There are few things more eternally intimate than a memorable kiss.
Give me a soft, warm kiss on a summer night by a field of fireflies. Lips slightly parted. Eyes closed. Flesh tingling.
Though I have had many more kisses than I can count, there is one that is more memorable than all of the others.
A summer party outside in the country and we’d only just met. The band was playing and lights were twinkling and so were the fireflies. The sound of laughter and boisterous beer drinking was going on all around us. But it all disappeared when he put his lips to mine, like some special lens on a movie camera, making everything blurry at the edges.
It was like drinking a strong, smooth Scotch for the first time. I could feel it, warmth traveling down the center of me. And I would recall it many times later, craving another taste of that soft swell of passion.