The Splendid and Frightening Iss

The Splendid But Frightening Kiss

He just came up and welcomed her with a passionate kiss in the buffet line. I have no idea why that kiss has stayed with me all these years. I have masturbated to that kiss, dreamed of that kiss, written stories about that kiss, remembered back to it fondly, and I have recalled that as perhaps one of the more erotic visions of my life.

Why that is I have no earthly idea, except that for some reason it is arousing to think about, visualize, and recall all the details vividly. I have finished the scenario in my head, building stories that were constructed from that unexpected embrace of another man's wife in the dinner line at a swingers' resort.

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.

As much as I wanted it, I was afraid of the reality of what I wished for. Why do we want what we fear? Perhaps that is the hardest question to answer. Why does the kiss excite me when it scares me so much. I guess that is why we brave dangerous feats but fear the consequences. It is the risk that excites us so greatly. It seems the greater the risk the higher the return, the larger the thrill.

If she had gone off with him and had sex, would I think of it so often? Would I regret it and fret about it happening? Maybe so. Maybe not. I just know that the kiss she got from a stranger has stayed with me and has excited me to heights I don't even begin to understand. I had, of course, planned the weekend. Lobbied for it, made the reservations, and drove the distance, but I underestimated the impact of an unexpected kiss.

It still is one of the sexiest things I have ever witnessed, and I think about it often. I do not understand why, but I admit it has excited me now for all of the twenty-five years since it happened. When I saw her return it, electricity shot through me. It was simply an amazing thing to observe. For my wife to be greeted so passionately was heavenly, and I enjoyed it then and I still savor it now.

Maybe it was the surprise, or the intensity, perhaps it was the heat of it, or just the gesture, but it is foolish to discount it as nothing. For something to last so long and so vividly, there must be more than just the act. When a stranger came up to my wife and gave her such a spirited kiss, it left me with a memory I cannot overlook.