Originally Cont’d From Love’s First Kiss) 12-2-09
What was it like to be pre-teen, meeting a person who’d, maybe one day, be the love of your life? And what did you do when someone turned down the lights in the cellar party . . . and you were alone . . . finally. Your hands touched, your eyes melted while looking at the other’s face, their smile, their warm and inviting eyes.
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Geraldine McFadden and I kissed. Very shyly. We said few words, none of which I remember now. I tried to make her laugh. She did! And oh, how my heart filled up. {She likes me, at least a little, I thought} I don’t know who moved closer to the other. Maybe it was mutual. But soon we were looking eye to eye, more intently, wanting to take in and remember the magic of the moment. I closed my eyes involuntarily. (Was this a reflex move or an action I carried over from a previous life?) I moved my head closer. So did she. We kissed a second time, but this time with a lot more feeling, a lot more . . . love. Puppy Love.
“Do you know how to ‘French’ kiss,” she asked, almost in a whisper. “I’m not sure,” I lied, not wanting to show my lack of manly knowledge. I mean, c’mon. You had an image to keep up, even at age 12, going on 13 (actually, turning 13 in a few short weeks back then).
Geraldine explained the technique to me. And we experimented. What an eye-opener! Well, lip-opener really. “Just open a little,” she softly said to me, and I complied. What she didn’t tell me, and what I learned by “word of mouth” was what to do with that small appendage that often got me into trouble from wagging it too much: my tongue.
I swear I did not know what she was doing. I had opened my lips and felt a soft, almost liquid push against first the bottom and then the top lip. Exciting can’t describe that first feeling. Try electrifying. Another person, a gorgeous girl who I just met and fell head over heals in love with, had extended the softest part of her body to me in an exchange of trust, love and . . . wait a minute! This ain’t kids stuff I’m dealing with here. This is the real thing, this could be the start of S E X.
I don’t like to admit it, I don’t think most guys would, but up until that moment in life, I never thought of a real life girl as a potential mate. Oh, I liked girls. But in a shy, bashful way. I liked being with them, liked seeing them smile in my direction, liked to hear them laugh.
But what do you do with them once you get to first base? I felt I had never been up to bat, and here I am, already being walked by a pitcher who is giving me a “pass” to try for second! I’ll never forget that kiss. My tongue darted out and made contact with Geraldine’s lips and then . . . we . . . “soul kissed.”
God, I have not thought of that term in ages. Soul Kiss. That is so “right” for a description. Particularly, when applied to two novices, two youngsters exploring, making their way through adolescence with the help of, and through the trust of, each other.
I cherish that kiss even now as one of the highlights of my life. But there were two other major episodes that had occurred the weekend I met Geraldine McFadden. Each compete for the fondest memory of my life. And all occurred on one fabulous weekend. Come visit some more, have a little red wine, and I’ll tell you about them. But not today. Let me soak in the warmth of this moment a little while longer. Here’s to Geraldine and that young rascal, Michael J!
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