I dated exactly one woman in my life. Her name was Kristine and she is now my wife of almost eleven years. Everything about her is 100% kosher and I mean everything. Psychologists speak of the unhealthy nature of codependency yet I proudly thumb my nose at their drivel and count myself as a codependent card carrier.
Every time I kiss my bride, I get butterflies in my stomach and my toes tingle a little, crackling the yellowing nails and causing the ever-present athlete's foot between my toes to itch. Even a small peck has this effect on me, except that I don't go in for a peck too often - something that is irritating to Kristine, at times. I'm all about the five minute long, passionate kiss.
I'll kiss Kristine in the middle of a diaper change, around the shower curtain while shampoo is running into her eyes, at the Gatorade booth mid-marathon, between trombone puffs while she is playing Ludwig van Beethoven's Fifth Symphony in C Minor, whilst she is pulling a shirt over her head, between loud curses while she is struggling over a calculus problem, and even at the 30-second mark of swishing Listerine Mint Mouthwash. And the kiss will always be the best kiss ever, until the next one.
But it wasn't always that way.
Kristine and I began our dating relationship in a uniquely fundamentalist way - we decided we wouldn't kiss until our wedding day. Not more than a few hours after meeting her, I kissed her above her top lip and said, "that wasn't a kiss because I didn't kiss you on the lips." We played this game for about a week until one night, I couldn't take it anymore.
We were passing through the small town of New Ulm, Minnesota, on our way to somewhere from the place we started from, when I veered off the road into a K-Mart parking lot. Being that it was K-Mart and 7:00PM, there was only a car or two in the lot. I threw the car in park, unfastened my seat belt, and twisted my body around so that I was on my knees on the passenger side, between her knees, staring straight into her eyes.
I went in for the kiss.
I hit her with an open mouth and saliva started pouring out. I had no clue how to handle a woman's lips and she valiantly tried to come up for air, drowning in the thick and bubbly fluid. We giggled our way through it, trying many a move for about 45 minutes. Then, I gave her a long, passionate hug for another fifteen minutes, twisted back into my seat, and drove away.
Kristine was silent for a mile or two.
"Was that good?", I asked.
"No...," she said, matter of factly, ending with one of her adorably sexy, deep-throated giggles that began in her lower chest.
And from that moment, I purposed to improve. I have to say, these days, the final kiss in Princess Bride has nothing on us.
Just don't ask Kristine.
Every time I kiss my bride, I get butterflies in my stomach and my toes tingle a little, crackling the yellowing nails and causing the ever-present athlete's foot between my toes to itch. Even a small peck has this effect on me, except that I don't go in for a peck too often - something that is irritating to Kristine, at times. I'm all about the five minute long, passionate kiss.
I'll kiss Kristine in the middle of a diaper change, around the shower curtain while shampoo is running into her eyes, at the Gatorade booth mid-marathon, between trombone puffs while she is playing Ludwig van Beethoven's Fifth Symphony in C Minor, whilst she is pulling a shirt over her head, between loud curses while she is struggling over a calculus problem, and even at the 30-second mark of swishing Listerine Mint Mouthwash. And the kiss will always be the best kiss ever, until the next one.
But it wasn't always that way.
Kristine and I began our dating relationship in a uniquely fundamentalist way - we decided we wouldn't kiss until our wedding day. Not more than a few hours after meeting her, I kissed her above her top lip and said, "that wasn't a kiss because I didn't kiss you on the lips." We played this game for about a week until one night, I couldn't take it anymore.
We were passing through the small town of New Ulm, Minnesota, on our way to somewhere from the place we started from, when I veered off the road into a K-Mart parking lot. Being that it was K-Mart and 7:00PM, there was only a car or two in the lot. I threw the car in park, unfastened my seat belt, and twisted my body around so that I was on my knees on the passenger side, between her knees, staring straight into her eyes.
I went in for the kiss.
I hit her with an open mouth and saliva started pouring out. I had no clue how to handle a woman's lips and she valiantly tried to come up for air, drowning in the thick and bubbly fluid. We giggled our way through it, trying many a move for about 45 minutes. Then, I gave her a long, passionate hug for another fifteen minutes, twisted back into my seat, and drove away.
Kristine was silent for a mile or two.
"Was that good?", I asked.
"No...," she said, matter of factly, ending with one of her adorably sexy, deep-throated giggles that began in her lower chest.
And from that moment, I purposed to improve. I have to say, these days, the final kiss in Princess Bride has nothing on us.
Just don't ask Kristine.
