Anatomy of a Kiss

He asked if he could kiss me when he heard I'd never had the experience.  I asked him why.  He'd also heard I had no interest in it.  He leaned closer to me, trapping my eyes with his, and said he'd be honored to be my first.

Someone has to be my first, a voice whispered in my head.   Why not him?  It wasn't like he was just anybody, after all.   It was him, and he had always been special.  He was being special right now in the way he was in my space, in the way he had me transfixed, in the way my breath had changed to something more swift and shallow.  He was being special in the way he was closing the distance between us, and I was ready to voice my objections -- how dare he presume my answer to be yes? -- when something in my mind decided to inform me smugly that I had already nodded my head in affirmation.

When had that happened?  It hardly mattered.  It had, so nothing to do but go with it.  I'd never done this before, but logic told me that if he had his lips parted slightly, then maybe I ought to part mine as well.  His eyes flicked over the features of my face, and I found myself echoing the action, tracing the smooth line of his jaw, noting each faint freckle across the bridge of his nose, falling into his deep, soft eyes.

What was a kiss, really?  I'd never been interested in pressing my lips to another's.  The idea didn't discomfit me, so I had allowed this, but I had worried if my head would be disengaged from the action.  Not in that I feared my heart would take over, but in that my head would impatiently observe the proceedings, thinking, 'Whoopee.  Are we finished yet?  I've got other things to do.'

I was wrong.  I was so very wrong.  At that moment, there was nothing else I would rather have been doing.  A kiss was more than just brushing lips with another.  I hadn't accounted for the way he filled my personal space, bringing a feeling of intimacy from the utter rarity that I would let anyone so close, and not just to my mouth.  We weren't touching, but I could feel him as an almost tangible presence from my shoulders all the way down to my shins.   I hadn't expected that I would feel his warm breath sliding gently across my skin, that in breathing we would be sharing our air.   Logically, his fingers were probably cooler than the skin of my cheek, but it seemed they sent a tingle of heat through me and down my spine.

My lips became suddenly sensitized.  They didn't respond in any remarkable way when I ate, drank, brushed my teeth, but now, now they felt the kiss before it even came.  Actual contact was just that much more.  They were just lips, but I became acutely aware of the person behind them.  We no longer shared breath, but everything we had between us, powerful enough that it left no room for air.   Our parted mouths lingered in quiet, innocent communion before his puckered closed, bringing mine with his to the accompaniment of a soft, moist sound that struck some deep, instinctive chord within me.   Cool, empty air once again intruded between us.  My lips parted again immediately thereafter as if to rewind, the abandonment creating a sudden vacuum I was pulled forth to fill, but alas, my first kiss had technically come to an end.

It didn't feel like it.  As bereft as I felt with the loss of his lips against mine, I still felt him.  His fingers slid slowly off my cheek, and though that decreased the sensation, it took its sweet time in fading away completely.  It was like a string stretching between us, growing thinner as the distance grew until it finally lost its cohesive tension despite all its efforts.

My timesense told me only a few seconds had passed.  How was that possible?  There was a lot more to this whole kissing thing than I'd thought if it had even the power of time dilation.   I'd already been proven wrong in finding that it was more than just a brushing of lips; it was a full body affair.

He smiled as he pulled away.  I found one of my hands had risen to touch his hip during the experience.  Excellent.   There was less ground for it to cover now as I commanded it to slide up and snag his shirt.  Halted in his departure, his expression was just sliding into a question when I informed him breathlessly that I would be so very honored if he were to be my second, as well.

And I continued to be honored as he graced me with my next, my last, and every one in between.

return to index

This piece of fiction is the intellectual property of the little turnip that could. The basis for this fic, i.e. Gundam Wing, Kyuuketsuki Miyu, et al., is the property of someone else. The author can be con tacted at This has been an entirely automated message.

last modified : 5/23/2004 23:37:54 PST