The July sun sprayed the brick alcove we were sitting in, turning the trees into green flags against the sky. His gray eyes were the closest thing we had to the fog rolling over the ocean of the coastal cities from which we both came; we lived 40 minutes apart and yet traveled 400 miles to meet each other. I was meant for this.

I had known him for two weeks, give or take a conversation or three. Before I was consciously thinking of him, my body was; the day after we met, I found myself feeling a sugary high of lust for his mouth. A shocking lust, a surprising lust—after all, I was still committed to my back-home boyfriend, committed to spending six weeks with these new things and new people and then returning home to welcome boyfriend arms. I watched this new boy's gray eyes sparkle, felt myself break into laughter more real than any 'I love you' said in the months before meeting him, and asked myself, Am I already that gone?

A week after I'd met him, I made the phone call: "No, no...don't be happy to hear from me..." It was one of the worst things I have ever done. It hurt, realising that the past two years had been full of lies and blind hope, but it's better this way. Yes, better. The future shone.

Then, that day. We woke up that morning and fell a little further down. Our conversation was superficial, both of us high-strung and nervous. I am sorry but when you were talking I was admiring the shape of your lips and evaluating their kissability. The neglected coffee sitting on the step next to us sweated drops of condensation as time slid to a stop, and the world started revolving around the heat I felt.

Not even in Idaho is the sun that hot at 8 am.

My first kiss, my very first kiss, was at thirteen. The ocean wind tangled my hair around his fingers, and his tongue was soft and wet and tasted faintly of potato chips. My second first kiss was shy and awkward; it took a few kisses' practice to fall into each other's rhythms.

But there, with him, with the morning sun still light and fresh, soaking into our hair like the happiness that was melting into every cell of my body, with him was bliss. We were puzzle pieces. I folded myself against his side and squinted against the sun so I could watch the light sparkle off his russet lashes; he pushed all the thoughts in my head away with his hand on my neck and I was suddenly no longer sure if the burn in my cheeks was from the UV rays or from the cells in my body all shaking and cheering at once, celebrating this one complete moment.

It was the first kiss that felt like a first kiss. His mouth was warm, his arm strong around my waist, his fingers brushing soft against my neck and collarbone. Fingers slide together and, I am so alive.

There were kisses afterward, and touches, and shy looks from behind lashes and stolen moments and sweet peals of laughter but nothing matches the innocent first.

You fall or fly every second, and a part of me is still soaring in the Idaho skies, lips still touched with fire, remembering the dappled shadows on the brickwork and the sun full on my face as I tasted perfection, as we shoved away the broad daylight in the glare of the sun and the world.

I have never believed in love at first sight, but I believe in synchronicity. I don't believe in a soulmate, but I believe that people get lucky sometimes. And sometimes I wonder, how long does it take to fall in love?

my real first kiss was with a guy i barely knew, and didn't particularly like. I thought he was cute and all, but there was no real connection.

But my second kiss was intriguing and wonderful. With someone I was attracted to, on some weird magnetic level.

He was my good friend, and we were both 15. We had been relatively close all through freshman year, but i had never really seriously considered him as an option. He had been skinny and awkward. But as the year came to a close, I noticed he had begun to grow up. He was taller, more muscular. I had sensed a strange sexual tension between us in the weeks before summer began, but I had ignored it on account that my friend was still desperately in love with him after a brief fling at the start of the year.

Now it was mid June. All of our friends were far away, traveling in Thailand or Mexico or other exotic places, and we found ourselves alone in the city. We had been hanging out a lot, going to this beautiful little beach that was always less crowded than most.

After playing around in the water for awhile, laughing and flirting, we settled down on to our towels, me leaning on his smooth, bare chest.

We had been talking so much lately that there was no late gossip we hadn't discussed, and found ourselves in a comfortable silence. I closed my eyes for a moment, wondering. I hadn't really had any connection with that other boy I had kissed. What would it be like to kiss someone I knew well, someone i had a weird attraction to? I opened my eyes and found myself becoming extremely aware of how close our faces were. All I had to do was turn my head ever so slightly and we would touch. I removed my sunglasses and looked up at the cerulean sky. I remember it being exceptionally clear and blue that day. The warm sun beat down on our intertwined bodies, the waves lapped casually on the beach. There was a sense of calm and perfection washed over me. I began to think of the reasons not to kiss him, and my friend's face surfaced in my mind. But why should I let other people keep me from from doing what i wanted to do so badly?
"This is fucked up." I whispered. And then i kissed him.

I don't know what I was expecting. Fireworks, musical crescendos...but none of that came. It felt different than the other boy, but still like a tongue moving around in my mouth. I quickly realized he was more aggressive, and I was intrigued. But in my mind I had a plan. I felt like things would go better if i built up a little anticipation and desire, so seconds after our lips touched, I pulled away.
"I'm sorry." he whispered.
"Don't be. We should probably go." I was far from satisfied. I thought one kiss would stamp out the curiosity about him. And yet, it had done just the opposite. In order to kiss someone well, you have to hold on for long enough to experience how their mouth and tongue works with yours. Before that happens, its a sort of blind feeling around. Since we hadn't kissed long enough to get a feel for what we were doing, I couldn't really pass a judgement about how it was. I knew right away I wanted to kiss him again, just to satisfy my curiosity, but I wasn't sure where or when.

After that day, we never looked at each other the same way again. Within a week I kissed him again, and this time I didn't pull away. I think that people hold that first kiss with this sense of awe and wonder, like the first kiss is always the best. But for me, the kisses that followed were infinitely more powerful. The more you kiss someone, the better you work together. I eventually fell in love with this boy, and making out with him would literally leave me numb, the rest of the world would just fade away and my head would spin, like people go on about in books. But that first kiss was just an act of curiosity.

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