Balancing at the edge of his bed I waited for the flash of his blonde hair in the doorway as he returned to the room bearing a glass of water. I had requested the refreshment moments before and he dashed out on the hunt before the words had finished escaping my mouth. His icy eyes took me in greedily as I gulped down the water. Drained, the lifeless glass lingered in my hand. He pried my last defence from my grip. I relented. I watched as the glass took refuge on the floor with only our feet for company. My eyes fixed upon the eyes of my accuser, I knew what was to come; I could feel the heat of his intensity concentrate on my mouth as if he were willing them to part voluntarily. Naturally, I tensed up.
The room dulled as his face gradually eclipsed the lights. I closed my eyes but after having waited the customary time for us to connect I reopened them to assess the room: his face was suspended in front of mine, I don’t know if it was because I had leaned away extending the initial lip-travelling distance by an awkward mile. The tension was mounting to a point of climax beyond my control as the scene which I had watched unfold was still short of ending. My limbs demanded a break out, I should have crossed my legs or flexed my fingers. I should not of laughed.
This was to be our first kiss, we had anticipated it for a year but the cumulation of frustration transformed into a humorous observation in my mind, akin to watching a male primate making moves on a female in captivity. He did not share my amusement. I only realised my mistake as his eyes could no longer meet mine. The damage was done. He didn’t speak to me for a year. Another year later we had our first and last kiss.