Darkside Rainbow

“When was the last time you were decently kissed? I mean truly, truly good and kissed?”

That, my friends, is a line from my favorite scene in That Thing You Do, one of my top ten most beloved films of all time. It’s the story of The Wonders, a (no pun intended) one-hit wonder band from the 60s; the film is titled after their hit album.

In this story Guy, the band’s drummer, has been in love with the lead singer’s leading lady for some time; towards the end of the film Faye (played by the full-lipped lady Liv Tyler) and Jimmy call it quits, leaving the way open for Guy to move in and ask that ever-so-crucial question, breathless, his heart in his eyes and on his lips. You’d think her answer would be rather recent, considering her years-long relationship with Jimmy. Instead, after a moment of thought, Faye takes a deep breath and says, “Dave Gammelgard, New Year’s Eve, ‘61.”

“Okay,” Guy says.

And then he kisses her.

It’s the kind of kiss that movie magic is made of; the kind of kiss that everyone hopes to experience at least once in their lifetime - and once they’ve experienced it, there are times when they’d give anything to feel it again.

When was the last time you were truly, truly good and kissed? [laughs] My answer would have to be “too damned long ago.” It wasn’t The Ex, I’ll tell you that…but that’s dirty laundry best not aired here. The last time I felt a kiss like that was years ago with a man who could set my skin on fire with a look, a man who promised devotion and then after a year cheated on me, a man with eyes as black as the Devil’s and a smile to match. His name was Arturo, and he kissed me as if I was the only thing in the world to him. When he kissed me everything narrowed down to that moment: his mouth on mine, and the mingling of our breaths.

I don’t know how to describe that kiss. Some automatically assume that for a kiss to be passionate, it must involve locked lips, twisting tongues, and a few bucketfuls of exchanged saliva. No, thank you. I’ve enough bodily fluids of my own that I don’t need to quaff a quart of anyone else’s. Others assume that a kiss is just foreplay, a mere checkpoint on the way to sex rather than something to be experienced for itself. It’s more than that. That kiss…that kiss is the kind of kiss you swore you stopped believing in when you grew too old and too cynical for the cliches of storybook romance, and yet that you still long for secretly in your inner heart of hearts.

It’s not just physical contact; it’s a moment, trembling fragile and taut between two people drawn towards one another by something ineffable that can hardly be defined. It’s the buildup - the look in his eyes, the scent of him, the heat and closeness that make you weak with longing, fear, pulse-pounding anticipation. It’s that hovering second when he pauses and meets your eyes, as if asking for permission to cross that last boundary and press his mouth to yours. It’s the breaths caught and held in your throat, waiting, feeling as if you’ll come apart at the seams if he doesn’t fulfill that promise held so close and yet too, too painfully far away.

Parted lips, firm flesh, hot skin…all it takes is a little tilt of the head, a light brush of nose to nose, and your mouths fit together so perfectly. Stillness, then - just to savor, just to feel. The barest hint of the taste of him; the faint texture of stubble under brushing fingertips. So many seemingly innocuous things rise to envelop you; the scent of him curls over your skin, and the sounds of his breaths fill your ears like the slow rush of the sea at night. Neither lewd nor chaste, but promising. It’s nothing more than a few seconds, and yet for as long as you can hold on to it…it feels like forever.

A few lingering breaths, and then it’s gone - melting away into the warmth between the breath that he exhales and the next that you inhale, leaving its flavor and its heat upon your lips. One moment, but it tingles through you until it feels like your first kiss all over again, until your knees feel like water and your skin feels too tight and you’re left at once languid and yet breathlessly on edge.

Some people call it chemistry. Some call it romance; some even label it as lust, even though it’s something more than that. I just call it “that kiss”, because that’s all that I need to define it. It’s that kiss - the kiss. The one kiss that reaches down inside you and peels you open to touch places you’d thought you were too jaded to possess, bringing that sweet, tight ache to your chest that’s part pain and yet even more parts bittersweet pleasure.

It’s been years since I’ve experienced that, and it may well be years more before I do again. I’m not ready for another serious relationship and may never be, yet I’m not the type to indiscriminately fool around with others for the sake of pleasure alone. I’m rather stuck in limbo, with a “No entry zone” sign plastered over every accessible part of me, both physical and emotional. I doubt there’ll be any men other than platonic friends in my life for a long time. That’s fine; that’s my choice, and that’s what makes me content.

But nonetheless, I’d give anything to feel that again.

I’d give anything for just that one intoxicating kiss.

gay romance, dating, chemistry, that kiss