It’s a cold night. I breathe in the coldness from my mint-flavored cigarette, slowly intoxicating my 24 year old lungs. A couple stand in front of me, their hands clasped together. As I take every puff, I can’t help but look back… on the first time I ever kissed a guy.
I was in high school. I was in second year. I was 15, and I was barely exploring the world out there when we met. We were watching a movie — a romantic comedy if I remember correctly — when I received a text message from a friend.
“Is he your boyfriend?” She queried.
I showed him the text. He smiled at me, grabbed my hand, and kissed it. I stared at him with a smile painted on my face. I saw his eyes shift from my hand to the screen. He’s still smiling, but I was simply staring in awe of what just happened.
After the movie, he took a cigarette out of his freshly opened pack. He smoked as I stood next to him. The smoke bothered me. I never really understood why he smoked, but I just let him. He smiled at me after the first puff — that smile full of coy.
Once he ditched the butt, we walked towards the mall minutes away from where we saw the movie. We reached a green field with the cars passing by at least 50 meters away. In the middle of the field, as I walked slightly ahead of him, he grabbed my arm, pulled me closer to him, and then kissed me.
That was the first time we kissed, the first time he kissed me, the first time I kissed him, and the first time I ever kissed somebody.
It was passionate. I felt it. His left hand on my right cheek and his right hand at the back of my head. We were kissing.
My toes tiptoed. My hands were on his waist, slowly reaching his back. And then he pulled away, smiled at me, and gave me one last quick kiss.
We continued walking towards our destination. I could see him smile from my peripheral vision. His hand holding mine as we walked in harmony.
Once we reached our destination, it was time to head home.
I was on my bed when I looked back. His kiss tasted like smoke with a hint of mint. And for once, the smoke didn’t bother me. I was looking for it. I was craving for it — not for a cigarette, but the taste of his kiss.
We broke up a few months after, and it left me with a broken heart. I cried for days, wondering what went wrong. I never really understood why we broke up, but I knew we had to break up.
When I look back to the first time I kissed him, I can’t help but remember the time I kissed again.
I was in third year high school when I met him.
It was my relationship with him that allowed me to experience many of my firsts. With him, we went to places. It was the first time someone drove for me. It was the first time someone brought me to a far place where only we could be alone. It was the first time I felt so alive and free with someone else’s company. With him, I was happy.
It was in the parking lot when I was saying good night. He was just finishing his cigarette. Lights. That was his cigarette. He held my hand and looked me in the eye. His face grew closer to mine. Before we kissed, he smiled at me, pulled away and sprayed mint into his mouth. We then kissed. My eyes closed as my hands were on his cheeks.
I pulled away to say good night. And indeed it was a good night.
I was on my bed when I looked back on the kiss we just shared. His kiss tasted like smoke with a hint of mint. And for another moment, the smoke didn’t bother me. I was looking for it. I was craving for it — not for a cigarette, but the taste of his kiss.
We broke up close to a year after because it wasn’t working out. It was a mutual decision. We just wanted different things.
We dated again two years later, but it wasn’t the same. His kiss didn’t have the hint of mint — not anymore.
Just as that memory fades away, I can’t help but remember the next guy I kissed.
I was in college, and I was already smoking then when we met.This six-feet boy was like my own shield. Walking in a crowd, he could easily shove those who stood in our way. It was the first time I related to the song Bleeding Love. It was the first time, in a long time, that I was, indeed, bleeding love.
He’d buy me a cup of coffee all the time after watching a movie in a poorly developed building near the university.
I was smoking outside the coffee shop when he stepped out and gave me my cup. I looked up at him and gave a smile when I mouthed the words, “thank you”. He returned my smile with a pat on the back. We were standing next to each other as the smoke coming out of our mouths intertwined in the air — a union of carbon monoxide.
We ditched our cigarettes when it was time for me to go back to school for my class. He looked at me in the eye just as I tiptoed my way to kiss him.
It wasn’t as passionate as the kiss we had when we were watching a movie, but it was a kiss I could bring with me until we see each other again.
I was on my bed when I looked back on the kiss we had as Watchmen played on the screen. His kiss tasted like smoke with a hint of mint. And this time, the smoke wasn’t bothering me anymore. I was looking for it. I was craving for it — not just for a cigarette, but the taste of his kiss as well.
We broke up months later because things we’re working out. I gave up easily. I shouldn’t have, but I did.
And then I met him — the last guy I kissed passionately.
We met in his school when I made some lame excuse not to attend the thesis meeting.
It wasn’t love at first sight, but we both felt a connection. It was a shotgun relationship — no if’s, no but’s. We just jumped in and seized the moment.
We were in his school when we first kissed. It was great because he was such a good kisser. His kiss had passion, which led me to crave for more.
I was on my bed when I looked back on the first kiss we had. His kiss tasted like smoke with a hint of mint. And this time, I no longer cared about the smoke. I was looking forward to it. I was craving for it — not just for a cigarette, but the way he kissed me.
We’d smoke cigarettes all the time. It was part of who we were. And we both smoked different cigarettes. Sharing wasn’t an option because he smoked menthols and I had my reds.
With him, I experienced what it was like to be in an actual serious relationship that meant more in the world than anything else. With him, I saw a clear sight of my future. With him, I knew who I was.
Until the day I forgot everything and lost it all.
The cigarette I was smoking just died, and I need to light another one.
I have always loved my reds. If I wasn’t smoking reds, I’d choose lights over menthols. I take out a cigarette from the pack of menthols. I never really smoked menthols. I was forever choosing the cigarettes packed in red. But lately, I’ve been craving for menthols.
Or maybe I’m just craving for another kiss that has a hint of mint.