Lips That Would Kiss

In the summer and fall of 1988, I lived with my aunt and uncle in Alexandria, Virginia. Their house was near the Huntington Metro stop, and every day, I took the train into the city. My place of employment was a gourmet food store in the DuPont Circle neighborhood, which was a gay neighborhood at the time. There were gay bars close by, and the gay bookstore Lambda Rising was a few blocks north. My friend Nathan lived in the neighborhood.

I worked in the bakery, and there was a cute boy who worked in the deli on the other side of the store. He was always pleasant and polite. I got the impression that he was straight, though, and in any event, I never imagined he would be interested in me, but that didn’t stop me from looking. He was just my type—sweet natured, slim with a boyish face and blond hair. Every chance I got, I stole a glimpse.

The kitchen and the supplies were in the basement, so I made regular trips down there throughout my shifts. One day when I came out of the kitchen and headed up the narrow stairs, I found the boy from the deli in front of me. I didn’t say anything because the stairs were little more than two feet wide and quite steep. I figured I’d say hello to him once we reached the top.

Apparently, he didn’t realize I was behind him, and he started moving up the stairs at a glacier pace. It was ridiculous how slow he was moving, and I quickly realized he was deliberately wasting time. He was taking a little unauthorized break from his work. I certainly didn’t blame him for that, but I was right behind him, and after a while, it felt a little strange.

Normally, I’m shy, but now and then, I manage to be playful even with people I don’t know all that well, even with cute, presumably straight guys. So on a whim, I lowered my voice and said with menacing authority, hoping that I sounded like our boss, “All right, let’s try to get up these stairs a bit faster.”

I must have given the boy quite a start because he suddenly sprang to life and spun around before I finished my sentence. When he saw that it was just me, his expression turned to relief, and he let out a sigh. But then he pretended to be angry with me and did something unexpected. He grabbed me by the collar and pushed me against the wall. His face was suddenly very close to mine.

Knowing that I scared him, if just for a moment, made me laugh, and I continued to laugh when he grabbed me. But after a couple of seconds, it registered how we were pressed together on those narrow stairs. No more than an inch separated our lips. And he held us in this position for a while. When my giggles trailed off, and the situation was in danger of becoming awkward, he let go, dropped the pretense of anger, smiled and said, “You scared the shit out of me.” We then went on up the stairs. A couple of weeks later, I quit, and I never saw him again. But not long after that, I began to wonder if I had almost been kissed on those stairs by that cute blond boy. I now wish I had been daring enough to kiss him. All it would have taken would have been for me to pucker and our lips would have touched. That’s how close he was to me.