I have, frankly, been uneasy about that kiss, been haunted by that kiss, in ways I also don't fully understand, although the reason for the fear is less complicated. Insecurity, of course, about the possible outcomes. Lack of confidence in my own sexuality and desirability. However, the truth is it is more arousing than troubling, more memorable than painful, and without a doubt more erotic than frightening. It is, clearly, the kiss of the century.
When it happened I watched, spellbound, aroused, titillated, and slightly intimidated. I had brought her there for that very thing, but to have it happen was actually very scary. To see it was conflicting. It aroused me, but at the same time it put the fear of god in me. The fact that she responded as enthusiastically made it better and worse at the exact same time. I wanted the response, but I feared her liking it as much as she obviously had. That is the dichotomy facing so many men today. What they want they fear that they will get and cannot handle, cannot pull through, cannot survive. It is the sexual challenge of the times. Can you really handle what you desire?
The night of the kiss I thought she might 'experience' someone else. Except for the kiss, it didn't happen. It most likely didn't happen because I didn't let it. I held on to her like a kid at the mall holding a mother's hand. I didn't let go. I held her so everyone would see we were bound together and she was not available, but the kiss came fast and without warning, although being there was permission enough. I knew she may be sexual with someone else and, of course, in one way I wanted it to happen. We had, of course, traveled 200 miles to get there, but as much as I wanted it I was afraid of it, perhaps that should be obvious. That is the pathetic contradiction of sexual risk taking.
