiences I’ve had, I really thought I couldn’t be surprised, but I was wrong, again.
A French kiss is wonderful if it’s carried out correctly, but what she did was not a French kiss. As a matter of fact, I don’t know what it was, or if there is a name for it. She quickly clamped her mouth over mine. My lips were together and inside this cavern, her mouth, seeking her lips, but there was nothing for them to find, just an open space, the Grand Canyon.
Annoyed, but thinking she might be worth a little time to train, I pulled back from the horrid encounter to gently hold her lips between my fingers. I softly said, “Now, just close your eyes and enjoy.” I tenderly ran a finger from my other hand gently over her lips, tracing the lip line and just barely touching them. Then, while still holding her lips, I kissed her ever so softly, lightly touching her lips with the very tip of my tongue. When I pulled back, she said, “Oh, my word! Sunny, that was the most exciting kiss I’ve ever had. No one has ever kissed me like that.”
My hopes zoomed, feeling maybe she was learning. I quietly explained a good kiss is a passionate endeavor, and should be achieved with grace and flair.
She asked for another date. I felt she might be worth one more try. Every single time we spoke over the next few days, she always mentioned the kiss I gave her, so my hopes ran high for the next date. Lo and behold, when she arrived that evening, she came at me with the Grand Canyon kiss again. I pulled away as quickly as possible. Then, her eyes lit up when she mentioned the kiss I’d given her a few nights before, but she didn’t seem to get my point. So, I gave it another try. Sadly, she still didn’t get it. Without saying in so many words, she seemed to feel her kiss was good, although admitting mine was better.
Totally exasperated, I tried to enjoy those last hours with her, full well knowing I’d never agree to go out with her again. From time to time, I wonder if she ever thinks of my kisses when she goes out with her man, and if has ever refined her Grand Canyon kissing technique.
