Sixteen years of never being kissed.
Two boyfriends and neither lasted long enough to receive one.
We wanted to watch the sunset. My friends, him, and I piled into his truck and drove out for ice cream. I noticed he kept sliding his hand around my waist, or tickling my sides lightly to pull me closer. (Even though he knows damn well I hate being tickled... although when he does it I can’t help but enjoy it...) That’s when I sensed he was planning something.
We got to the spot where the sun had already begun to descend. He set up his hammock between two trees, and I sat down in it, him taking the spot next to me. His arm wrapped around my waist, and he traced circles on my waist as I strummed laid back songs on my ukulele. As it became darker, he pulled me closer, his fingers taking advantage of my ticklish nature, so I wrapped my fingers in his to stop him from torturing my skin with his gentle fingertips.
My friends went to put some stuff in the car, and he brushed his cheek up against mine, the prickly stubble of his overgrown facial hair scratching my skin, but I didn’t care much. Slowly he got closer, and I followed his lead, until our lips touched, softly at first, but as he adjusted his position he pressed against me with more pressure.
It was strange, feeling another person’s lips against mine, his fingers gripping mine, and his lingering kisses creating a racket in my stomach. Strange, but I longed for more.
Then a fucking cow in a nearby field mooed, causing us both to burst into an uncontrollable laughter.
Our kisses had ended, for that time being, but the entire atmosphere was perfect. The sunset, the hammock, the love songs I played, it was like a movie, apart from the intrusive animal at the end. Although I sort of loved that cow for lightening the mood, and definitely making things memorable beyond a perfect kiss.