This is just a short essay about something I can't let myself forget.

-T.M.

© T.M. Nox

All rights reserved.

Today, I thought about the best kiss I have ever had.

We hung out by the train tracks listening to Origin on my iPhone and chugging Pabst’s Blue Ribbon, the summer sun blaring down on us through the trees. He took my phone and searched YouTube for some song with lyrics I could not understand and blast beats that really gave me chills. I looked at his face as it lit up with every discovery of some new sinister melody; his orange freckles that scattered across the bridge of his nose were brighter than how I usually saw them under the fluorescence. I could not exactly consider him pale; his skin was adorned in numerous arrangements of vibrant colors in an array of random tattoos and markings. All of which held such fascinating and captivating stories. I was invited to hear a few of them but there were many more under his cotton white tee shirt. Some of them are still a mystery to me now.

I was too good-mannered for him and we both knew it. Hours before, I listened to seemingly countless tales of youthful troublemaking and delinquency. With each deliciously absurd tale from his past, I felt more and more like an imposter, a visitor from another world of straight-laced behavior and innocence. I was a tourist in his very colorful and exotic world. But on that day it did not matter. We were drunk and a little high and nothing mattered but the summer and the sweat and the music. Nothing else mattered but the blast beats that swam through me and I did not care about the rumors about him. I did not care that he was a degenerate that jumped out of his skin with utter joy when mentioning graffiti or some other form of debauchery. I did not care that he had no belief in anything beyond himself; no father, no plans. I did not care that I was too “goody goody” and vanilla and he was dark and grungy and frightening. It did not matter to him, either.

I stood up from the large boulder we sat on together, covered in spray painted tags I could not understand but he was exceptionally fluent in. I looked up at the sky. A large commercial liner flew overhead and I closed my eyes. These were the sounds of a calmness I was accustomed to. I closed my eyes and listened to the music from my phone and the plane overhead. The trees and the cars and everything. I listened to it all, inebriated and free. I turned back towards him and he was suddenly in front of me, looking at me, admiring me then. I looked up at him, he towered over me and I loved that. Before I could say anything, he swept me up in his arms and pressed me close to him. He bent down and kissed me. It was hard and wild and wet. His hands explored every part of my body like displaced pilgrims; taking residence for a short while at my neck, my chest, my hips, my waist. Finally, they found a home on the small of my back, flirting to inch further down. His lips were thin but so soft; he was experienced with them, unafraid. His tongue parted my lips and entered my mouth. It didn’t matter to him if he was invited or not. Somehow, my arms made it around his shoulders and my fingers caressed his low cut ginger hair. I curved into him, my legs forgetting how to prop me up. I matched his intensity and our tongues danced with each other, getting to know what we were about. He reached up and took my dreadlocks into his hand. He gave them a firm but gentle tug and I moaned, taking his bottom lip in between my teeth and nibbled. He groaned. I laughed. We were beginning to discover things about one another. Things that could not normally be said with words but with devastating caresses, sensual moans and deep groans. He dropped his can of cheap beer to the ground and held me in a full embrace. We kissed for what seemed like forever within the seconds that it occurred. We kissed like we were never going to kiss someone else again under the trees and the heat. Surrounded by empty beer cans and blunt roaches we kissed. We were one body, sweaty and horny, lust sick for one another. We kissed. I did not want to stop kissing him but I was out of breath. And so was he. He let me go and I could not feel my legs and my cheeks were on fire. Our brown eyes met and we laughed in amazement and disbelief. It almost felt like, very briefly, his spirit invoked mine and met at our mouths in congress. 

Or it could have just been the alcohol. Who knows?

 I said, “Wow” before I realized words were coming from my mouth and I showed him all my cards then, just laid out on the table for him to see. He chuckled and said, “Wow”, too.

Wow.

We sat back down on the boulder and I put on some song by The Acacia Strain.

To this day, I think of that kiss and I smile a little, the flutter of butterflies occupying my stomach as I remember the gentleness and audacity of his lips. I was flirting with a world I had no business in when I spent two weeks trying to figure him out. I never got the chance to solve his puzzle and he never had his chance to corrupt me. We both retreated back to our worlds once the vacation was over. It’s too bad he turned out to be such an ass. But, then again, I already knew that.

Rolling stones always are.

The End.