As a girl, I was a bit boy crazy. And being the innocent, girl child that I was, my deepest fantasies about the boys I pined over, had to do with kissing. Everything from the bodies being pressed together, from the lip smacking to the tongue insertion fascinated me. Even though my mom had schooled me on what sex was and I had peeked at a couple of movies involving “sex scenes,” kissing was what sent twinges of excitement, curiosity and arousal all over my body. Kissing was the ultimate. I was all about it.
So imagine my shock and surprise when I learned that my own mother didn’t like to kiss! Now, I’d seen my parents kiss each other all the time, but it was never more than a peck and I just assumed they did their heavy making out in their bedroom. (I was fascinated by kissing but my parents tonguing each other down was not something I wanted to see…at all.) My mother’s admission scared me a little bit honestly. If she didn’t like to kiss what did that mean for me? Did that mean I wouldn’t like it either? Terrifying!
Eventually, it dawned on me that I come from two people, my father might like kissing.The more I thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. After all, there were countless times when I’d see my mom lean in for a peck and my dad would quickly stick his tongue out in an attempt to lick her face, ear or whatever he could reach before she pulled away. My mom would squeal in mock protest and wipe her face in mock disgust, all while my dad laughed at his trickery. Well, my dad wasn’t in the room at the time, so I just asked my mom, “Does Daddy like to kiss?” She chuckled slightly before saying, “Oh gurl, he loves it! I remember when we kissed on our wedding day, he made sure to stick his tongue in my mouth because he just knew I wouldn’t pull away from him, in front of all those people.”
Yes!
Maybe that meant there was still hope for me. That maybe I’d inherit my appetite for kissing from my dad instead of my mom. I could.not.wait to find out. But unfortunately, wait is exactly what I would have to do. I didn’t have my first real, for real kiss until I was eighteen. And on that night I learned that I was little bit like both of my parents, actually.
We, homeboy and myself, were at the playground across the street from my housing addition. It was the summer, just a few days before he would go back to college and a week before I would head away to school for the first time. So it had to be tonight. Eventually, we found ourselves seated on some piece of playground equipment, talking about how much we’d miss each other, when he started leaning in. My mind was running a mile a minute, Aww shoot, this is it! Thank God I brushed my teeth before I came out here. This is finally about to happen! But once his lips touched mine, I learned that my mind and body were not on the same accord, and I jumped back. To this day, I still can’t explain why I did that. I don’t know whether I was scared, too excited or what. I apologized and he tried again. Again, I jumped back. Dangit! What was going on?! I had literally waited most of my life for this and now that the time was upon us, I was chickening all the way out. By this time, I’m sure homeboy was completely over it. But I was determined that this was going to happen, tonight. So after some mild begging, I convinced him to try again, that I wouldn’t pull away this time. Fortunately, I was able to keep my word. There was the electrifying moment of our lips touching and then…the tongue. For a moment, I panicked. My eyes still wide open, I asked myself Can I still breathe? Yes I have my nose. Do I like this? I looked at his face, with his eyes closed and his head moving slightly, he seemed to be enjoying himself. The verdict was still out for me.
