A few of you might remember the olden days when to keep in touch with someone who lived far away you had to actually write letters and send them through the postal service. Those were the days when I met my first love, who we’ll call Kylah here. We’d both made it to the state rally for the Future Business Leaders of America (test taking competitions were something I rather enjoyed back them) and we met at the dance that was held the night before the award ceremony. She asked me to dance, and we danced, and not long after that we slipped outside and leaned up against a wall out of sight of everyone else and we spent the next who knows how long talking. Yeah, that’s it. Just talking. I wanted to kiss her, but I was a nerdy, awkward 15 year old and had no idea how to make that happen. The next day we met up long enough to exchange addresses and phone numbers and that was it.
For the next couple of years we wrote letters to each other regularly and talked on the phone rarely. I fell in love with her. She took these letters into which I poured so much of my unadulterated self, and she loved them. And loved me. Eventually I moved off to Arkansas, putting much, much more distance between us, and we lost touch.
We were in contact then on and off over the next few years, and then the second time I saw Kylah in person was at my wedding. I had sent her an invitation with a letter and she wrote back that she’d imagined herself at my wedding before, but hadn’t thought about me marrying someone else there. She was thrilled to come, though. She showed up the morning of the ceremony at my hotel with her boyfriend. Kylah was stunningly beautiful. Before she left the reception I gave her a hug, kissed her on the cheek and told her I loved her so much.
We went back to our usual patterns of periodic letters and even more periodic phone calls. Contact was sporadic at best, but we never really let go completely. Then came MySpace, then Facebook. The last couple of years we’ve kept up with one another more closely thanks to those sites. It’s been a blessing.
After Gustav hit Elizabeth and I headed off to Texas. Kylah had recently moved to Fort Worth, and knowing we’d be near there I sent her a text to see if I could come by and see her. Despite spending that whole trip flying by the seat of our pants, that bit of planning paid off. In one day we went from Houston to Carthage to buy my new (to me at least) VW, then to the Dallas area to see Elizabeth’s family. After a bit of supper I told them I had things to do, I hopped in the bug and drove to Forth Worth to see Kylah for the third time in some 16 years.
I arrived at her apartment road weary and brain dead, but when she came down to the parking lot to show me the way up, I grabbed her and picked her up in a bear hug and planted a kiss on her cheek. I met her roommate, a three legged dog and a friend of theirs. We sat around a table just talking for a while. I felt like rather horrible company, feeling rather tongue tied even when I could think of something intelligent to say. Finally I said I had to go. I needed sleep and was going to have an equally long day the next day. Kylah (and the three legged dog) walked me down to my car. I asked her if I could give her that kiss I wanted to the first night we met. When I did two things happened. The first was that I was very conscious of holding back. I did not spin her around and pin her back to the car. I did not send my hands under her shirt to feel the smooth skin of her back. I did hold her tight and give her a soft kiss. There may have been 16 years building up to this kiss, but it was still a first kiss. The second thing to happen was feeling my heart flutter and my legs get weak. One kiss and I had to remind myself to breathe.
We smiled and held onto each other a little longer, then some small talk. I kissed her once more and said “I love you” before getting in my car and driving back to Elizabeth’s brother’s house. I was positively giddy on the ride home. I had to let out several loud exclamations as the miles rolled by. I remembered what it felt like to be a smitten teenage nerd boy. It’s a bit different from being a smitten adult nerd boy.
Kylah sent me a message last week asking if I could handle seeing her more than once in 10 years. She’s in the state visiting her folks and wants to come see me on Friday. I was very happy about this plan.
Friday evening she came over when I got off work. After a big hug and a little kiss we came inside and I got to introduce her and Elizabeth. We just sat around chatting for a while, waiting on the chili to finish cooking. Kylah and I lounged and cuddled on the couch and Elizabeth just kept smiling at us. It was very cute. After supper and after conversation had died down I asked Kylah if she wanted to go for a ride in my new car. Now, who can turn that down, really? She doesn’t know her way around much of Baton Rouge, so she had no idea where we were going until we pulled into the parking lot.
“The Bellemont!” she exclaimed.
That was where we met. It’s now mostly abandoned and being reclaimed by nature, as you can see. It wasn’t far off then.
I drove around to the back, and pointed my headlights at the wall where we stood talking to each other that night. Kylah just grinned and leaned over and gave me a kiss. I pulled the car over to the side, took off my seatbelt and kissed her back properly. That made right a great missed opportunity.
Leaving the decrepit hotel we headed over to the bookstore for some tea and browsing. We went through the rack of Little Golden Books, pointing out to each other which titles were our favorites as a kid. We both really liked There’s a Monster At The End Of This Book. We held hands and snuggled and looked at books and magazines and generally had a nice time. She still had to make the drive back to her parents’ place, down near the coast, so we headed back to my place so she could get her car. She came in to say goodbye to Elizabeth and I walked her back outside so she could follow me back out to the interstate.
One more kiss for the road turned into two, then four, then they all just sort of melted together. I grabbed her hand and pulled her over to the side of the house, out of the headlights and the view of whoever was walking by. I spun her around and pinned her back to the wall in the dark, pressed myself against her and we returned to making out. Everything just kept getting hotter and heavier. My right hand hand went up her shirt, pressing my fingers into the smooth skin of her back. With the left I caressed her face, ran a finger up the side of her neck, twisted my fingers in her short hair.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay the night?” I asked, right hand slipping past the waist of her jeans and I grabbed her firm ass.
“Oh, don’t tempt me,” she breathed.
“We can make sure you get up early enough to get where you’re going.”
“If I stay the night I’m not getting any sleep.”
“See, then getting up won’t be a problem.”
She just grabbed my head and pulled me back into a deep kiss. I ran my right hand back under her shirt, sliding softly across her belly until my fingertips grazed the bottom of her breast. My fingers trailed across her breast and I drank her in. She felt so much different from the other women I’ve been with. None of them have been the same, of course, but I took note of how different she felt to me. She is so small, smaller than anyone I’ve as much as kissed. Her skin had the same softness that I’ve experienced with other lovers, but her body is firm. Tight. I relished her, enjoyed that she was so uniquely her. That will never fail to amaze me, the way each of the women I’ve loved (or lusted for) have been nothing less than themselves.
Kylah was pushing back against me and I rested a hand on the button of her jeans. I pulled my head back and whispered “May I?”
She was breathing hard and nodded. If a whisper can be forceful then hers was when she said “Yes.”
This time my hand slid down across her belly. My fingers drifted through soft hair before parting her lips and slipping across and around her clit.
“Oh god,” she breathed in my ear. “Oh god.”
She was so wet. My fingers slid up and down and I pulled her closer to me. She breathed into my neck.
A few minutes of this and she said “Backyard. Let’s go in the backyard.”
The gate had to be forced open. There are still limbs that Gustav left behind it. Once it was closed behind us and we were out of sight we jumped right back on each other and picked up where we’d left off. The feeling of her leaning on me, barely able to stand, pressed between me and the wall of the house was simply astounding.
For 16 years we’d carried a torch for one another. While my heart felt like the same smitten kid, the rest of me was responding like an adult, confident, wanting her, feeling so strong as her legs buckled under her and she clung to me for support. My fingers flew in circles around her clit, dipping further down once in a while to slip inside her, bringing more wetness with them when they came back. She was resting her head on my shoulder and chanting (or was it panting?) “Oh god.”
I had lost track of time completely, but I remember her touching my wrist to stop me. She said she wasn’t quite ready for this, and I pulled my hand back. She apologized, and I told her that was unnecessary. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her in tight. She buried her head in my neck and we just stood like that for a while. I pulled back and took her face in my hands.
“I love you, Kylah.”
I kissed her softly. I held on to her. Sixteen years of waiting, and I wasn’t ready to let go. Luckily she wasn’t ready to let go either. Eventually we walked back out to the front and after another small, soft kiss or two she got in her car and I got in mine. We got near the interstate and I called her to make sure she knew where she was going, then I turned around to head back home.
It’s hard to let go, but it’s easier than I thought it would be. After all, one of the things she whispered to me was that she thought this was probably just the start of things for us. It was a slow start. It was many years later than I think we’d have liked. But it’s a start I think we’re both happy with.
So maybe my friends were right in the comments they made when I told the first part of this story. Maybe I am romantic after all. Then again I am leaving out the part of the story where I just sat around in a daze going “Holy fuck! That really happened! THAT REALLY HAPPENED!”
I’m so glad he trusts me with this. As he tells me the new story of finally caressing his first love, and as I take in his written description of it, I feel so much. A deep joy that has grown in me each time I find it again. A confusion that dwindles each time. Fears. What if she’s better than me at this, or that? What if it feels better to him when they’re together? I’m thrilled when he has a meaningful experience, and I also wonder with nervousness and awe how it will change the meanings that live and breathe between us.