Kissing Courage

McBeth.

"To me there is no greater act of courage than being the one who kisses first"
-Janine Garofalo

Amen, Janine. What bravery must swell in the heart of one who is enamored with another, bravery enough to overcome the nagging possibility of abject undeniable failure? In Western heterosexual culture the "Kisser" role has generally been assigned to the fellas. Where would we be without our fairytales of shining knights fighting valiantly for the hand of the fair maiden?

We'd be nowhere, that's where we'd be. We would have nothing on which to base girlish dreams, nor (for those of us who find fairytales offensive and demeaning) would we have anything to shove away from in disgust. Thanks, guys. I mean that sincerely - thank you. You may sometimes be purposeful pigs and you may not be fluent in clitorese, and you may occasionally be all the wrong kinds of inappropriate at the oh-so-very-wrong times, and you may also forget to shut up and just hug her when she is sure her ankles have sprouted an extra fat layer and three dark hairs have simultaneously relocated from her eyebrows to set up shop on her chin, but you certainly have your wooing work cut out for you. For that, you have my admiration and support.

I have recently come to have a far greater, far more uncomfortably close understanding of what you have been dealing with for centuries and all I can say is pucker up sweeties because I've got something juicy for you.

But first, let's talk for a moment. I mean, we don't know one another very well so maybe if we exchange pleasantries first we won't feel so awkward when I finally settle on that moment... that moment when I tentatively -but casually- extend my arm around you, when I press my freshly Burt's Bees-ed pout softly to your lips.

I've recently reentered the dating world after a long contented hiatus. Yes, I know, the same thought crosses my mind... What on earth was I thinking? I'm no slinking sex kitten. I got no game. I can't dance. Though my last partner and I split nearly two years ago I haven't felt deep urgent compulsions to leap tall buildings or swim oceans to impress anyone. Not one urge, which may speak more to a possible lackadaisical laziness on my part than anything else, but still, I think being urge-less says something.

What I have been feeling is lonesome. I've been missing the grown-up silliness of adults sharing 10 year olds' humor, the conversation and glasses of convivial jocundity poured by someone else especially for me. I've missed having someone search for and delightedly discover one of my secret sweet spots. I've missed curling up together. I've missed sharing details of my day. I've missed counting on someone. I've missed knowing I'm being counted on so I had better step my ass up to the plate because the show is ON, buster. I've missed teasing and teasing taken too far. I've missed hurt feelings, fighting and make-up sex. I want all of that! I want another adult who is mystified by me; I want to know one other person trusts me especially. I want to have a Certain Other Someone who thinks I am remarkable, who may be slightly alarmed but who is nevertheless willing to play my favorite bedroom games. I want someone special who I can come to trust with my ugliest secrets, someone who will trust me to share their ugliest secrets.

How about you pour me a glass of whatever it is that you have there in yours and we talk? Because darlin', you've undoubtedly been shot down more times than you have digits on which to count the failures and I need your counsel now. How do you DO this thing over and over? You're a walking talking miracle, that's what you are. Whiskey? Sure, I'll take five fingers and a dribble.

Now let me tell you, there's someone I kissed; or nearly kissed, or soon will kiss. I will, I will! I've only begun to understand the other side of this predatory hunt. You see, I've been prey. I liked being prey. Well, I didn't LIKE being prey - being on the receiving end has a tendency to leave one seeing the reflection of a promising but bloody porterhouse in the mirror, but there are definite advantages to laying back in defenseless repose, feigning disinterest, begging for gentle mercies. Prey relies on a different set of tactics to complete a successful hunt.

Now here I am, sitting here with you, three fingers to the wind with two to the air, telling YOU what the chase is like from the aggressor's perspective. Now ain't that something? Haw!

Now this one, she's something. Really something. You probably already know this, but the cherishable ones, I think, are the ones who don't think they are. Hidden gems. It's not my job to make someone see their worth, but I sure can see it if it's there, and when it is there - oh my yes. The eyes, the smile - oh my yes. Now I'm beginning to understand what it is that you must be seeing in beatific winsome glances. I kissed her, you know. It was just a soft kiss on her cheek, but I meant six years worth of please let me catch up in that kiss. I called her while driving home, to tell her that I intended not to aim for her cheek the next time. She laughed and blushed across the telephone lines and though I was mystified how I possibly could find the courage within myself to follow through, I think about her eyes, her smile - oh my yes. So I am learning what you also have had to learn, that I can aim with delightful accuracy the next time.