Category : Stories

Sub Category : YoungAdult

     I can smell the cool wind from the icy storm seeping from her natural pink lips—calm and unafraid. Unlike mine that are quivering from the fear that had been flourishing inside me since its seed first sprouted during the initial, awkward process of puberty. It is the fifteenth year of my life and I've never been kissed. Only since I was corrected by a girl in my class that your hand doesn't count. It doesn't make sense to me, but I'm still young and full of these questions. 
     So, it's not real when I kiss my hand? What about when I make love to it?


     I smoosh my nervous lips together, holding them tight and inch toward her. The lips I aim for are perfect. No flaws whatsoever. I don't want to ruin them with mine that whimper in fear, tail tucked between their legs. Our lips share the same crescent on top, except hers being more mature, like she had done this a million times. I already knew I wasn't her first and that was fine with me. It's only a practice kiss. She had been tired of seeing me slobber all over my hand, so she is helping me prepare for tonight. 


     Earlier, I had asked a girl from class out on a date and she said Yes! After school, I ran home to tell my mom, who also got super-excited. She took me to the mall and bought me a brand-new, grownup-looking outfit to wear.


     When our lips finally mash into each other, I sit stock-still with eyes closed. She moves hers in a smooth, fluid motion that I try to imitate. Then, it's almost as if she grows a third lip. One that's slippery and eel-like than the other two. It rubs the ridges on the roof of my mouth which feels good. I begin to stiffen and hope she doesn't look down. I quickly put my hand over it. 
     She doesn't though, as her tongue slithers back, leaving a slimy residue. I feel her lips begin to close and back away. I do the same. 
     "So, How was that?"
     I nod as if I'm not completely in disgust with the amount of saliva involved. But other than that,.. "It was good," I say. "I think I'm ready."
     She smiles at me. The same smile I've seen every time she's proud of me. 
     "Thanks, Mom."
     "Anytime, baby."