As writers, we necessarily have to draw on our own experiences—with a little poetic license, of course. From your first kiss ever, to your first French kiss (oo-la-la) to your first kiss with your significant other—firsts are memorable, but sometimes for the wrong reasons.
My first ever kiss was when I was nine years old. Shocking isn’t it? But then I didn’t experience another one until I was sixteen so I’m chalking it up to curiosity or the boy, Frankie T., all of twelve, being a little, well, exuberant.
We were sitting in a tent in his backyard, sharing a bag of salty potato chips. How did he know that potato chips were my favorite snack?
I didn’t know him all that well, but he was very cute. He was always getting into scrapes, always very daring and adventurous. There were lots of neighborhood stories about Frankie T. These facts should have been clues as to what might happen, but a nine- year-old’s trouble antenna isn’t generally attuned to THAT kind of trouble yet.
He leaned close, looked right into my eyes and said, “Wanna, kiss?” My pulse rate, which was already thumping away just being in a tent with him, went into overdrive. I don’t remember saying anything, just staring into his golden brown eyes. Next thing I knew, his lips were on mine, salty and firm. He was kissing me. I held my lips tightly shut and barely moved. It was exciting—but nothing more. He kissed me again. This time, I remember, I didn’t find it exciting—just salty.
And my trouble antenna finally started bleeping. Before he could try again, I rose, grabbed a handful of chips (had to have those chips) and told him I had to go. Walking home I wondered about what I had done. And figured I probably shouldn’t have. So I never went over to Frankie’s again. And he never said more than hi to me. I probably wasn’t much of a kisser.
Still, for seven more years, I clung to the fact that I had at least been kissed once! And I can promise you, my kissing experience at sixteen went a whole lot better for both of us.
Sometimes, then, writers have to supplement their own experiences with a little research-of the virtual kind.
The web site Virtualkiss.com has a whole section devoted to first kiss stories, http://www.virtualkiss.com/stories/firstkiss. A quick perusal of sixty-five first kiss listings showed that the majority of people (40) were fourteen or under when they had their first kiss. Of them, twenty-seven experienced their first kiss at age thirteen or fourteen. Only one cited age nine. (My cheeks are red!)
And did you know that there are sites that will give you step-by-step instructions on kissing? Check out http://www.kissingnet.com/french-kissing-tips for matter-of-fact, fairly reasonable kissing instructions. Who knew?
Some of their suggestions include brushing your teeth and taking a bath—ahh, definitely. And “don’t bite. Just nibble. Whatever, you do, don’t bite.”—can’t argue with that.
But nothing beats the first kiss of the man you fall in love with. The heart-stopping, world jarring, lightening striking kiss of real love. Especially if you’re not expecting it!
In my story Re-ride at the Rodeo from The Wild Rose Press, Clay is a saddle bronc rider on the rodeo circuit looking for a good time when he spies a feisty little blonde who looks like she could use one. Unfortunately for him, Dusty wants nothing to do with a rodeo man. Her father did the circuit and he was never there for her—and then he died. Now she’s looking for a happily ever after that includes a white picket fence, not a horse trailer..
When Clay corners her in a honky-tonk parking lot and asks her why she hadn’t danced with him, she knows he’s looking for than just a dance.
He was going to kiss her. She knew it and still she rooted in place. Firm lips gently breezed across hers. The taste of hops filled her senses. His lips brushed again as his hand touched her shoulder and tugged her closer. She tingled clear to her toes. His lips pressed harder against hers, seeking a response. She opened and his tongue slid inside. A whimper of surrender escaped. He reacted to the sound by pressing her head closer to him, holding her for his taking as his mouth devoured her. She barely noticed the stubble of his beard scraping her cheek.
“So sweet,” he mumbled against her lips. Strong fingers threaded through her hair. Hot and hungry, he deepened the kiss as he fitted her between his legs and moved against her like he couldn’t get enough, like he was ready to swallow her up.
Her legs weakened.
Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck, skimmed her fingers through the hair that feathered his collar, and hung on, giving into the desire for a connection with someone warm and willing. Need pounded within her. It had been such a long while since Bradley.
Clay’s hands, hot and heavy, moved to her waist as his mouth drank her in. One hand slid across her back and pressed her nearer, while the other inched near her breasts. His thumb rubbed against her nipple. A jolt of sensation shot through her, and her mind switched on.
What was she doing?
So do you have a “kiss” story to share—first or otherwise? Or maybe there was a particular book you read or movie you watched that had a memorable kissing scene? Inquiring minds want to know so please share with us in the comment section.
Thanks for stopping by!
Anne Carrole writes both contemporary and western historical romance and is co-founder of the popular website, www.lovewesternromances.com. For more about what Anne is up to, stop in at http://www.annecarrole.com