Kissing. Bunni inspired me with the title of part 1 of her triathlon. But for weeks since I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell this story without it sounding self-aggrandizing, smutty or both. I’m not sure it can be done. I can but try.

Just before I was to move away to college, I met the woman of my dreams. She was pretty but didn’t know it. She was young. Illegally young but I wasn’t so much older as to make it too inappropriate. We looked in each other’s eyes, connected in a way that would make anyone a believer in past lives, soul mates, pheromones and love at first sight. When we first held hands you could hear the crunch and smell the tasty apple of the first Fall.

The first kiss fit. Lips touched and discovered their true purpose. Our tongues, first tentative, explored, learned and danced. Every tastebud came alive. We were twins – one – our souls flowed back and forth between each other in those kisses.

Touch. Just the touch of two fingertips together made each of us vibrate in perfect tune. Standing in line for Steve’s ice cream I could place my hand under her blouse in that perfect spot right in the small of her back and it was as if we were making love. The promise of that first tulip bud of spring with its power to push aside snow and rocks as it builds towards delicate beauty were all in that touch.

Naked in bed, high in the Rocky Mountains in my little cabin in the woods. Air so pure that a person can lose themself in a single breath. Areolas so young and pink and pure. Lolita. Venus. No hurry. But at the same time the knowledge that there was no stopping. Like running downhill. So alive. Sure in the knowledge that the world began and ended in that young lovemaking.

For two weeks, we could not stand being apart.

Then reality tore us apart.

Finally, a full year later, we fooled the fates into allowing us just 24 more hours together – suspecting at the time that we’d either spend the rest of our lives together or never see each other again.

I had another wonderful friend at that time. She was pretty but didn’t know it. She was one of the smartest people I knew. (Her meringue chocolate chip cookies were perfection frozen in space, but that’s a story to tell over at Bakerina’s.) I loved her deeply. Love rooted so strongly in respect for her that I could not approach her or express myself. She told me she was saving her virginity for someone else. It wasn’t like I had any choice but to respect that. She an I were a different type of soulmate. Deep friends.

But then the goddess in charge smiled on us three. During that stolen few hours, the three of us ended up in one room. It was late. We were young. Everything smelled right. The world faded to a safe distance. We touched. We teased. We cuddled.

And then we kissed.

If you have ever kissed your soul mate, you know it is a rapturous experience. To kiss two at the same time is simply indescribable. While two tongues dance a dance that’s been performed through the ages, three tongues are a jazz improvisation. Music that’s never been heard before. The piano provides percussion. The bass picks up the tune and carries it forward. And then the sax player joins in, finds perfect inspiration and blows and blows. It was like that.


Next stage of the triathlon calls for some wet and slippery fantasy action. But first, some of the other guest bloggers need to show me theirs (Kimberly!). I hate to get nekkid alone.

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