Only Been Kissed
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by: Admin
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Word Count: 1298
I glared at Kendra and Paul. The pair were making out a few feet away. The gorgeous blonde was my friend, one of my best friends. We gossiped at work, shared joys and sorrows, double dated, and I was in love with her. I hated the sight of that muscular ape, with the slight beer bulge groping the object of my desire. The funny thing was that we'd just kissed she and I, tenderly, passionately. I'd gazed into her hazel eyes, stroked her carrot colored locks, and pulled her in close to me. Her tongue met mine, playfully, almost passionately. Almost. She'd even let me feel the bulge of her tiny, but perfect breasts, let me caress the taut nipple that seemed to threaten to rip open her blouse. She wore no bra. It would have been heaven if it weren't for one small thing. It was all an act. For his benefit. Whenever Paul would pay too much attention to someone else, she'd start making out with me. He loved it, craved it.
It was both ecstasy and torture to go out with her. I'd wait all day, carefully selecting each item of clothing, desperately attempting to catch her eye, and I would. She'd always compliment me and tell me I looked "hot" or "dressed to thrill," but she was always saying it through the eyes of whomever I happened to drag along with me. She never caught on. My dates sometimes did, but that was OK. They were only a means to an end. My chance to lock lips with Kendra.
I wish I got paid for all the times I'd lie on my bed, eyes glued to a screen displaying a slide show or home movies of Kendra and me. I'd recline, nude, my fingers exploring all the places I wanted her to touch. Stroking the dampness I longed for her to lick and suck. I'd make a night of it sometimes, slowly, patiently, raising myself to heights of passion, only to dash headlong down into the depths of depression and loneliness as I'd lay wet and alone in my bed.
Desperation is a breeding ground for self-deception. I began to wonder if perhaps, just perhaps, it was possible that she felt the same way too. Maybe, just maybe, she was in her bed right now, stroking herself, thinking of me, longing for me to dive headfirst into her femininity and love her.
I tried so many times to tell her how I felt. I once told her that I loved her. Just like that. I said, "I love you Kendra."
She smiled, and hugged me. "I love you too. You're one of my very best friends."
I consider myself a virgin. Oh, I've had a few sexual experiences with guys. They were all totally tedious and anticlimactic. If the loss of virginity is defined as a fulfilling experience between two loving individuals, I am as innocent as a baby. I've been kissed, really kissed, by two individuals. Once, when I was a teen and then of course, Kendra.
The early experience had been in college.
A friend and I had had too much to drink. She was upset and homesick. We started hugging and before we knew what was happening, we were locked in an embrace. Later, she blamed me for taking advantage of her. As I recall, it was mutual. Whether that was true or not, I can't say. There had been much liquor clouding the issue.
Kendra had been a love at first sight experience. We hit it off famously. Our first make out session had occurred several months after we became friends. We were at a club, watching these two girls going at it. I envied them, almost hated them. "They seem to be in love," I commented.
"Nah," Kendra replied. "Look at the guys they're with." One of them was shooting daggers at his girlfriend; the other appeared to be willing to dive in. "It's a way of getting attention." She regarded me with a devilish grin. "Ever kiss a girl?" I lied by shaking my head. "I think I see someone that's got possibilities. Do you mind if we give it a try, just in fun." I shook my head again, this time in all earnestness, and leaned into her.
She enfolded me in her embrace and kissed me, tentatively. I returned it, timidly, not wanting to spoil the moment. She whispered in my ear, "Let's ham it up a little, have fun with it." Her tongue sought entry between my teeth. I opened them eagerly and let my tongue meet hers. Hers tasted wonderfully of her wine spritzer. We didn't do much more. Just kissed for a bit. Then she disengaged herself from me and sauntered over to the object of her desire. He'd been ogling us. My heart fell as she turned and gave me a little wave as the pair exited, together.
After several months of this, I'd inevitably end up dejected. Sometimes we'd go to a club and just dance with our dates. There'd be no contact between us, except maybe a good night hug. On those occasions, I'd be crushed, craving for the slightest crumb of affection.
Other times, the physical closeness would drive me wild with desire. I'd pull her into me, vainly willing my passion to somehow inspire desire for me. Eventually, she'd pull away, and return to whomever was with her. That was worse. To be so close, to have the scent of her perfume lingering all over my body, only to watch her walk away to the arms of another.
The last time, I allowed self-deception to take over. I reasoned that our sessions were far too charged with passion to be completely in vain. She must have SOME spark of feeling for me. If I could just ignite the fuel that MUST be there, surely a conflagration of passionate lovemaking would result.
We'd excused ourselves and headed to the restroom. It was a slow night, and we were alone. Timidly, I managed to tell her, "I love you." She regarded me curiously this time. I leaned in and kissed her gently, tenderly caressing her hair. There was no audience now. No explanation other than the naked emotion I exposed to her. This time she did not return the kiss. She regarded me with pity.
"Oh Carolyn," was all she could get out.
"I do. I love you so much, for so long...." I started sobbing
"Oh God. I'm so....." I dashed out of the restroom and the club before I could hear the rest of her hateful apology.
The next day she came by my apartment. "I think we need to talk."
"OK," was all I could get out. I looked horrid, eyes red from crying, hair mussed up. "Come in."
"First of all, I am SOOOO…"
"DON'T! I took a deep breath and lowered my voice. "Please, don't say that you are sorry. There's nothing to be sorry for. I love you. But you can't return those feelings."
"I do love you." I tensed waiting for the inevitable four horrible words that would follow. I knew them well, as I'd used them many, many times before. "But as a friend." I winced as that hateful phrased lashed at me. "Please, can we be friends?"
"Of course," I lied. I knew our friendship would really be reduced to a civil, pleasant acquaintance. I would be the poor fool who was hopelessly in love with her. "I'd like that."
"Are you going to be OK?"
"Yes," I lied. In truth it would be many months before I'd be anything resembling OK. I dreaded and craved the hug she offered. It was all to brief. She smiled and wordlessly turned and left my apartment and my life.
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