The Kissing

The following story is part of my collection of personal essays called The Menial Stories of a 21-Year-Old. It portrays my own interpretation of how events have played out in my life— take it as you will. 

The kissing has always rattled my mind since my fifth-grade self started thinking about romance. Everything else seemed so easy— the interlocking fingers and the close cuddling on the living room couch— but the kissing? Oh God, the kissing. What if I’m bad at it? I can’t be bad at it. Even during my first (and last) relationship with my eighth grade boyfriend Jonny (which lasted two months by the way), I had this irrational anxiety about being the sloppiest, most repulsive kisser that Jonny had ever met. This fear scarred so deep down into my soul that I had no desire to kiss Jonny, because what if he thought I was so terrible at it that he decided to run away from me? And so, I never tried to kiss Jonny and never did.

As I needed to perfect the kissing skill before it could even happen, I would ask so many of my experienced girl friends about how the procedure exactly works. Their explanations were always shit, though. “Go in gently,” they’d say. “Think of kissing in terms of like…sharing a rhythm with your partner,” they’d say. Like, hello? Speak English. So, I remember going out of my way to ask my best college guy friend Gianni during my freshman year because I felt that maybe I needed a male’s perspective instead. One of my friends had also made out with Gianni before and confirmed that he was indeed an excellent kisser. Perhaps he knows something I don’t. Or maybe it’s just that his set of big, luscious lips do all the work. Unfortunately, Gianni’s response was also shit.

“So,” he said slowly, you kinda just have to…” Gianni then proceeded to make leisure movements with his puppet hands snogging each other. I was confused. Gianni has never been great at explaining things.

“But is there not a special way you do it?” I asked with such blatant curiosity.

Gianni responded briefly, “Well, generally that’s how it goes. And usually I just reflect what the other person does.” Is that really all you have to say, dude? Seriously?

I continued through my freshman and sophomore college years still not having kissed anyone. I was scared, man. What’s the build up to it? How do I even initiate the kissing? What movements do I have to make exactly? The only (little) knowledge I had gained about the kissing was from two instances of fake first kisses I’ve had with other people. They certainly don’t count as real first kisses at all. 1. It was the end of my college freshman year, and three of my friends had to peck my blindfolded self on the lips as a dare so that I could then guess who was who. 2. When I returned to Bogotá, Colombia to visit some friends, my drunk guy friend who already had a long-term girlfriend at the time tried to kiss me at the club— I rejected him, out of respect for their relationship of course. Still, I waited for my real first kiss, which I doubted was gonna arrive any time soon due to my overbearing fears about the kissing… but also due to my bare, dusty, cobwebbed love life. Do boys even like me? …Or do I just not like anyone?

Still, I waited for my real first kiss, which I doubted was gonna arrive any time soon due to my overbearing fears about kissing...but also due to my bare, dusty, cobwebbed love life.

However, in the midst of my study abroad program in Quito, Ecuador during the spring semester of my junior year, I met this cute quiteño boy at some football program I attended four times a week. Diego was a witty tall 25-year-old with black curls and a nice firm chest that I would “accidentally” push onto when we were playing on opposite teams, but I didn’t really get to know him until we entered March. By then, we started talking more on the field and even staying after football practices just to talk to each other even more. He told me about the quiteño accent and Ecuadorian slang, his favorite football team Arsenal, his cool marketing job, all the trap music he listens to, and a bunch of other random things. And I enjoyed every minute of it… I think I have a little crush.

So, the weekend before my spring break trip, I pulled all my guts together to get myself to ask Diego out to go to the local Van Gogh immersion museum with me. I wanted to see more of him… outside of football. I Whatsapp’d him and shortly received a response.

Diego Academia de Fútbol
2 mensajes

Holaaaaaa cómo estás?

Claroooooo a qué hora podrías?

I remember my heart literally racing at the sight of that message. He says yes! At the time, I was at a bar with my friend Donavin, who was also part of my study abroad program, and he’d probably tell you just how much I was tweaking. I’m going out with this man, for real. And…it’s tomorrow!

The next day was the day of my museum paseo with Diego, and overall I think it was great. I’m not going to go into much detail, but here’s how it basically went: After Diego picked me up from the condominium I was staying at, we talked and listened to some of his favorite trap music on the way. We then arrived at the Van Gogh immersion museum around 30 minutes later, and he was acting all gentleman-like, touching my lower-back to guide me as we crossed the road towards the museum and even buying my ticket. Oh my, is this actually a real date… like romantically? Once we got inside the museum, we were giggling and joking for the most part. There was some point when he had comfortably put his arm around my shoulders. So uh… does this mean…do I have to start thinking about… the kissing? But to my relief, no kissing happened. Diego bought me a sandwich after our museum date, and we headed straight for his friend’s birthday party that I had agreed to go to earlier on.

On the way to the party, I was pretty much vibing until I noticed that the road signs were signaling that we were actually leaving Quito, the huge Ecuadorian city I’ve been staying in for the majority of my time during the program. Forget having a crush or anxiously pending the kissing…this guy might be my killer. Of course, as the direct, honest person I am, I asked my potential killer if he was going to murder me. Smart.

“Salimos de Quito… vas a matarme?” I asked him, half-jokingly.

He laughed and said in English with a heavy accent, “Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.”

Soon enough, we were pulling up to where the party was going to be? We exited the local roads and started driving onto some unknown dirt road, but Diego seemed to know exactly where we were going. There were not many actual buildings in the area, only half-finished houses and empty lots. It was also dark. Yeah, he’s definitely gonna kill me. To my surprise, though, we reached a nicely lit one-story home that just so happened to belong to the family of his friend.

Things were a little awkward for me, at first. First of all, this was a birthday party for a man that I didn’t even know. And secondly, I put a lot of pressure on myself to speak my best Spanish with a group of Ecuadorian strangers I’m meeting for the first time. Thankfully, I eventually found two other 20-something-year-old girls I genuinely enjoyed talking to, and I even carried on a long conversation with Diego’s best friend Renato about American politics and South Florida culture. The moment I really settled into the birthday party was when I taught Diego and all of his friends a drinking game called Flip Cup. They definitely ate that up, and it got them really drunk for sure.

However, a few hours later into the party, more and more people started to show up, and my urge to leave grew. I was getting more overwhelmed by the amount of strangers coming in and also had to get some sleep in before my 5AM flight to my spring break destination, Cuenca, the next morning. Also, keep in mind, it was around 10 p.m. in some unknown zone outside of Quito at the time— it was probably going to take several Uber requests to finally get a ride back home. So, when Diego came back to me after making his rounds of greeting his friends, I broke the news. He was a bit disappointed.

“Nooooooooo. ¿Por qué te vas?” he had asked. I could smell the hard liquor in his breath. Sure, I was tipsy, but he was probably a little weeny bit more drunk than I was. “Don’t go,” he said.

“Ya sabes que tengo un vuelo muy temprano mañana,” I said, re-explaining the flight situation to him for the second time.

“Ahh, sí,” he acknowledged. Though, instead of walking me out to the front gate to wait on an Uber, Diego decided to talk to me some more before my planned exit from the party.

Because we were both some sort of drunk, our topics of conversation were very silly. Nothing serious at all. He asked me if he should shave his head for $50, and I brought up that I was going to have to convert his friend Renato into a non-Trump supporter. I asked him if he was a disguised womanizer. He brought up that my Spanish accent sounds like it comes from Cumbayá. We were having fun, giggling and joking just as we had done in the museum, and I left my thoughts about immediately leaving the party on the back burner. I was so comfortable with Diego that I even took it upon myself to use his thigh as a rest for my left leg. Jena being flirty? No way.

At one point, there was a pause during our silly conversation. I found his dark brown eyes staring into mine, and I held his eye contact. What’s going on? Then, I saw as his eyes slowly traveled to my lips. Holy shit. I know this movie scene…ain’t no way the kissing is gonna happen now. What should I DO? Diego leaned forward to greet his lips with mine. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Sure, I wanted to kiss him back, but I didn’t know how. Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God…. I’m not prepared at all. I can’t even remember what Gianni said.

Then, I saw as his eyes slowly traveled to my lips. Holy shit. I know this movie scene....ain't no way the kissing is gonna happen now. What should I DO?

In a hesitant motion, I gently pushed his chest away from me. I came up with the first bullshit excuse that came to my mind, “Chico, nooooo. Estás borracho.” Hopefully, him rethinking his drunk state will make him second guess why he suddenly has the urge to kiss me.

It didn’t work. “No,” he said, “está bien.” Diego leaned forward to kiss me again. Jesus Christ, help me. AHHHH!

For the first three seconds, I didn’t really react to him kissing me. How do I do this? I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. Then, as I realized I couldn’t just be some non-moving doll he was making out with, I just started making a type of movement with my lips. I was honestly so lost. I hope he doesn’t think I’m horrible at this. But Diego didn’t say anything— in fact, it looked like he was lost in the moment. Am I actually…. okay at kissing?

Soon enough, I warmed up to the kissing, and I was starting to really get into it. It’s not so bad, after all. I began to remember and understand exactly what Gianni had said to me during his brief Kissing 101 Crash Course— to simply reflect what the other person was doing. You see, I tried my best to stay in sync with Diego. If he used tongue, I did. If he got passionate, I did. We were aligning our energies through our kissing, kinda like a game. Wow, I really am doing this! Throughout the rest of the night, we shifted between making out and talking before I had to eventually leave to get ready for my spring break flight the next morning. It’s hard to believe that I very much enjoyed myself experiencing one of my biggest fears. What craziness. I think I walked away from that night with Diego realizing that I just have to let loose sometimes. Kissing him was liberating— it was a delightful way of coming together with another person in an intimate, nonjudgemental zone with nothing but vibes. Head empty, no thoughts. I shouldn’t have to let some miniscule worries and insecurities stop me from savoring the interpersonal connections that life has to offer.

Kissing him was liberating— it was a delightful way of coming together with another person in an intimate, non-judgemental zone with nothing but vibes.

So, yeah…my first real kiss was with Diego in an unknown zone outside of Quito, Ecuador, and I don’t think I’ll get too scared to kiss anyone anymore. Maybe I’ve been scared all this time because of the not-so-affectionate household I was raised in or my at times awkward control freak personality, but now I think I’m ready to see what else there is when it comes to physical intimacy and romance with another being. Especially as a young 21-year-old girl, who is indeed allowed to be messy and make mistakes, I don’t think it’s fair to put so much pressure on myself and limit my experiences with something just as simple as kissing another person. Like my idol Shonda Rhimes says, I just have to say “yes.”