Depressive Dusty: I killed my first kiss. I also killed a cat today.

Depressive Dusty: I killed my first kiss. I also killed a cat today.

I slept in, I checked my saved voicemail on accident,  I remembered my first kiss with the woman who stole and fostered my immature heart, and I killed a cat on my way home from work. I wanted to focus on the ‘First Kiss.’ Cat will be for another day. You can read Part 1. Here.

That first kiss. It’s such a wonderful moment to capture and remember in our hearts. Where we were. How our skin felt against each others. Were you vertical? Were you horizontal?  There is so many elements to a first kiss that may go undetected if you don’t break your own heart and think of that person every minute of the day. Here is my little-bit-too-long story of my first kiss.

I had just met this woman, I’ll call her El. She would tell this entire story better than me. Which is how love works. A shared story is told better than one alone. My grandparents are a testament of such stories. My uncle at can attest!

The day leading up to my first kiss with El is of little importance to me and has completely slipped from my personal memory. Because before her, I don’t actually remember much of my day to day life. It’s like a black out. When someone tells me what I have done with my life before her I start to piece it together it. Maybe I black out more than I should. Is this a bad time to toast?

What I do remember is that she had invited me over to the house that she was watching.  It had a hot tub. I had been there once before. I was initially asked to skinny dip in the hot tub. With her. With my frail, pale, stale body. With her strong, beautiful, warm, lightly tanned skin body. I couldn’t subject her to that. When I look back on it, I absolutely should have. A strong confident man would have done so in a heart beat. I was still trying to figure that out. I am still trying to figure that out.

We spent our time in the hot tub talking about her last boyfriend. Particularly about how awful his parents were to the both of them. I remember talking her through the emotions of overwhelming sorrow and the tinge of anger that she was experiencing. All while I was overjoyed for her to be sharing her precious time with me. I was also looking over at a cluttered room and a little boy statue with his willy pointed directly at me. We have always worked like that. The statue isn’t always staring at me though.

After the hot tub we warmed into our clothes again and went onto the porch. I gave her my spiel on why I feel pessimistic and she told me stories of love and compassion. I already knew I loved her. She warmed me into believing that there was hope in the stranger and in mankind. We all know when we love her.

She instilled the idea that everything is not miserable. She subdued all the flame in me to hate people. She sat next to me on a bench to warm up. It felt intimate. Not in the ‘I want to fuck you’ kind of way. In the way that you want to watch someone grow old and become the people they want to be. I wanted to be there while she grew as a person. I was grateful to spend this time with her. That gratitude spreads in all directions. I was high.

She had this kink in her neck. I’ve never seen it before in anyone else. I’ve also never seen it in anyone else since. It was her right shoulder. She had this tight spot that caused her to jolt her neck at a 90 degree angle to the left.  I offered to give her a massage. One person in pain to another. I tried to give her a massage on the couch we were sitting on but I suggested that it would work better if she was sitting on the ground. Or lying on a bed.

We went to the bedroom. Steamy right? I gave her the massage until she was able to relax and start to fall asleep. My heart was racing. When she was on her way out I told her that I was going to go sleep on the couch downstairs. She insisted that it was okay to cuddle with her and sleep in the bed. Her will power has always been much stronger than mine. I stayed.

I was completely aghast. I didn’t know what to do. It had been a couple years since I had even tried to talk to a woman with any intent. I had completely given up. Now I was in this bed with the smartest most beautiful person I had ever met!

I voiced my objection to the whole ordeal. Because when you are completely in love and have a full heart, what are you to do? I told her no. I told her, “This is dangerous.”

We lied in that bed, her head on my chest, for hours. After that drunken in-love/half asleep laughing that I hope everyone has experienced, she asked if she could kiss me. Well what did my red headed, pale, frail, stale self say? I told her that it was a bad idea. I wanted to kiss her. I didn’t want to deal with the heart ache that I would create. I still can’t believe what happened next. Who is smart enough and ballsy enough to ask if you can kiss someone? Even when they openly said they won’t want to kiss you back. She asked me if she could kiss me. Even if I didn’t kiss back. I said yes to that.

For years I loved that our first kiss was completely unique. I didn’t move. I didn’t kiss her back. I kept my lips unmoved completely straight. IT was the tone for how I would act for many moments in our relationship.

In our intimate times, when things were going good, she would ask to kiss me like the first time. I wouldn’t kiss her back. It was such a beautiful thing. Then I really got to thinking about that day…

My first kiss with the woman who I want to marry was completely absent of my involvement. I turned into a stone!

If I have one piece of advice for you, it would be to be presently aware of what is going on in your love life. Right now I am desolate, alone, and lost. I am aware of that. I am still madly in love with someone. I can’t open myself up to anyone else because of that. I hope you find your love.

Dusty Medler is a writer from Rochester, New York. In his mid-twenties he has been finding his way living from couch to couch and learning how to live life comfortably within the lens of depression. His writing is primarily focusing on personal vulnerability and openness to create a space where he is able to connect personally with his readers.

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