Here is my entry for the Cupid’s Literary Connection Kissing Scene Competition. I’m in Round 4 of the Blind Speed Dating Contest (in which writers compete to have their work reviewed by agents; only BSDC contestants can enter the Kissing Scene Competition as well). My BSDC entry, #122, can be found here. Oh yes…and I’m Kari Maaren. I don’t believe I actually mention that anywhere on this blog.
Basic set-up: the novel in which this scene appears (which is not the one I have entered in the BSDC) involves the protagonist, Sam, being caught up in a sadistic game run by a secret society. She is accompanied by a bike messenger named Mor, who is pulled into the game by accident. Sam, who is a little too liable to look at the world through the lense of Hollywood films, has just lost and then found Mor again; he has undergone a bit of light torture at the hands of his captors and is on the verge of a breakdown. At this point in the story, Sam and Mor have known each other for about a day.
I lost a few minutes again at this point. I guess I was more upset than I thought I was; I remember feeling pretty calm. My mind caught up with me eventually. I was stroking Mor’s hair. If I had been him and had been abandoned as he had been, I probably would have pulled away.
“We have to go,” I said. “Can you walk?”
He shook his head against my shoulder.
“Mor,” I said, “you have to try. What did they…?” No. “Look…just take deep breaths. You’re hyperventilating.”
He kept breathing in pants. I pushed his head back so that he was facing me directly, and I brushed the hair out of his lost green eyes.
“Deep breaths,” I said, and I kissed him.
It was a total cliche. It was the moment in the generic action film where the protagonists, driven together by circumstances, share a moment that later turns out to foreshadow them being deeply in love. I knew scenes like that were bullshit, and I didn’t know Mor well enough to be falling deeply in love with him, and yet I still kissed him. It was the most astonishing kiss. Boys didn’t exactly shove each other out of the way to get at me, but I’d had two serious boyfriends and a number of more casual encounters, and I was pretty sure I was a pretty good kisser. Mor was better. It had to be natural talent; it would have taken at least a hundred years of practice for someone to learn to kiss like that, sweet and tender all at once. It seemed to be an automatic thing for him to do. The panting stopped. I felt my hands going up to his hair again, and I leaned into the kiss.
It ended too soon. We pulled away together. Mor’s eyes were closed. He was breathing more normally now. “Mor,” I said.
Mor opened his eyes.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll never mention this again.”
He nodded. “I would appreciate that.”
And that was the end of the total cliche.