Waiting. I’ve done it for over twenty-five years, what’s another few seconds?
So I’m waiting. Patiently. I don’t want to rush this. I want to appreciate it. I want to remember it: every touch, every taste, every sound. You don’t wait this long just to have it pass so quickly that you barely remember it. Not that I actually think I’m likely to ever forget it, but I’d like to make sure.
His hands slide gently along the sides of my neck, meeting as his fingers tangle with my hair. I shiver a little at his touch, it isn’t cold, but it’s so gentle it leaves a trail of goose bumps along my skin.
His lips twitch into the slightest of smiles and I realise that is where my eyes have been focused, just watching him getting gradually closer. I flick them up to meet his, where amusement sparkles and dances with an excitement that is likely reflected in mine. This is happening, and my racing heart is testimony to how much I long for it.
I slip my hands round his back, holding on to him, pulling myself closer. Mere millimetres remain between our lips now, and I swallow hard to fight the anticipation before it overpowers me and I’m lost forever to the moment. I want to be here when this happens.
His breath is warm against my lips as it mingles with mine; and when I note that it smells of mint I fleetingly wonder if perhaps this had been his ultimate intention when he came here today. I don’t dwell on that though because his thumbs stroke achingly slowly down my neck as I get the first taste of him: The tiniest of touches as he nuzzles forwards.
My tongue automatically flits out to prepare my lips for more and I observe his eyes darken as he sees it. We freeze, eyes locked, last chance to back away from this. I feel my own smile growing as I watch his.
Nobody’s backing away.
Just one last step to be taken, we breathe in simultaneously before we lean forward and close the gap. His lips settle over mine. Finally. Soft and warm, and definitely tasting of mint. His scent surrounds me, encasing me in the sense of comfort and contentment that I have come to feel whenever he is near. Our lips move together as if they’ve done this hundreds of times before. His hands know where to hold, where to touch, to make me quiver with each caress, to make me ache for more.
We waited over twenty-five years for this, and I’m committing every second to memory. This will be one first kiss I remember forever. But, I’ll tell you now, I can’t wait for the second.