How to Kiss Me (for the first time)

“Kiss me and you’ll see how important I am” — Sylvia Plath

It is a strange and complicated thing to be welcomed by a body, but this is what is waiting for you. In a room where I could easily be sat across from you, surely you must know that it is no accident that I am next to you. I’ve been following your gaze for some time now. In between generous sips of an earthy pinot noir, I am rather amused by your conversation.

Sometimes when I am talking to you, in between the deep valleys of your voice, I lose track of where I end and you begin. Talking to you is like an extended conversation with myself, the best part of myself. I think of you and then I burst into smiles that I have to hide throughout the day. I’m not entirely sure of the alchemy that brought us to this moment, but it does seem like there is a project we were brought together to accomplish.

Sitting here with you, i come to myself with my head thrown back in laughter. My eyes drop to meet yours fixated on my lips. They are hard to resist, I know. What else would you say about these soft pillows of pink. As you contemplate kissing me, I wish to offer you some instruction

Before we begin, remember than I am not an undiscovered rainforest paradise. I am not a luscious, thick green that is waiting for you. I have been kissed times before you and I may be kissed times after you. You may even travel around this ant of a city and hear things about what I have made men feel. I cannot be sorry for this.

Please also note, we are not in a cheap romantic movie so try not to interrupt me with your kiss. It sounds charming doesn’t it? Sweep in, swallow my lips and queue the romantically victorious music, but it is not, not even a little bit. What you are telling me is “I’m not listening to you.” This is not the way I want you to kiss me.

When we are seated next to each other, you will notice my eyes soften, and my face tilt with inquisition. Here is how you answer. Introduce me to your hands, let them move somewhere close to my face. You may run your fingers through my hair or rest on my forearm. Hold my gaze and bring your face closer to mine. You may find that you travel a shorter journey than expected, because I will always move to meet you.

With my lips, you will find the peace that you came in search of. Feel the plumpness of my lips. I want you to be able to draw them with your eyes closed. When you are ready to kiss me with more commitment, open your lips gently and see if mine open to meet you and if they do, your tongue may search for mine. Don’t make the mistake of thinking the kiss is both a question and an answer. Your tongue shouldn’t move with too much force. How can you be so sure of where you are going?

While your hands are laid gently on my face or holding my neck with your thumb on my Adams apple, you may pull back and kiss me softly on my lips once again. Everything will come full circle and I may erupt in a full-teethed smile while my face is still pressed to yours. Smile with me. Kiss me where my lashes meet my cheeks, kiss me on my forehead in adoration and then pull me closer to you. We can continue our discovery, but maybe somewhere else.

Push your fingers in between the spaces of mine and walk me down through the cobblestoned alleys of the old city until we get to beach. We can take off our shoes, sinking with each step, curling our toes to feel each grain beneath us until our feet meet the foaming swoosh of the sea. This is a good place to repeat everything you have learned.

Your hands may drop below the small of my back. Hold everything you want, for as long as you want to hold it. Meanwhile my two palms, formerly placed on your back, will now lay gently on your shoulders, wrapped around neck. Here we will feel cloaked by the purple-black of the Barcelona sky. But there will be a gentle soundtrack of distant giggles and skateboards rolling against the pavement.

Let us not get carried away. Call me a taxi, but before you open the door, leave a gentle reminder of the dew of your lips against my cheeks. When I retire to my hotel room alone, I will meet myself in the mirror, cross my hands over the lace trim of my black silk blouse and pull it over my head only to realise that I am bathed in the salty, sour smell of seawater and sweet, lingering memories of you.