I've been reading with avid interest (purely scientific, of course) about the phenomenon that is the kiss, or even the FIRST kiss. I haven't had anything like that myself, but I have had a not-kiss, so I wrote about it. The not-kiss is a kiss that simply doesn't count because it was accidental, embarrasing or hilarious (or all of the above) I apologise for the length, but hope you enjoy. ...My first (not) kiss. Oh dear, I now sound like a teenage girl with a diary now. Not just any diary, but a pink, plush one. One with “Diary” written on the front, in case said teenage girl forgets what the weird not-magazine with no words or pictures is for. And the “i” in diary will be topped with an insufferable heart. If the diary has any sort of padlock on it, I am consigned to my fate. Nevertheless, I don’t care. Everyone knows what a first kiss, or rather a First Kiss™, should be, thanks to that great educator, celluloid. There has to be purpose and reason behind the kiss. If our eyes didn’t meet across a crowded room and out souls lock, then we’ve been “just friends” for years and we’ve just realised that all the little things we did were actually hidden signs of our deep and consuming passion that burned with the roaring, infernal intensity of a house on fire. It can’t just happen randomly, or in the first five minutes of the film, and it best happens somewhere near the end with the quasi-unavoidable marriage. More generally, it must be one of two things. Romantic or comical (or both in the case of the bastard child that is Rom Com). Romantic means that there must be candles, or at least candlelight substitute such as a sunset, love cannot happen under a flickering artificial light. The lovers must be sculpted perfection, we all know that romantic love cannot happen to plain or ugly people. Comical love involved a stunningly beautiful female, with an averagely loveable male. We men take solace in this as we can indulge in a little fairy-tale or two, as well as justifying our less than bronzed, oiled and muscular physique or our slumped posture, or non committal grunts or...those many other faults so stereotypical of we men. In both cases, there has to be a musical score. Without this essential component, it’s not a kiss, it’s a mockery, a travesty and shouldn’t get close to a cinema -anywhere-. I maintain that I have yet to have my First Kiss™, but only some paltry imitation first kiss, like comparing a real Gucchi to some sort of knock-off you’ve been offered on a street corner for a price you can’t believe. I tell a lie of course, I couldn’t tell the difference between either of the above, but I know what I had was most certainly not a First Kiss™. I maintain that the first kiss that I’ve had “doesn’t count”. Not even close. My friends that I tell this story tend to disagree and say that “technically” (what a horrible sounding word) I have had my First Kiss™. I am delaying and fillibusting furiously right now, and perambling right round the issue, perhaps because, no-certainly- because I’m inwardly cringing at the painful, shame tinged memory that’s unfolding itself in my mind. Perhaps I should just stick with the facts of the case and allow you to be the one man judge and jury. Just be merciful with me, please. It all starts at a party. One of those teenage parties you hear so much about with the stern remonstrances of disapproving middle aged, middle class newspaper columnists. You can probably picture it now. Drunken lechery, lewdness and some other third word beginning with “l”. Wrecked furniture, vomit stains everywhere, and loud thumping music. Actually, it was fairly tame really; a little music (at a civilized, though high, volume), some food, talking, clumsy courtship and even clumsier follow-through. And, of course, the great leveller (of inhibitions) alcohol. Now, I don’t drink (shock! Horror!) So I’m totally stone cold sober. But that’s ok, because people are making up for me by drinking for me, with me and around me. As you know, or remember, perfectly heterosexual men can do things they can’t remember, or wish they couldn’t remember under the influence of the Drink, something of accelerated male bonding, except not quite. Hearty backslaps are fine, but when you pass a certain point of physical interaction, both parties feel regret and awkwardness after it. Thankfully, alcohol acts as both an excuse and a social lubricant to make any doubts raised go away and be dismissed as horseplay (though I have never seen horses behave anything like that, but then again, I haven’t seen many horses either) or forgotten come morning. Some people might read latent homosexuality or something equally drastic into such actions, but I don’t like to follow that thought path very much. It’s more likely to be a lowering of inhibitions, poor judgement and poorer motor skills that all add up to these little blips and pieces of male bonding. Probably. This is one of those times. This guy was called Kyle (and it’s alright to name him for two reasons. One, it’s not like I’m being very specific. Two, I’m a vindictive bitch) He’d been having rather a lot to drink. Perhaps rather too much to drink. He stumbled into the room where I was, and it wasn’t even crowded, as it was a small, intimate affair with friends. Things were going to get more intimate. Our eyes most certainly did not meet, mostly because he was swaying slightly with his eyes focused on a point that was around me rather at me. He lurched over to me with no grace, muttered “Hi” (hardly the language of someone trying to woo) and then leaned in and kissed me. On the lips (to give him at least some credit, he was bang on target, somehow). For no more than a second, I hasten to add! I mean, honestly, how can you expect an accidental (maybe he tripped over) and drunken three second lip touch count, there wasn’t even any tongue at all! It wasn’t romantic, it was wet and it vaguely tasted of beer, and not even the “refreshing” taste of beer straight from the can, but a vaguely second-hand taste, like it had already been swallowed, allowed to pick up the unique flavour of being fermented by mouth and then applied to my lips. I can’t see it being made into the new flavour of lip balm, is all I am going to say on the subject. Reading what I’ve just typed up, I’ve realised that it might be easy for you to make an assumption, unknown reader. I’ve mentioned taste, and that sense tends to be associated with the tongue, and I would like to stress the complete absence of the action of this organ in this...this...travesty. You can taste with your lips. You can. It was simple lip contact, with no other body part being involved, due to a combination of shock and revulsion. You cannot even begin to suggest that this was a First Kiss™, even if it did last for five achingly long seconds. There wasn’t even a soundtrack due to an unexpected interlude in the music. Fin Feel free to comment, complain or whatever. It would be nice if you had a story about your own not-kiss to share.
