“The decision to kiss for the first time is the most crucial in any love story. It changes the relationship of two people much more strongly than even the final surrender; because this kiss already has within it that surrender.” Emil Ludwig
“Listen to this!” He reached over and turned up the volume before he even started the car. This was only our fifth date, and I already started to see a pattern. Him, me, car, music. He looked at me in anticipation.
“Nice.” I said. The car began to vibrate with the simple rhythm of a drum and keyboard. The repeating melody, in a minor key, voiced the anguish permeating more and more of me. The sweetness of the evening ahead, seemed to grow heavy with each new beat. The weight slowly encircled me, like a cocoon. The melody echoed my heart’s ache. Ache from the reality that things were changing. I was changing. My internal compass pointed a specific direction, yet I was being molded by outside forces, and I didn’t know how to stop it. My gut was telling me one thing, and other voices in my life were drowning out my desires. Desires that I’d had since I was four years old.
The immediate past seemed to whoosh away the minute he spoke. It was like the hours from that day suddenly became a far away past. When I sat in his car, I entered his world- which was quickly becoming my world.
The music continued, growing more intense and full with each measure. My feet tapped the floor-board and I glanced at him once more as we pulled away from the curb in front of my parents’ small brick house. The green dash-board lights cast a gentle glow on his long slim fingers. I glanced at his face as he adjusted the knobs on the stereo. He was beautiful. Small wisps of blonde hair, framed by the black leather head rest, looked like feathers dancing on his shoulders. Although his eyes were icy blue, and his skin creamy peach, a strong nose hinted at his Native American ancestry.
It had all been clear and simple, up until now. It was as if I had been standing in a well lit room, and now it grew dim. An unseen person was slowly adding darkness. I fought to keep my night vision alive. The music helped.
When the music played, the room lit up. Like watching the steam lift on a summer day, I could see, and feel the essence of him, of me, of us. I was 18, but somehow I knew I had entered the part of my life that was quickly shaping my future.
As the music continued, he patted the dashboard in perfect time with the drums, which wasn’t any surprise. He was a drummer. In fact, that was something I loved about him. His constant rhythm. The tapping on everything, everywhere.
“I love this.” I said, knowing he was waiting for my response. “It is really cool. The percussion is melting me!” Sometimes I found myself saying what I thought other people wanted to hear, but recently, I had begun saying exactly what I thought, not trying to please anyone. Ironically, my honest opinions and thoughts seemed to draw him closer to me.
“Listen, here comes a great part.” He glanced at me with his blue eyes, and I felt the world stop. His smile slid inside of me. How could watching someone else smile make me feel so good, so content? His joy seemed to bring me more pleasure than anything else I could think of. He radiated life. He was living his passion, and that passion lifted me off the ground.
I closed my eyes in response to the music. I wanted to feel it, wanted it to go inside my heart. We slowly pulled out of the driveway headed to a restaurant downtown Atlanta. As he slid his hand over to meet mine, the softness and warmth seemed to wrap around my whole body. I listened to the engine hum and felt the car begin moving. Without opening my eyes, I imagined the street lights moving past us, and felt the music press against my body.
“I’m gonna take you to one of my favorite restaurants.” He said while leaning towards me. “It’s called The Peasant. Have you ever been?”
“No, I haven’t. But I’ve heard of it.” I paused, remembering what I’d been told about it. I was pretty sure it was one of the best restaurants in Atlanta, maybe even had a five star rating. But I wasn’t certain what that even meant. The only person I knew that had eaten there was my uncle, a neurosurgeon at Emory Hospital.
“Isn’t it really expensive?”
“It’s not too bad. The food is really good”, he stressed the ‘really.’
“What’s kind of food is it?”
“It’s French.”
We drove on for a couple of miles. And the song ended.
“The atmosphere is what I want you to experience. The place is small, maybe even cramped, but it’s quaint. I think you’ll love it.”
“Sounds really nice.”
I studied his face as we headed closer in to the city. We came to a red light, at the intersection of Lullwater Drive, which had some of the nicest older homes in the whole city. “I think that’s Candler’s house. The guy who started Coke.”
He turned and looked at me, but really, it was more like he was trying to memorize part of me. He didn’t even comment on the house.
“After dinner, what would you like to do?” he asked.
“Well, we could go to a movie.” He didn’t flinch, so I quickly inserted my true hope, “or we just come back to my house and watch Saturday Night Live. I think the Go-go’s are gonna be on tonight.” I hoped the musical guest would be a good lure.
“Hm. I’d like to see them. And, I really don’t like the idea of being separated from you by an uncomfortable arm rest.” He said with a grin. I squeezed his hand in agreement.
“O.K..” I felt my body relax and grow warm at the thought of being wrapped up in his arms, laying my face in his chest, next to his soft cotton, collarless shirt.
As we neared the little restaurant on Peachtree, my heart rate sped up. After we parked behind the building, he came and opened my door. His long arm seemed to reach the door handle without him even bending over. While we walked, he slid his hand into mine. It felt like there was a place carved out in his hand, just for mine. Even if just our pinkies were hooked together, there was a spot for my little finger.
We strolled up the sidewalk passing couples who looked like they were headed to the Fox or the symphony. One couple, very well dressed, that looked to be thirty-something, exited the restaurant. I imagined that one day, I would be going into this restaurant again with him, in my thirties. I could not picture children, or a marriage. But I could picture us together in the future.
He opened the glass door and came in just behind me. A dark room, filled with soft voices and moving hands, emitted an aroma that reminded me of the melted garlic-butter sauce made by grandmother for our summer crab boils. There were small tables for two, covered with white table cloths and a tall candle encased in a lampshade. A small vase, filled with a single rose, sat beside the candle. The space between each table was just big enough for a waiter to pass through-if he turned sideways. The waiting area was simply an enclosed, floor to ceiling glass room. Thomas spoke with the maitre-d before he returned to stand close beside me.
“The wait is about 45 minutes. Do you mind?”
“Man, it smells good. I’m really hungry,” not sure if I could wait 45 minutes. I felt my stomach grinding against itself.
“It’s worth the wait.” He said, while leaning close to my ear. He must’ve heard my stomach growl.
A couple was called to their table, which left the little wooden bench near the door completely vacant. We looked at each other and he moved towards the bench, holding my hand to guide me. If he’d walked me out the door into traffic, I would have followed him.
I sat down first; and although there was plenty of room for us, he sat close enough to me that our legs pressed up against each other’s. The added warmth of his leg touching mine created a tug on my heart. Is this what love is like? I wondered.
Without realizing, our fingers entwined. I studied our hands, wrapped up like vines. The blonde hair covering the top of his hand and fingers seemed to hold the essence of his masculinity. My hand looked so small and delicate next to his. We opened our hands and pressed our palms together. With my right hand, I began tracing the outside of our fingers as our palms stayed connected, as if being pulled together by magnets.
“That is a neat feeling. Do it again.” He asked.
Time, at that moment, seemed to hold itself, almost suspended, while the warmth of our hands passed back and forth. The ache, again, came creeping in. This is just too perfect. I sat and absorbed the golden faces and low hum of the room. I want to spend my life with this man. My adult voice didn’t wait long to heap logic into my soul. It is truly ridiculous to think I can be certain about a decision like that, after only a few weeks.
“Hey, look at that couple over there in the corner?” He said and nudged me with his foot. “Look at how she won’t take her eyes off him while he’s talking.”
“I think they are in love. Look at the way she is twirling her hair and leaning towards him.” I said.
We sat quiet for a few minutes, I surveyed the other people in the restaurant but my eyes came to rest again on the couple in the corner.
“He’s leaning towards her now. Look at his hand, lying on the table, face up. He wants to hold her hand.” He said with confidence.
“She wants to hold his, too. Look at her smiling at him.” I was enjoying this analysis.
“Oh, look, she’s touching her face. You know what that means?” I continued
“What?”
“She wants him to kiss her.”I leaned over, putting my chin on his shoulder, and whispered in his ear.
“You think so?”
“Definitely.” I said, looking back at the couple. They seemed to be the only ones in the restaurant other than us. My stomach increased its conversation with the garlic and fresh bread and I tried to stop it by pressing my hand on my abdomen. I turned my head to see his expression.
He looked at me at exactly the same moment I turned to look at him. He raised the hand that was holding mine, and touched my chin, while still keeping our fingers locked together. He leaned close and whispered, “Does she really want him to kiss her?” He gradually leaned closer, so close to me that our noses touched. I could feel his breath on my face while he waited for me to answer.
My legs quivered and my palms began to sweat.
“Yes.” Was all could manage to say. Frozen. I was definitely frozen. His free hand reached up and lightly touched the back of my neck, gently moving my hair. Tingles went running down my spine and I inhaled in little gasps. He brought my head and chest closer to his and continued to gaze at me. I felt the room start to spin, and a hunger- for something eternal- grew inside of me. I kept my eyes locked on his, not wanting to break the gaze, not wanting to leave him for a second, even to blink.
His lips moved a little closer to my mouth, and he gently pressed both of them against my top lip. My eyes closed, automatically. I leaned a little closer to him, to feel his lips even better. The skin, so soft, seemed unbelievably perfect.
I cupped his bottom lip between my lips, and held it for a moment. I inhaled through my nose, and experienced a strong scent that I knew was his. This dose of masculine aroma triggered a wild feeling inside of me. My hand, which was still on my abdomen, reached up to touch his cheek. I kept my eyes closed, letting my palm caress the side of his face. I combed the hair next to his ear with my fingers. I heard a low moan. I didn’t know if it was from me or him. I wanted to explore his face, his mouth, with my hands.
He continued to gently sweep his lips against mine. His lips parted slightly, and he pulled away. He gently tilted my head to the right, angled his to the left, and returned to meet my lips with more eagerness. It was as if he was nibbling at my heart and soul. I’d been kissed a few times before, more good ones than bad ones, but this felt like more than a kiss. It was more of a willingness to be consumed type of experience. He continued to move his mouth against mine with a gentle passion that carried me out of the restaurant, out into the streets, above the city, then straight out of the earth’s atmosphere. A second wave of something, something bigger than I’d ever known, came rushing out of me. I wanted to sigh, cry, laugh and melt, simultaneously.
I craved his being, wanted to explore all of him. He pulled away again, and my fingers, travelled to the edge of his mouth and then moved over his bottom lip. I felt like a child exploring a delicate flower. He opened his mouth, turned his head quickly, and bit my finger. He held it between his teeth. I felt quick twang of pain shoot down my arm. My eyes popped open, and I saw a grin on his face. He looked as if he was hiding something.
“Oooouch.” Slowly crept out of my voice box.
He continued to hold my finger between his teeth, firmly. I grinned back at him.
After what seemed like six or seven minutes, although I know it couldn’t have been more than about fourteen seconds, he wrapped his lips around my finger. He gently pulled it into his mouth. Smooth, warm, wet. A sensation was transferred straight from his mouth to my lower abdomen. I had this urge to press my stomach onto his. I wanted to feel his skin on mine.
“Ohhhhh. That….. was… nice.” I managed to say.
When he released my finger, I began to trace his lips as our eyes stayed riveted to each other’s. I wanted to engrave the shape and feel of his mouth into my brain.
“Green, party of two.” Jolted me back to the room in which we sat. A tall young man, with auburn hair and sideburns, white towel draped over his right arm, led us to our table. The older lady sitting opposite us, with her date, smiled. Her soft wrinkles radiated warmth that followed me as we left the glass room.
