Chapter 2 - The Kiss That Never Was

At the age of 13, I experienced what would be my first love: a 22-year-old man who was the dance instructor for my sister's best friend's quinceañera. He had a bowl haircut, a style that was very trendy before the Korean boom we see nowadays. He had an extroverted personality and dancing skills that I found incredibly attractive. With him, I understood what people always said: we're drawn to opposite personalities.

He had an ease when it came to talking to anyone in front of him; he could even get me to talk for several minutes about various topics, which was a complete mystery in my head. When he got tired of talking or wanted to change the dynamic of rehearsals, he would simply pull me out to dance, unleashing a world of sensations in my body that, up to that moment, I didn't understand.

They say a woman knows — no matter her age — when a man is interested in her. It's what we call the sixth sense. I felt that he had a certain interest in me, even if it was just physical attraction. My heart would pound every time he pressed his body against mine, dancing to the rhythm of a romantic merengue. I wished with every fiber of my being that he would be my first kiss.

One random afternoon, while I was reading at home, something unexpected happened. He passed by my block and stopped right in front of my house when he saw me lying on a brick ledge that separated my home from the neighbor's. My head was facing the street and my feet were resting against the wall. As I said before, my way of dressing was always liberal, so I was wearing my usual cheeky shorts and a gray spaghetti strap top with a buckle on the chest that created a deep neckline effect, even though it wasn't truly revealing.

When I saw him, out of reflex, I lowered the book in my hands — it happened to be one I still consider magnificent, "La fuerza de Sheccid" by the wonderful author Carlos Cuauhtémoc Sánchez. I lifted myself slightly, trying to get a better look at his face from the right angle. The expression on his face as he watched me contort myself without moving from that wall was a poem in itself. You could clearly see how aroused he was, how his imagination ran wild just from looking at me. But for some reason I couldn't understand, he held back.

I knew he was almost eleven years older than me and was probably worried about the consequences all this could bring. But my God — if that man didn't kiss me, I was ready to make the first move.

—Hello, kind sir, what brings you around here?

—Uh... I was running a personal errand and decided to pass through this street. I really didn't know you lived here.

—Really? —I replied, raising an eyebrow, hinting that I didn't fully believe him, while smiling flirtatiously.

—I swear, I'm not lying. But what about you? What are you doing out here reading in front of your house at this hour?

—I like to read. I'm not a fan of TV, and I was tired of being cooped up, so I decided to come out here and read.

—You're messing with more than one marriage on this block reading like that, lying the way you are and dressed like that. You really have no idea how many sensations you stir up —he had never been so honest with me. I don't know if it was because we were alone for the first time that he dared to say it, and his smile also had a flirtatious edge to it—. You have beautiful legs and a very well-shaped body... you shouldn't be so cruel.

—Do I seem cruel to you? —Maybe I had never kissed anyone or had guy friends, but one thing my books had taught me was how to be a bit flirtatious, maybe even bold, without crossing the line.

—Honestly, yes... And before it gets any later, I better go —I noticed he shifted uncomfortably and subtly adjusted himself in the crotch area, which made me smile as I realized he was trying to get out of there before things got out of hand.

—Okay, take care —I laid back down in the same position I was in when he passed by, looked at him from the corner of my eyes and, seeing he hadn't moved yet, I let out innocently—: Weren't you leaving already?

He reacted a bit abruptly, with a hint of nervousness:

—Don't move.

I saw him approach my face, from that upside-down position I was in. He leaned in and brought his face close to mine. My heart immediately began to race. He started with a kiss on my right cheek, very close to my lips, but not quite touching them. Then he moved to the left cheek, repeating the same kiss, while holding my face in his hands. Then he left a kiss on my chin, and I felt like my heart was going to burst out of my chest. He continued with a kiss on my nose... I didn't understand what it all meant, but to me —a virgin in every sense— those kisses awakened an unknown sensation, an emotion that made me tremble inside.

I waited anxiously for the final kiss, the one I had longed for, the one I had dreamed of ever since his eyes first caught me dancing. He rested his forehead against mine, the contact was warm, enveloping. And when he lifted his face and looked at my lips, I thought the moment had finally come.

But no.

To my total and absolute disappointment, all he did was slowly exhale a soft breath of air over my mouth and then gave me one last kiss... on the forehead.

I stayed there, frozen, completely frustrated, thinking: "WHAT THE FUCK."

I didn't say a word. I just covered my face with both hands as I watched him walk away with firm steps. My face was burning. I knew it — I must've looked as red as a tomato.

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