First kisses - a montage

I never knew what I was doing...
I never knew what I was doing. Getting married was because he asked.  I never considered if it was truly the right thing for me. He actually didn’t even ask, just said, “So we’re gonna get married right?” I accepted this pittance of nothing, no romance, no big gesture, nothing. It was how things would be for two decades. ​

I never knew what I was doing accepting so little for 362 1/2 days of the 27-year marriage. Once a year off we’d go to Branson on Memorial Weekend for two and a half days of romance that was to carry us through the next 362 1/2 days: ​a hotel room and immediate sex, dinner and movie, more sex, morning sex, shopping at the outlet on Saturday, the hotel pool if it was sunny, the fancy dinner that cost (gasp) $100, back for round four of sex. He was always hoping to get four or five rounds in. I wasn’t always opposed and I wasn’t always in favor, but I tried to please him always. 

I never knew what I was doing accepting that the wife is to be submissive to the husband, under that damn umbrella the metaphor of being safe and secure that preachers loved to use. I heard it so many times through those decades, sitting in the pew hearing the cautionary tale. If God was above, then the husband was the umbrella and I was to be under it, under his wisdom and authority because If I stepped out I was exposed to God’s wrath and would not be safe. I met with a friend weekly to pray for things I couldn’t ask him for: a family vacation, more money for groceries, spending time with our children. 

I never knew that when I began to write for myself I would write my way out of that marriage.    

*****
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Places of first kisses
Bar stairwells: The Italian, The Smart Ass, Guy in New York, Einstein

“You gotta pay the toll,” he said. I gladly leaned forward for a kiss in the dive bar stairwell. I had timed it to meet him as he was coming back from the bathroom. I wanted that kiss to see if it would be as good as I thought. It was. 

The elevator: Prince A, Bumble Biker.
The sidewalk: The DJ
Yoga mat: The Masseuse
Gorgeous loft: Trivia man
My loft: The Hot Chef
Parking lot by my car:  GQ, Punk Rocker, has to be more...

We kissed and backed up to stare at each other. We stepped forward to kiss again. Magic.
"Well we have that in common too..." I said looking up at him. GQ pretty much ran away at that point. He texted me of sparks the next day, said he never believed they existed until that moment. Our love affair was scorching and consumed us, burning up and leaving nothing merely six weeks later. He walked away and never looked back whereas I chased the heat of our connection for months and months. 

In my car: Spirit
He made this sound of pure lust like he wanted to consume me right then and there.
"Wanna just go to your room instead of the restaurant," I ventured after ten solid minutes of the hottest make-out sesh. Duh. Off to his room we went. He wanted me to stay later. I was strong and went home so I could go to work the next day. Now I wish I'd stayed.  

Times I instigated first kisses 
Under the streetlamp: The Drummer
I stepped forward and kissed him - he was in shock.

By his truck: Coach
“What are you doing?” He looked astonished. “I’m going to kiss you,” I said and then I did. It felt like kissing a wall. I tried again as he dropped me off. Still dead. No second date for you. 

Sidewalk by Harry's in Westport: Coffee Meets Bagel
“This building is over a hundred years old. The architecture…” he was talking about one of my favorite subjects but I had another idea. I pulled him forward by his tie and laid one on him.
“Awkward,” said a passerby. We were in Westport on a busy weekend night. It was awkward. I felt powerful.
Five months later on another first date, I pointed out the building and told The Poet about the tie kiss. I pulled his shirt and illustrated. 
“Did that really happen or did you just want to kiss me?” he asked. 
“Oh it happened,” I said.   

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What first kisses are not 
First kisses are not full of years of sadness; years of disappointment, anger, and anxiety; years of being misunderstood and giving up the fight to be understood. 
First kisses are not followed by the lie of “I love you,” because the recipient does not know how to not say this after decades of saying it. 
They are not usually followed by goodbyes and joy at someone finally leaving for the day so you have peace. 
First kisses are not dry and dusty; they are juicy and a little scary. 
They are not a draining of your soul until there is nothing left but the peck that says, “I’m still here because I don’t know how to leave.” 
​They are not dead and mourning the past, what you thought life would be. No, first kisses are alive with promise, a beginning, a fresh start before all the baggage and hangups and needs mess everything up. 
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