The topic's keep rolling in for my Memory Journal and today I'm about to revisit an experience most people will tell you they never forget and I believe that to be true. It didn't take me long to recall the very first real kiss I had and whom I was fortunate enough to share it with.
Remember the point of these exercises is to use free-writing, to recall a time and pour your thoughts out onto the page; who knows one day soon it may just go towards writing that memoir I long to produce.
I remember the kiss, the very first experience that left a flurry of butterflies swarming from the pit of my stomach, rising to a point where the poor boy on the other side of my mouth may have accidently caught one or two, his tongue projecting, capturing them like a Venus fly-trap.
Who was this boy who made my heart sing so loudly, who left such a tangible effect that has become a measuring stick for every other boy thereafter? We were just kids, ten or eleven at the time and who knows what possessed him to advance on a freckle-faced tomboy dressed in corduroy pants.
I remember our lips connecting, our eyes closing instinctively as though we had been doing this for years. I remember the smile that beamed a million stars as we finally pulled away from each other. The kiss had come from nowhere, and wherever nowhere comes from, came the milestone responsible for my first real taste of love.
He told me it was the best kiss he'd ever had, and I kept it secret that it was the first kiss I'd ever had. Did this mean we were going to be boyfriend, girlfriend? I didn't ask. His mother called us into the kitchen for a glass of lemonade and a biscuit, our eyes popping over the top of our drinking glasses, darting this way and that to avoid any awkward acknowledgement of one another.
His parents and mine are best friends and my mum was watching me, listening to the silence that followed me, that screamed to her something was going on. As it was, she would never learn of our kiss, it was our secret, Bruce's and mine.