Love Story Part III

My first kiss took place in the romantic glow of the credits from "Goonies," on the floor of the living room of the house Mr. Brown Eyes was renting.

Not my first pick of locations. Trust me, as a ooshy, gushy, hopeless romantic (and because I had twenty-three years to think about it) I had given a lot of thought to how I wanted my first kiss to go down. Living in Idaho for three years convinced me I wanted it to take place in the snow, with fat, sparkling snowflakes floating down all around us. Then I moved back to Arizona and decided I could settle for a rainstorm, silver sheets of rain soaking through our clothes, lightning flickering in the distance.

I told Mr. Brown Eyes the snow daydream and told him he'd have to take me to Northern Arizona in the winter if he ever wanted to kiss me. He laughed. And so did I. But I was kind of serious. I was still hung up on this kissing in the snow idea, and I didn't want my first kiss to be anything less than perfect. I'd waited twenty-three years for it, after all.

Thankfully, once Mr. Brown Eyes and I started dating, my desire to kiss him overcame the need to pay attention to any silly details. I decided that a kiss from him would be perfect any old place, in any weather, under any conditions. Boat, train, truck, plane, rain, shine, snow...

But I am getting ahead of myself.

I went over to Mr. Brown Eyes' house that night to go running, dressed in my scrubby workout clothes, my hair pulled up in a ponytail. But we decided we didn't want to go running that night, so we sprawled out on the couch to watch "Goonies," which Mr. Brown Eyes constantly quoted but I hadn't seen since I was a kid. When the movie was over I wasn't in any hurry to leave, so we talked for a while. Really what I wanted was a kiss from Mr. Brown Eyes' beautiful lips, but I was new at this. How do you give someone a hint that you want to kiss them? It's not like holding hands, where you just put your hand in some obvious, easily-accessible location. Did I just close my eyes and pucker my lips? What if he didn't get the hint? Or, worse, what if I did something wrong?

We started wrestling and ended up on the floor, which seemed to me a little more kiss-friendly than the confines of the couch. But I was so wound up with uncertainty that there was no way I was making the first move. After a few minutes of flirting and resigning myself to that fact that maybe I should go home and continue this another night, Mr. Brown Eyes sighed and shook his head.

"You're driving me crazy," he said.

I laughed and tried to be coy. "Me?"

"I want to kiss you so bad right now but every time I try you turn away."

I hadn't noticed him making any efforts. "I want to kiss you, too," I sighed. "But I'm scared."

"Of what?"
"That I won't do it right." I blushed. Of course Mr. Brown Eyes already knew that he was my first boyfriend and first kiss, and instead of being weirded out by it he considered it an honor. "If you want to kiss me, you're just going to have to grab me and lay one on me. So I can't back out."

He took my suggestion to heart. We talked and flirted some more, then, just when I was least expecting it, he pulled me to him and pressed his lips to mine.

I discovered that kissing was much easier than I had imagined it would be. And even more wonderful. With his hands on my waist, his lips on mine, and my heartbeat pounding in my ears, I would have been content to stay on his living room floor all night.

Until his roommate walked out.

In his underwear.

Then it was time to go.

The first kiss (and the many following after) was perfect, and even though it didn't take place in a glittering snow globe, I drove home that night in a cloud of bliss, practically floating as I walked upstairs to my room. I couldn't stop smiling at myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth, my eyes two stars sparkling with happiness. I crawled into bed and lost myself in exquisite replays of Mr. Brown Eyes' kiss long before sleep ever claimed me.

Sweet dreams,
The Brown-Eyed Girl