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I had forgotten that kissing could be so good, and I remember thinking, “Divorce rocks!
He was my one and only date from the slew of lunatics that had contacted me via an Internet dating service.
He promptly swept me up and carried me to the pool house, the gallantry of the gesture intensifying the beauty of the kiss. Never did I expect such passion from an investment banker. He was shy, I was told by the friend who’d set us up.
I kept this in mind after he’d driven me home, as I sat in his car waiting for my kiss. “All that time for that.” No kisses are better than bad kisses. There is the I-am-terrified kiss, which is brief and unimaginative, and the I-have-issues kiss, which is frenetic and overly imaginative.
Danny scrawls nervously on a legal pad at the desk, while Rene stares straight at us and smiles. When given the choice of where to meet, I’ve been known to opt for a restaurant far from my apartment.
“My neighborhood’s so boring,” I say, but I’m really thinking of the cab ride home-lengthy rides make for lengthy kisses. I choose my victims wisely, reserving it for those I long to kiss. But time and again, I close my eyes and kiss, thinking, “If I can’t see him, he can’t see me.” Mission accomplished, I arrive at my door, thank my date for a lovely evening and politely shake his hand. Some kisses occur spontaneously, the element of surprise compensating for the lack of anticipation.
I listened as he prattled on and on about the latest developments in molecular biology. I suppose I had frightened him into action, but his kiss was a terrible bore. The noncommittal kiss lacks luster and zeal, and the unaware kiss is just plain wet.