Ooo Ooo It's In His Kiss...

Kisses. Kisses are stories. There is so much in a kiss, so much can be felt or seen about the past, the present, the future. And their power is often underestimated and abused. For a brief (brief!) time, I had the nickname of The Kissing Bandit because I thought it was fun to kiss strangers in bars. Oh yeah, I was that girl.

Last night, I went to see Pete Yorn at the 9:30 Club. It was tough to see the stage from where we were standing so I spent a lot of time watching the crowd. We stood near a couple who looked a few years younger. Their body language was interesting. He was trying to get closer, she was pulling away. In a flirty way, but still away. Twice it looked like he tried to kiss her, and she gave him the edge of her lips, though never full on. They were cute, holding hands, but I couldn't help but wonder if he was more into her than she was into him. And did he know it? Did she? You can tell a lot from a kiss.

I remember a lot of first kisses. I remember THE first kiss. Not so good. Sloppy, awkward, wet. I didn't like it. I remember my next kiss, which was four years later. That one was much better. More genuine. Sweeter. I was seriously crushin'.

I remember last kisses too. Most of the time, you don't know that a last kiss is going to be the last, but every once in awhile you do and it's sad. I remember a passionate kiss, hands everywhere, arms tight. We were standing by the door. And we couldn't stop ourselves. It was after the breakup, a total mistake and we knew it, but we savored that last moment, and it will always go down as one of the best. I remember my first kiss with that guy, and it was just as hungry. Those kisses said a lot about our relationship - not a lot of substance or depth, but damn, we did have passion.

Another last kiss indicative of an entire relationship was a few days before I moved here. I wanted to make the most of the last moments, to lose sleep doing naked things and talk until the sun came up. He wanted to go to sleep. And he wanted me to leave him alone. He was mad at me for leaving.

I kept trying to kiss him, but his lips were tight, refusing entry. Eventually, I told him off and left. I am so proud of myself for walking out that door and never back in. The whole relationship was my needs not being met, me wanting more than he did or was willing to give. Such a mess it made of me. Such a mess I let it make. But never again will I fall into that trap.

I love Joni Mitchell, and she has a lot to say about kisses:

"Young love was kissing under bridges
Kissing in cars, kissing in cafes
And we were walking down Main Street
Kisses like bright flags hung on holidays
In France they kiss on Main Street
Amour, mama, not cheap display"

"I want to talk to you, I want to shampoo you
I want to renew you again and again
Applause, applause - life is our cause
When I think of your kisses
My mind see-saws"

"He tried hard to help me
You know, he put me at ease
And he loved me so naughty
Made me weak in the knees"

I know so much about kisses now. I know what to expect, what they should taste like. As I've matured, I've learned that I really hate wasting them. Recently, I went on a few dates with a guy and couldn't take any more - he was a terrible kisser. Lacking in both style and form. That kiss told me what I already knew, that we were incompatible.

What will my next kiss be like? What will it tell me? What will it tell him? I'm hoping for see-saws, naughty love, weak knees and not some cheap display. One full of passion but also substance.