Taste of a First Kiss

by SARAH NASH-LEE

Winter Cottonwoods by Georgia O'Keefe

            Snow, big soft flakes fall in graceful, lazy swirls. She releases his hand, and runs ahead of him, her boots crunching a trail on the path. She turns several yards away, spreads her arms open wide, thrusts her head back sticking out her tongue, waiting for a fat wet flake to fall onto her heated palate.

           He admires the long stretch of her tilted neck. Begins to walk towards her slowly, reaches out and traces her throat with a single gloved finger when he meets her. She giggles, head back, still waiting for the taste. He’s mildly aroused at the vibration of her laughter under his hand, her throat at his finger, and he lowers his head to kiss the only free flesh on her body besides her face. 

           Aromatic smoke wafts through the late afternoon air, reminding them of a warmer spot where friends and family are gathered at the hearth. However, they would rather be here, at this moment, and beyond this moment.

            Their breath creating steam spirals in the air around them. Teasing them ... she laughs as his glasses become fogged so she lifts them off his face, adding them to the pocket where the gloves are stashed.

            The kiss is not enough. The space between them due to heavy layers of clothing is now a nuisance. Regardless of how body is pressed to body, there is no degree of satisfaction from either of them. His kiss becomes deeper. Her needful urgings a mere whisper of hands on the texture of his coat.