Because of the production value of the media real life events can seem dull in comparison. But not today.
I approach like an amateur boxer throwing a perfect combination, but this time its not like a Black and White Scorsese cinematic experience. This time it’s in perfect Digital Technicolor. First a delicate straight jab to the forehead, followed tenderly by an expert kiss to the right cheek, followed by a straight right kiss to the bridge of the nose. My opponent weak at the knees, dazed but not confused. Our eyes meet, achingly, knowingly, but unlike the Martin scorsese epic, there are no symphonic string sections. . Just the beat box of my heart, pounding percussively, pursuing the irregular exhalations escaping from my lungs.
I observe the perfectly formed mouth moving closer. With each advancing centimeter I feel a year younger, as her perfectly formed mouth draws near mine, I’m 14 years old. No need to go 88mph; my mind goes into overdrive with ridiculously mis-timed questions…How did I get here? How is this happening? What happens next? My mind goes through a plethora of cosmic permutations, an a abundance of paradoxical variables; my mind becomes a fantasy think tank, excerpts suitable for a Back To The Future trilogy, as the final credits scroll down furiously… Two banks of perfectly formed ivories approach the point of no return, the boundaries of science fiction cease to matter, and all of a sudden its happening. . . .our mouths gently embrace. . . .our mouths begin to move in perfect harmony like Torvill & Dean, whilst my brain frantically scrambles through my memory banks, remembering how this is supposed to be done. I find a file marked “Tongue” adjacent to a document marked with Red pen marked “Lip Pressure” . The envelopes are furiously opened, like a kid expecting exam results (or are they sent online these days?). Once the documents have been retrieved, I frantically execute the commands. Approximately twenty seconds must have passed, her perfectly decorated fingertips brush my face and paw at my left cheek with maximum certainly and efficiency like a prime Van Gogh. The subtle stroke sends ripples through my central nervous system, radiating, pulsating pleasure in every direction of my anatomy, the resulting ecstasy signals to the part of my Brain which controls my respiratory system, upon instruction I sigh audibly, not too loud, but enough for her to know that I’d had my fix. The beautiful, bright bank of Ivories slowly retract, the pair of eyes move further away.. . ”That’s enough” the vessel teasingly whispers. I inhale again, but this time with less reckless abandon than 3 seconds ago, the other parts of my Brain are still stimulated but serve me with enough coordination to step backwards and locate the chair behind me. I collapse in the seat in a drunken stupor. She scurries around nervously, reluctant to maintain eye contact in a manner, which would have been more understandable before the embrace…. Reciprocating, I hurriedly reach and scramble for my Blackberry and navigate through the interface in a manner which has worryingly become all too familiar, this action is performed partly to test the extent to which my recovery has been achieved but also to achieve normality….I need to understand how monotonous reality really is once again to understand what has just happened…..I ask myself the same questions, but this time I’m elated that I can put the subject matter in a historic context….How did I get there?, but that was not supposed to happen?. Before I can answer these questions, she dares to engage me in conversation, something about sitting in the lounge.... I respond by telling her that her previous proclamations of kissing being her “specialty” could be confirmed, with no hint of regret or reluctance. I then recline in my chair, sitting still, in a post kiss/alcohol induced high, and tell her that’s its best that I remain stationary for at least a few minutes. She laughs, or more accurately giggles genuinely enough to know she still appreciates my comedic value, and doesn’t just seem me as a kissing machine. By now my body starts to relax and gain its normal state, no beat box, just a monotonous bass drum, my lungs now inhaling and exhaling in longer intervals, I’m now entering reality in the same way that one does when they emerge from a dream, but I quickly remember as with all good dreams (why is it always the good ones?) I may forget all of this rather quickly, I glance over to her, just to check that she’s real, so my Brain scrambles again, this time for the top left part the memory, I mentally Copy the last 30 seconds of my life, and hurriedly take the clipboard deep into the memory banks, I find a safe place…right – click and select Paste. Now it’s in there, forever. Whilst I’m in the memory banks I take a look around, it’s been a while since I wanted to place something like this in here. I debate as to whether or not this should go in the special Trophy Room....I think it does. I’d say at least 7 years. This one isn’t a Driving Test or even my first kiss, but this one seems special because this one demanded months of preparation, all the promises, all the verbalization, all the effort, all the tireless work, invested emotion , all manifested in that one moment. The moment has been crystallized in my psyche. If I never see her again, I’ll always have this mental memento to cherish. They say sentimentality is the unearned emotion. But I’ve definitely paid my dues. I gently place this event within this domain and I leave my psychosis, I shut the door carefully. Now firmly back in reality, I’m ready to chase the next worthwhile experience.