August 9th, 2008 by Kateastrophe

I hadn’t been kissed in a long time. Like a looooong time (well for me. The Mormon kissing slut). I think it had been almost a year (if I could find my journal I would tell you the exact amount of time . . . but alas . . . it’s still in a box somewhere.)

A good friend took pity on me and set me up with a guy in one of her classes. The only day we could get together was the night before I was leaving for study abroad in London. My last chance to get a kiss before I was off to Europe to kiss hot European guys. Excellent.

His name was Adam (not really. I change my names ’round here.). He was cute and sweet. Everything you’d imagine in a returned missionary attending Brigham Young University in 1999. Blonde hair, blue eyes, nice physique, quiet disposition . . . the perfect kind of guy. The kind of guy I should have always dated.

I don’t remember much about our date. We had a good time. We went hot tubbing. We held hands. We laughed. And then it was time to go home. It started raining on our way down the hill to my house. It was a gorgeous May evening and the rain just made it that much better.

We pulled up to my house and quickly ran to the cover of the porch, giggling. I realized in that moment that I’d never had the normal first kiss on the doorstep. All my previous kisses had happened during movies on the couch or in a park or other (semi) odd places. THIS was how it was supposed to happen. I mentally prepared myself for the perfect first kiss.

We stood on the porch for a few awkward minutes talking about what a good time we had, swaying back and forth awkwardly, looking at our feet. The electricity in the air was noticeable. The sound of the rain on the pavement and the glowing sidewalk just added to the palpable tension. We’d both glance up at each other occaisonally, but never at the same moment . . . until suddenly, we did.

He moved in gently, first taking my arms and pulling me closer and then tenderly cupping my face. He smiled gently and pulled me to his face, kissing me softly.

It was the perfect kiss, with the seemingly perfect guy, at the perfect moment.

I felt NOTHING.

Literally nothing. It was like kissing a wall. No spark, no electricity, no butterflies in my stomach. I couldn’t believe it! I’d never had a kiss that did NOTHING for me before. I loved kissing! I loved everything about it!

I pulled away and then kissed him again immediately, assuming it was just a fluke.

Nichts. Nada. Niets.

I timidly said goodnight and that I hoped I see him again when I got back from Europe and let myself inside, saddened by the realization that my perfect guy . . . well . . . wasn’t.