It was the lip biting. Honest, hands down, it was the first time we
kisses and you nipped at my lip. It was on the couch, you know that one,
white, deep worn in cushions, an early ikea attempted at comfort. It
was tentative, as all first deep kisses are at first. At least the ones
that you have been waiting to take. Calculating the risks. Finally I had
moved forward, a quick brush, then a force. Full nature, like the sweep
of longing that moves in your body when you see a sunset. Eyes bursting
open, that first kiss. The gentle movement of your hand on my face.
Then more. The steady feel of your arm around my back, the firm grasp of
your fingers. Pulled. Not swept away or sucked. It was as if I was
pulled towards you with an uncontrollable pull. As if by some rhyme or
reason I could memorize the way my chest pressed against your, how my
fingers fit yours, how my lips met yours.
As if I was meant to learn those things, to practice them, to perfect
them. My skin ached. My bones burned. To yearn. As if I had touched you
this way before and had mourned the loss of the feeling only to long
for it in it’s absence.
How in this first moment of kissing did I feel that much. I urged
those feelings to be patient. Don’t fall to fast. Don’t seek something
that may not last. Then the nibble, the nip, the slight snap as you
snagged my bottom lip in your teeth. Then I knew, like the way I know
that speeding the car up one a small hill will product the roller coast
like jolt in my stomach. I knew. I became aware what I had to do. So I
bit back.
Then it was a whole other world. One based on competitiveness,
exhilaration, thrill. Perhaps here was fun to be had. Serious when need
be, aggressive the next, perhaps for a moment or two hilarity. Fission.
It no longer became about weighing the risks, instead about an uphill
race between a pair of running partners, competition, thrill, and the
challenge of the hill, the knowledge you have an equal right next to
you.
I knew as soon as you challenged, that this would be an adventure.
