They Waited 25 Years for Their First Kiss

A short love story about fantasies that should remain fantasies

They had been texting for months, and it felt like a game. She wasn't sure about the rules, but she knew they were intricate.

No one was allowed to mention his family. So they talked about major events in his life as if he didn't have a wife and kids. And that is how he could talk about a nice Thanksgiving meal without talking about the people who'd been with him.

They were invisible background characters and yet, at the same time, extremely present. He sent a picture of himself lying on the couch; two high chairs were visible in the background.

He had twins. She had heard it from a mutual friend. His profile picture on WhatsApp was a picture of the twins and his other son. But he never texted her on WhatsApp; he always contacted her on Telegram. He didn't have a profile picture there.

That was also a rule. Telegram only.

Maybe his wife checked his WhatsApp for shenanigans?

Another rule was no audio or video. Just texts and pictures. And they texted a lot. Whole walls of text. About their hopes and dreams. About their shared past. About current events. About ending capitalism and saving the world.

They talked about everything, but they always managed to avoid the fact that he had a family.

Sometimes they texted non-stop for hours. She always wondered where his wife was during that time. Was she out with friends? Upstairs already in bed? Or was she in the same room, watching a movie or reading a book?

He had suddenly popped up in the Telegram notifications after four years of silence. His timing was brilliant; she had just ended a short fling and was ready to meet the love of her life.

They hadn't been in touch for four years. He was gentle. Asked if she was fine with him reaching out again. "You were very clear four years ago — leave me alone. So if you still feel this way, I will let myself out."

She smiled the biggest smile in existence when she read his message.

"So the stars have finally aligned for us, and we are single at the same time for the first time in 25 years?"

His response took a while. But she wasn't even surprised when she saw the words on her screen. They just weren't meant to be.

"Nope, still married."

Her heart sank to her stomach. She knew what she had to do but didn't want to. He had been a solid fixture in her daydreams for the past four years.

"Then what's the point of doing this again? You know only one thing about you that's unattractive — your family. And I don't mean that in a bad way… I am genuinely happy for you. But you don't want to leave her; I refuse to be the other woman, so what's the point?"

"Look, I know we have to wait until the next lifetime to get married, but can we be friends in this one? You are one of my favorite people in the world, and I've been missing you like crazy."

How could she ever say no to that?

At first, they spend most of their time reminiscing and playfully blaming each other for their current predicament.

"You should have just told me you liked me in high school!" she wrote.

"You were way too intimidating; you always looked angry when I tried to approach you."

"Duh, yeah, I was scared that you would figure out that I like, liked, you."

It was true. She had a massive crush on him from the first moment she saw him walking in the school cafeteria. But he was a year ahead of her and cool. She was anything but cool. She was so awkward; it was physically painful. A guy like him would never be interested in her. And if anyone would found out she liked him — it would be social suicide.

So she kept him at a distance. Never smiled at him. While other girls flocked around him, she became a master at avoiding him. When he left school two years later, she was relieved. There was a hole in her heart the size of the moon, but she carried the pain with grace.

Until she ran into him at college, and the moon-sized hole in her heart filled up with hope. But he was seeing someone. And she was in a relationship, too — albeit an unhealthy one.

She felt like a teenager again, stalking him in the hallways and learning his schedule by heart. But unlike the angsty teen, she was able to talk to him. Their conversations were short on the way to a class or whispery in the library, but always fun.

In a desperate attempt to like him less, she always assumed he was just a pretty face. A stereotypical popular boy with the emotional depth of a puddle. She was wrong. He was witty. Clever. Knowledgable. Kind. Their conversations were effortless and hilarious.

When she had sex with her boyfriend, she imagined it was him, and she came harder than ever.

They had never exchanged phone numbers, so when she dropped out of college, there was no way to stay in contact. Which was fine for her. Even though she hadn't done anything wrong, it felt unfair to her boyfriend to like someone else this much.

At first, the days when she didn't think about him were rare until they became the vast majority. He didn't star in her daydreams anymore, and when she was having mediocre sex with her boyfriend, she fantasized about Enrique Iglesias instead.

But then they ran into each other again. Both in their mid-twenties now. Grown. No longer restrained by immaturity and the need to be cool, he finally confessed to her that he had a major crush on her at school.

When he heard the crush had been mutual, their worldviews tilted slightly. It was like suddenly finding out the sky is green.

"Well, that is a massive missed opportunity," he said through gritted teeth. He was still with the girl he'd dated in college. She was still having mediocre sex with not-Enrique Iglesias.

And so they became friends. They send each other long emails — on their work accounts only. He would drive her home and drop her off a block away. They talked. And talked. And talked. And flirted. At night, he would text her about how badly he wanted her. She would text back how badly she wanted him. They would never talk about it in person.

And while he was going through the process of breaking up with his girlfriend, she decided to go all in with her shitty boyfriend.

That is how she suddenly disappeared from his life.

She'd blocked him everywhere. No warning. She was so into him; it felt addictive. There was no option but to stop cold turkey.

It took her over a decade to finally get rid of not-Enrique Iglesias. She moved to a new town, got a new job, and longed like crazy for her old flame. She was finally free. She was finally ready.

But he wasn't. He'd married his college girlfriend, and they just had a kid. "We can be friends, though," he had texted.

They tried to be friends. But the attraction was too strong. So they cut off contact. Until he reached out again, a year later. Then they cut off contact. And then she reached out again, six months later. So then they cut off contact, and he reached out again, four years later.

So there they were, back to square one. Nothing had changed. They pretended they were just old friends talking.

But then he did the unthinkable.

"You're in town, right? I'm at the bar; want to come over?"

"Which bar?" She asked, assuming he would change the subject.

"The Happy Horse."

It was now or never. "I can be there in 20 minutes."

"See you then."

She took a deep breath as she pushed open the door. The past twenty minutes had gone by in a trance. She had brushed her teeth, put on her shoes, drove here, and walked to the bar, and only now she realized she was in trouble.

They hadn't seen each other in fifteen years. "We are middle-aged people playing games; this is ridiculous," she thought about turning around and going back to her parent's house.

And there he was. Right in front of her. Older, a bit fatter, and still intimidatingly attractive.

They locked eyes, and he cursed. He quickly walked over and pushed her outside. "We can't be seen here together," he said, but she was too distracted by the sensation of his touch to respond.

He grabbed her hand and started speedwalking down the street. She trotted after him like an anxious puppy, uncertain if she'd been a good girl or a bad one.

They stopped around the corner, away from prying eyes on Main Street. He leaned against the wall and gasped for air.

"So, what you're trying to say is I'm literally breathtaking?" Her voice trembled lightly as she teased him.

His laugh made her heart flutter.

"You are, though, you really are. Come here; let me hold you." He pulled her into a bear hug, and she could hear her 15-year-old self squeal with excitement.

He planted a kiss on the top of her head. "I'm so happy we are friends," he sighed.

The kiss and the sigh made her body respond in a way it never did when her real friends were around. Neither of them moved, but something in the tiny space between their bodies had changed. It felt electrifying. It felt good and dangerous and amazing and worrisome.

She took a step back and looked up at his face. He took a step forward and held her face between his hands. They both stopped breathing. As always, she was the one that came to her senses first.

"Are we really doing this?" She whispered.

"What, just two old friends standing in an alley, drowning in each other's eyes? I don't see anything wrong with that." His voice was lower than usual, and it turned her on even more.

"You don't fool me," she said as his lips gently brushed hers. His breath smelled of beer, and she tried to ignore it.

"Those pretty eyes, that sexy smile," he whispered back, immediately picking up on the fact she was quoting a song by Queen.

It was one of her favorite memories. He had given her a ride home, and she had plugged her MP3 player into his AUX. When she heard the opening notes of You Don't Fool Me and screeched that it was one of her favorite songs, he turned up the volume. The bass embraced the butterflies in her stomach, and they sang along at the top of their lungs. It sounded like they were tone-deaf, and she laughed so hard tears streamed down her face.

His forehead rested against hers, and she knew their first kiss would finally happen. It was inevitable. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the moment. Again, his lips brushed hers gently. But she didn't want gentle. Twenty-five years of yearning made her burst with lust and longing. He felt it too and, without hesitation, obliged.

He pulled her closer and kissed her deeply and with a burning passion.

The fifteen-year-old girl she once was, fainted. She had fantasized about this moment, and it was so much better than she'd ever imagined. She wanted to devour him. To take all of him in.

His hands found their way under her shirt. "Is this okay?" he asked, lips pressed against her neck.

Her mouth said yes, multiple times. But a nagging voice in her head told her to stop. Freddy Mercury chimed in. "Mama said be cool, don't you be no fool."

"Is this okay, too?" His hands were cupping her breasts, and her whole body vibrated with lust.

"Yes, fuck yes," she moaned. Suddenly, they heard shouting and laughing. Startled, they looked up.

"Holy shit, Tom is groping some random chick!"

"Oh shit, bro, you will be sleeping on the couch for weeks when your wife hears about this!"

Somebody took a picture. The flash was blinding. He pushed her away with so much force her back slammed into the wall. It didn't hurt. She didn't feel anything; sheer terror engulfed her.

She saw the situation through their eyes. Their drunk, married friend making out with someone in an alley. Groping her in public. Tacky. Trashy. Those were the facts. No matter what she told herself about star-crossed lovers, true love, and the universe finally bringing them together.

Without acknowledging her, he walked towards his friends. She grabbed what was left of her dignity and walked the other way. At the end of the alley, she stopped and turned around.

"Please, turn around too. Just give me one look, one nod. Please, let this mean something beautiful."

She watched as he walked away, high-fiving his friends.

Tears streamed down her face as she woke up. She'd fallen asleep crying and apparently never stopped. She quickly reached for her phone. She was relieved to see the Telegram notifications but dreaded reading them.

"I told my wife. I didn't want her to hear it from someone else. And with our massive audience, that was only a matter of time. I'm going to block you now. I'd appreciate it if you never contact me again."

There was also a message from an unknown number.

"Hey, sorry for that other message. My wife is monitoring my Telegram, so I had to block you. This is my work phone; you can text me here anytime. That kiss was the best kiss ever. Definitely worth the wait! How long are you staying in town? Do you think we can meet again? I can book a hotel room for us if you want?"

Everything was ruined. And she did what she should've done ages ago and blocked both his numbers. Then, groaning, she buried her head under her pillow. He had been right; it was the best kiss ever. But any joy she felt was completely wiped out by the drama and messiness of it all.

Two middle-aged people feeling each other up in the middle of the night in an alleyway. Stripped of all the delusional romance, she regretted it. They had waited 25 years for their first kiss, and it hadn't been worth the wait.

The whole day she had felt like a junkie, feverish and itchy. Her motor neurons were more powerful than all the reason and logic in the world. And before she could stop and ask herself if this was what she really wanted, she had unblocked him.

"Best kiss ever, indeed. Want to try and have the second-best kiss ever tonight?"

Thanks for reading my short stories!

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