We received about 200 submissions to Kiss and Tell -- far more than we could fit in the pages of Floridian. Here are the memorable kiss stories we couldn't fit in the newspaper.
[Times illustrations by Don Morris] |
 © St. Petersburg Times, published February 13, 2001 The kiss I will long remember came when my boss of 15 years called and fired me. To say I was hysterical when I got off the phone is to put it mildly. Everything I had worked so hard for was just gone -- 15 years gone in seconds. My husband, Steve, came home to me right away. He held my face in his strong, comforting hands and told me how much he loved me, we would be okay. With his hands still on my face, he gave me the sweetest, softest kisses. I will always remember that kiss and how much his love and words meant to me. A friend asked me what I learned from losing my job. I said, "I learned just how much my husband loves me." -- Deborah K. Nelle, St. Petersburg * * * I was a kiss virgin and in the seventh grade. Her name was Chris. One afternoon at school, I noticed Chris walking toward me, chewing gum. "Got any for me?" "Yeah, sure," she replied. With that, she backed into a recess between lockers, parted her lips, held the gum between her teeth and motioned for me to retrieve it. While doing so, she playfully and teasingly withheld the prized wad. After several blissful moments, she released it and continued down the hall. I fell back against the doorjamb of the stairway to steady myself, my head spinning, my stomach sick with excitement. I will always remember that day. * * * It was November 1929. We had a our third date on Saturday night, with a date set for Tuesday. "May I kiss you good night?" I asked. "Not tonight. I will Tuesday," Louise said. "If I don't kiss you tonight, there won't be a Tuesday." She said, "That's okay." I walked about 6 feet away and she said, "Come back here." Our first kiss. We had a lovely, romantic 64 years and eight months, with four children, in full-time Christian work. I still miss those sweet kisses, as she went on to heaven five years ago. * * * I was in second grade in Dasher Elementary, Melvindale, Mich., waiting for the play to begin. Just in front of me was Louise, the prettiest girl I had ever seen. Suddenly, someone turned the light switch off and everyone screamed -- except me. Don't know what possessed me, but in the dark, I immediately moved forward and, without any modesty, kissed that beautiful little girl on the cheek. Just as quickly I stepped back, just as the light was back on. Whew! She looked around and suspiciously gave me a stare. I just stood there looking very innocent. She never found out. * * * My most memorable kiss happened when I was about to turn 80 years old. I had just had heart surgery and was happy to be home in my own bed. One night my husband of some 60 years came to my bedside and kissed me. As he was leaving the room, he said, "That wasn't a love kiss, it was a "goodbye' kiss -- in case you don't wake up in the morning." * * * She was slightly yellow -- jaundiced, they said. Buck-naked and screaming her guts out. But she had 10 fingers and 10 toes and every other part was where it was supposed to be and working right. Her mom was beat tired and still under the drugs, and I was crying my eyes out. But when I held her in my arms and kissed her, everything was perfect. * * * On Wednesday, April 21, 1954, my blind date and I argued all during dinner. He asked if I would like to complete the evening with a movie or dancing. I chose a movie so I wouldn't have to talk to him anymore. "Okay, we'll go dancing," he said. At my door, he kissed me. The warmth, tenderness, softness and fullness of his kiss were a spiritual experience. Forty-six years later, each kiss is still as gratifying as the first. * * * It was our annual trip to the Sebring races. A day of fast cars, loud engines, beer parties and plenty of people. It was the year Steve McQueen was racing there. With the races over, everyone hurried to the finish line to get a glimpse of McQueen. My husband and his best friend put me on their shoulders so I could see. Everyone was shouting and pushing. Suddenly someone grabbed me down and started kissing me. It was the most intense, passionate kiss that I ever experienced. It engulfed my whole body. I never saw who it was. * * * She was a summer secretary in the newspaper office, and I painted a watercolor portrait of her during luncheons we shared. She wanted the portrait, so I offered to trade it for a farewell kiss. Two days before she returned to college, we drove up to a high hill overlooking the city and I collected my kiss. I'll never forget the sensation: the taste of wild strawberries. She was delighted with the portrait. "I'll remember you by it," she said. I answered miserably, "I just hope you remember me." We didn't see one another for five years. Then we reunited for five or six. It has been 50 years since that first kiss, we live far apart and see each other rarely, but our memories include a beautiful love affair, a son now older than either of us was then -- and the taste of wild strawberries. * * * I was kissed by a boy for the first time at a Valentine's Day party 60 years ago, when I was almost 13. We played "spin-the-bottle" and I thought I'd die when I had to leave the room with a cute blond boy of about 15. I was sure he'd consider me a baby. But he kissed me so hard that I thought my teeth would break. Then he said, "Guess who's taking you home tonight, Babe?" I had arrived! * * * It was May 2, 1997, the day of my college graduation. After receiving my degree, I walked off the stage and back to my seat. During the walk, my father broke through the crowd, put his arm around my shoulders and walked beside me. He grinned, kissed me on the cheek and walked back to where my family was standing. I began to cry. It was the first time in my adult fife that my father had ever kissed me. It was also in that kiss that he told me he loved me, and how proud he was of me. * * * It was August 1988 in Leningrad, Russia. Joan and I were on vacation. This city of beautiful buildings was cold and dreary. In contrast to our drab surroundings, we held beautifully bright gladiolas that we had impulsively purchased from a roadside kiosk. Walking toward us was a stooped, elderly woman clad in a dark, nondescript coat. She was wandering aimlessly, looking lost and unloved. I stepped in front of her, offering our flowers. She quickly retreated, shaking her head as she fearfully searched the street. I placed the gladiolas in her arms and smiled. Her eyes filled with tears as she struggled to thank me. I slowly bent and kissed her cheek. Thank you, I whispered. * * * In 1950, I went to Italy on vacation. Three days before returning to the States, I met a nice-looking Italian girl who stole my heart. We saw each other daily, always chaperoned. Things progressed, and we became engaged. I told her that the custom in the States was to get a kiss for the engagement. She blushed, but no kiss. I said that tomorrow morning I would knock on her door and if she didn't give me a kiss I would pack my bags and go home. Next morning, I knocked on her door. She opened it and stood there, red-faced and scared. I looked at her and realized how terrified she must be to be getting her first kiss. I had to laugh, but we finally kissed. Fifty years later we are still kissing. * * * In 1944 during World War II, I had a date with a sailor who was my best friend's brother. He was home on a 30-day leave. At the end of our second date, we were standing at my front door, and he said, "Shall we say good night with a kiss?" I didn't answer but leaned toward him. He had the softest lips, and when he kissed me bells were ringing. It has been 56 years since that second date. We have been married for 55 years, and he still has the softest lips and is still a good kisser. * * * My story is set in San Francisco. It was cold and rainy as we waited for the bus at the end of our first date. To get us out of the weather, he squeezed me into a phone booth and closed the door. This brought us very close to each other, and I knew I was going to get The Kiss. It was the most tender, electric, full-of-promise kiss ever. Two children and 28 years later, his kiss is still the best. * * * We met in a church group. We finally got up the nerve to sit side by side in church service. Then we started hanging around after church, talking. Then telephone conversations in the evening. After six weeks, we agreed to meet at a movie theater. For weeks we had both been thinking about our first kiss, so I decided not to leave such an important event to serendipity. I told her to wait in her car when she arrived at the theater and I would find her. I asked her to slide back her driver's seat (she is only 5 feet tall) and wait. I informed her that when I arrived I would open the door, sit on the doorsill, reach inside and kiss her in a way that she would know she'd been kissed -- a kiss of both passion and history. The kiss lasted almost 30 seconds. We still hold hands and laugh every time we drive by that theater. * * * My most significant kiss? It was when my boyfriend (later to be my husband) burped in my mouth! We both cracked up, but it was then that I knew we had moved onto the next stage of our relationship. We still laugh about it nine years later. * * * On Valentine's Day 1952, my first grade teacher assigned me the honor of reading aloud to the class while she was out of the room. During her absence, Clem Moller jumped up, rushed forward, kissed me on the lips and scurried back to his seat. When the teacher returned, my classmates shrieked what Clem had done. As punishment, I was banished to the coat room, my face ordered to the wall. For the remainder of the school year, the teacher treated me with cool indifference. Clem got by unscathed. I never forgot the injustice. It ignited a purpose in me to defend the weak and rally for the underdog. Clem's kiss wasn't expected, polite or welcomed. But it was my first kiss. It awakened my courage. It taught me to stick out my chin. * * * The kiss that changed my life was the one my husband of 15 years didn't give me on Easter Sunday, 1998, when he dropped me at the airport. I was going on a business trip. He was on his way to mountain bike with friends he'd never let me meet. The Tuesday before, I'd returned from work to find him showered, shaved and headed out. I asked where he was going, and he said his biking friend, Barb, had invited him to her apartment to make beer. When I said I could change fast, he said I wasn't invited and left. He returned after 1 a.m., and I asked if he was having an affair. He wouldn't answer but did say he wasn't sure he wanted to stay married and that he'd let me know when I returned from my West Coast business trip, 12 days later. He didn't kiss me then, either. He divorced me two months later. * * * It was 1935. My girlfriend, Connie, invited me to a church Halloween party. While helping clean up at the close of the evening, I saw this very attractive girl rinsing dishes at the sink. I asked if she'd like a ride home, and she assented. Without letting on what was developing, I took Connie home, then hastened back to the church to pick up the other girl, Grace. On the way to her house, there was a stop sign. Figuring you never know until you try, I leaned over and kissed her. Boy, what a kiss that was! Now we've been together for 66 years. * * * He was a painter and I needed to have a door painted, so I asked him to come over and give me a price. We spent two or three hours talking, after which he left without giving me the estimate. He came back later, and the same thing happened. The next time he came over, he kissed me and I kissed him back, and in that kiss were bells and fireworks. We were married three months later. I didn't get the door painted until we sold the house. * * * We were married, but not to each other. This handsome specimen of masculinity, with twinkling indigo eyes, held a strange obsessive fascination, causing me to let my guard down. His tongue made love to my mouth, so far down my throat I thought it would pierce my heart. It nearly suffocated me. This kiss was so deep I wanted my whole body to fit through his mouth; I couldn't get enough. It felt like a giant Hoover; the suction was incredible. My senses sang as the kiss continued, a deep, lingering, familiar kiss. The price I paid? All subsequent kisses have paled in comparison. * * * On July 3, 1999, my husband's groaning suddenly wakened me. He was as pale as the sheet he was lying on. I tried to talk to him and got no response. I only saw him for one minute in the ER before they rushed him into surgery. I had whispered in his ear just before they took him away, "It will be okay, sweetheart. I will be here waiting for you. I love you." A few hours later he was gone. I asked to see him one last time. I entered the room where they had him prepared for me to see him and approached his side. I took his hand into mine and whispered to him for one last time, "Good night, sweetheart, I love you." I kissed his lips for the last time. * * * George and I were best friends, nearly inseparable, and spending the afternoon watching our sisters ice-skate. I had recently turned 4, and he was an older man -- 5. We wandered away from the ice and suddenly I found George unusually close to me, puckered up. That's when our relationship took a fatal turn. I wanted nothing to do with George in the romantic sense (little girls are amazingly sensible). I wasn't about to let him take advantage of me. I stood, put my hands on my hips, said, "George, you're not my type," and proceeded to introduce his kisser to my fist. Our mothers showed up and found George knocked out cold on the concrete and me standing over him, fuming. George and I didn't hang out much after that and, unfortunately for me, reputations tend to stick with a girl in a small town. * * * I will never forget the last great kiss my husband and I shared. It was Aug. 8, 2000. It was a goodbye kiss, one of those long mushy ones. Nice and sweet. My husband and his mother were leaving to go back to South Carolina after a short visit. My husband had a terminal illness and was staying with his mother so she could help take care of him. I was to go to South Carolina during Christmas vacation because he was too ill to make the trip this time. I neglected to reserve a rental car, and my trip was postponed. He didn't wait for me; he passed away Dec. 29, 2000, in his sleep. Not only didn't we get to kiss on New Year's Eve, we won't get to celebrate our sixth year anniversary on Feb. 18. We had a Valentine's wedding. So, I will always remember and cherish our last great kiss. * * * January 26, 1994, was the last kiss I received from my husband of 50 years. He was terminal and in a coma. Suddenly he awoke and gave me one last kiss and hug, whispering, "I love you." He went back into a coma and three hours later was gone. I was left with 50 years of beautiful memories and a kiss and hug to last me through my final years. Barbara O'Driscoll, Pinellas Park It was the first time she really kissed me. Her mouth puckered into the perfect shape of a heart. She leaned toward me with her eyes open. I felt just a tiny brush of her lips, like butterfly wings, touching my cheek. My heart skipped a beat as I felt the enormity of it. My granddaughter loves me! At 14 months old, she gave me a kiss! * * * One Sunday night after church, a young man (who had recently dedicated his life to the ministry) asked if he could see me home. I said, "Thank you, but my father is waiting." And I ran down the church stairs to meet my father. When I got home, I told my mother about it. She said it would be all right to accept next time. During the summer of 1937, we dated often, going to dinner and a movie, playing tennis, going to the beach, etc. When September came, it was time for him to leave for college in another state. At the close of our last date, he walked me to the front door, where we said our goodbyes. He took me in his arms and kissed me. Today, even after our 60 years of marriage, I can still remember the thrill and happiness I felt during that sweet first kiss. * * * After dinner on our second date, Joe pulled into a parking lot on the Belleair Causeway. He wanted to sit and talk and watch the sunset. It had been an exhausting day of teaching for me; I was distracted and impatient to go home to grade papers. Just when I started to tell him, he turned and kissed me. It surprised me that he kissed me at all, and that his kiss was so soft and warm. I wasn't ready for the knock-me-over, I'll-be-danged feeling. We watched the sunset. We watched the moon rise. We were married six weeks later. * * * I had a date with a young man one evening when I was in my 20s in the '40s. We enjoyed the evening together, and he took me home. At the door, he asked me to remove my makeup so he could kiss me. I was so startled, I stood there with my mouth hanging open. I told him to get lost and slammed the door on him. * * *
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