golden

first kiss part one

John's first kiss was a girl named Maxine. He had been fifteen, and she had been seventeen, but she had the darkest hair John had ever seen and legs for miles and miles. She kissed him in July in her red 1990 convertible that didn't have air conditioning. Her lips had been painted with pink lipstick and sticky lipgloss, and it was the worst thing John had ever tasted, but suddenly she was biting his lips and his jaw and his neck, and her tongue seemed to be everywhere. John decided that he sort of liked it. He liked discovering that one spot where Maxine's shoulder met her neck, which made her scrabble at the back of his leather jacket with her scarlet nails. He liked making her moan when he bit at her pouty bottom lip. He liked the sweat that formed on his brow that wasn't just because of the July heat but because of how this kiss made him feel.

After almost a half an hour of snogging, Maxine had pushed John away, smiling flirtatiously.

"You're warm," she stated, laughing.

"It's summer," John stupidly replied.

"Mhmm, well. I have somewhere to be. It was nice to kiss you, John Watson." She had touched his cheek softly before unlocking the car doors.

"Nice to kiss you, too, Maxine."

And with that, John Watson had opened the door, stepped out, and watched the license plate as Maxine drove away.