A Lesson In Kissing

His name was Micah. I always loved that name because it was so different.

And so was he from me.

We grew up in the same Chicago suburb which was rather large but neighborhoods were small. The kids you’d run into on the street were the ones you’d likely run into the next day, if you really wanted to, because 6 blocks isn’t far away, especially not on a bike. And that’s how four 15 year old girls, heading into sophomore year, met a large group of 16 year old boys from another high school.

The boys went to Timothy Christian, a Christian Reform school, in our neighborhood. The families generally kept to themselves so even though we lived within close range, our paths never crossed since we went to different grade schools. Growing up, I truly believed we were considered "taboo" to the TC kids.

Well, there’s no way to stop teenage boys and girls from meeting when they have their minds set on this. Straddling our bikes on a street corner, we talked. Cops would come by and kindly ask us to scatter. So we’d move to a different one.

One sure thing was the girls longed to kiss the boys and so did they. I’m not certain which side was more inexperienced; us or them.

Being late bloomers, the girls had heard plenty of stories about kissing. Experienced girls warned us that some boys kissed like Hoover vacuums and others so sloppy they didn’t know what to do with all the spit. None of this sounded appealing however, one by one, my girlfriends began to pop their kissing cherries.

Micah and I were still just talking but knew deep down we’d do this together. Everyone’s ready at different times.

In the fall and back to our respective high schools, weekends remained the same. The group got together because the other girls were “hooked up”.

It was just before Halloween when we gathered in George’s garage; his parents allowed boy/girl get togethers, and Micah asked if I wanted to go inside. Before we’d only been alone rather by default. This time, he was asking me to be ALONE.

Liking him, a lot, I went. Sitting closer than I ever had to a boy on a couch, he asked what I’d like to do. Having only one thing on my mind, I blurted, “Let’s make out.” Instantaneously, his lips pressed softly against mine; his breath smelled so sweet. Kissing for what seemed like an hour, he suddenly asked, “Can we French kiss?”

I was so far into the moment to say anything other than “OK”.

It was the first “real” kiss either of us experienced. I was 15 and he, 16. And it was completely opposite of hoover-like or sloppy with spit.

It was one of the sweetest, most gently intense feelings I have ever experienced in my life.

To this day, I credit Micah for my immense love of kissing someone special.

YEAH WRITE