Saturday, March 13, 2010

Translating Life into Words - A Kiss

I’ve been kissed many times, just “lots and lots” as one of my children would say. Kissing is nice. I like to do it. I love a baby’s first open-mouthed kisses and the laughing smiles that come with them. I cherished my grandmother’s pecks on my cheek. The memory of her parchment dry lips pressing gently into my cheek will never leave me. My lover’s kisses are varied, pleasurable, erotic or chaste, passionate or gently loving.

There is one kiss that rests in my mind more than all others. I’m not sure how to describe it. In cold clinical fashion I was surprised by a lover’s gentle kiss, loving eyes and a whispered “I love you.” Our lips touched lightly and clung together as they parted. The feeling was intense, lovely, even if it was caused by sticky spit gluing our lips together, making them reluctant to part. This wasn’t a closed eyes kiss. It was too quick for that. But it, above all others, is the kiss I remember most. Another one of those and its character would have changed from gentle love to urgent, needful mating.

I intend two of my characters to share a similar kiss. Describing it effectively eludes me. How do I put on paper the sense of surprise – maybe unexpectedness is a better word? I knew my mate loved me. How do I describe the surprised contentment and lingering passion left behind by this one gentle and brief kiss and the feeling of pleasure and regret left by the parting of our lips, even if it was only a bit of spit that sealed them together?

A kiss isn’t always just a kiss, and a sigh isn’t always just a sigh.


  1. I don't think I have ever had that perfect kiss. Maybe I have, but being a man... I wouldn't remember. But I am glad you have one to remember.

    I don't know how to describe it either, but I think you did it well already. But you want Jael to describe it in the context of your story. I know you will find the words.

  2. Gary Inbinder8:34 AM

    Hi Pixie,

    In "Confessions of the Creature," I described the magically transformed Frankenstein monster's first kiss. I imagined him as an awkward teen at his first dance.

    Marfa stood before me, about one and a half feet below eye level. I towered above her, silent and rooted to the spot. I, who had railed at Nature and my Creator, could barely dare to look her in the face. She laughed, “Viktor Viktorovich, are you going to stand there like a great, dumb oak tree, or will you ask me to dance?”
    I mumbled something in response, and she led me by the hand. People pointed rudely and laughed; I wished I were somewhere else. In the midst of the clearing, I heard the balalaikas, and began clomping about in crude imitation of a Barynya.
    At the end of the dance, she took me to a dark spot on the edge of the fields, looked into my eyes and smiled. “I didn’t think it possible; you dance worse than Kolya the Bear.”
    I believe I blushed, and mumbled, “I’m very sorry, miss. I’ll take you back to your friends now.”
    “Don’t you want to kiss me, first?”
    She tugged at my sleeves; I bent down, she stood on tiptoes, gently brushing my lips with hers. Her mouth was soft, tasting like sweet apple dipped in honey and spice. We returned to the crowd holding hands; when I saw Kolya, he smiled and winked. I smiled back at him.

    Best, :)