Chuck's Books
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                              Telephone: 1-780-727-2989

The Kiss
by
Charles O. Goulet

    Charles couldn't take his eyes off her.  Ever since the first day of class he'd been smitten by her beauty, poise, and intelligence.  Now, as the teacher droned on, he studied her profile while she concentrated on the speaker's words.  Her smooth brow, her shapely nose, her cupid lips, her sculptured chin, her graceful neck, and her molded breast fired his imagination.  If only he could date her one time and kiss those exquisite lips, his desire would be fulfilled.
     To hold her in his arms and feel her lips move against his would be the ultimate.  But he knew it was only a fantasy.  He had little chance of accomplishing that.  She never noticed him because she was too busy sorting out the other 'hunks' that hung around her every chance they got.  Some were the most sought-after guys—well-built, handsome, with money, full of confidence—while he was a skinny runt, socially shy and awkward, with barely the means to stay in school, totally lacking in self-confidence.  Yet he could dream.
    The laughter of the class startled him.  His face turned to fire as he realized that all eyes were on him.
    "Mr. Gourlay, you seem to be in another class."  The teacher's voice dripped with scorn.  "I'm sure if I repeated the question, you wouldn't know the answer anyway."
    The students snickered at his discomfiture.  And he tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.
    His eyes met hers fleetingly, but he was certain she never realized she was the cause of his embarrassment.  The remainder of the period passed in a blur as he tried to recover his composure.  Although the moment passed for the rest of the students, it haunted and taunted him for the remainder of the day.  He felt uncomfortable, on edge, irritated, and humiliated, but he knew it was only in his mind.  Why couldn't he be comfortable and confident like others?  Why wouldn't a quick response or witticism come to his lips as it did to his fellow students?  Why couldn't he make the girls aware of him as they were of the other guys?  Why did he find it so hard to talk to girls?   He liked them; he liked the feeling they gave him when he was near them; he liked the subtle smell of their perfume; he liked the twinkle in their eyes, the curve of their smile, the flash of their teeth, the sway of their hips, the sweep of a well-formed leg.
    Yet when he was with them, he was tongue-tied.  His mind went blank.  His ability to speak disappeared.  He became awkward and uncoordinated--a bumbling fool.
    The final bell for the day sounded, and he hurried down the hall toward the exit that she usually used.  As customary he knew it would be futile; she'd be accompanied by a group of admirers, both male and female.  He supposed she was popular with the other women because they would then have first chance at her leavings.
    When he got to the door, he sighed.  He was right.  Already she and several others were heading down the walk toward her residence two blocks over.  He knew exactly where she lived; almost every afternoon he followed from a distance as she and her happy companions, laughing and joking, drifted through the late afternoon sunshine savoring the freedom from classes that were finished for the day.
    Although he lived in the opposite direction, he made it a habit to take the long way home so that he could vicariously enjoy her companionship on his walk.  Each day he hoped he would find her walking alone, for then he would hurry to catch up to her and walk her home himself.  But it never happened.  So he trailed behind, far enough that he would not be noticed, and yet close enough to feel the pain of observing her ease and happiness.   One day—soon perhaps--his fantasy would come true and he'd have her to himself. But what would he do then?  What would he say to her?
    His chance came sooner than he expected.  The following afternoon he stayed late to pick up some books at the library for an assignment that was due the next week.  Even while he was doing that, he thought of her and cursed that this might be the very day when she would be alone.
    After he left the library, out of habit, he headed toward the exit she used, his mind conjuring up images and scenes of her and him together.  He rehearsed in his mind how he would approach her, how he would greet her, how he would talk to he, how he would ask her for a date.
    He pushed through the large glass door--and there she was—not more than a dozen paces ahead of him.  No one was with her--no girl friends, no guys--nobody.  For a moment he could not believe it. This was his moment--the moment he waited for for so long. What was he going to do with it?  Panic filled him, and he fought the urge to turn and run away.  His eyesight blurred; his palms sweated; his breathing labored; his heartbeat quickened. He stopped and watched as she strolled down the pathway her head bowed slightly deep in thought.
    "Chuck," he whispered to himself.  Although everyone called him 'Charlie' secretly he preferred to be called 'Chuck.'  It sounded stronger, more macho, and more confident.  "Get a grip on yourself. This is your big chance!"
    He quickened his pace, narrowing the distance between them.
    She glanced up, almost startled.  "Oh!  It's you, Chuck."
    His heart leaped.  She knew him.  She called him by the name he preferred.  His whole body tingled.  And he could feel his face heat up.  He wondered if it was as red as it felt.
    "Hello, Colleen," he mumbled.  "You're alone?"  Then he felt stupid.  Of course, she was alone.  No one was within sight.
    She smiled easily.  "Were you working late?"
    He nodded his head and wanted to say something, but no words would issue from his paralyzed lips.
    She continued, "I just had to get at next week's assignment. I saw you in the library.  I guess you were doing the same thing?"
    Again he nodded his head.  Again he tried to say something.  Again the words would not come.  He felt helpless and hopeless.
    She smiled up at him.  His heart leaped like a joyful fawn. Her even white teeth gleamed between her rosy lips.  Oh, how he wanted to feel his lips against hers.  Many times he visualized the ecstasy that it would bring him.  Suddenly he realized he was staring at her mouth, and he felt guilty.  Did she know what he was thinking?  A woman like her, with her experience with men, must know what he was thinking.  His face felt flushed.  The heat rose to his hairline; he felt the moisture gather there.
    "How are your classes going, Chuck?"
    She sounded sincere and interested, as if he was the only guy alive at that moment.
    He mumbled, "Fine, I think."
    "Isn't that a fact?  You can never be sure how well you're doing.  I feel the same way.  Sometime I think that I've got everything under control, while at other times I feel crushed...with homework... assignments...papers.  You know what I mean!"
    He grinned tentatively.  How easy it was to talk to her.  She seemed to know what he was thinking.  She made him feel important. "Yeah, you're right.  They keep you so busy, you never have time to relax very much." He regretted his last comment.  He wanted to ask her to the dance, but he was giving the impression that he had no time for recreation.
    "But you've got to take time to enjoy yourself, Chuck.  You know...All work and no play...."  She smiled invitingly.  Her grey-blue eyes sparkled and drew his to them.  She had the largest, deepest eyes he ever saw.  They were like two deep pools that sucked him in, warm and mellow.  He shifted his gaze, again feeling uncomfortable...guilty, vulnerable, that she might be able to read his mind.
    He wanted to gather her into his arms, and whisper sweet nothings as his lips brushed her ear lobes, her cheeks, and found her moist lips.  He wanted her to respond to him, to clasp her arms around his neck, and to draw his lips to hers.
    His reverie was broken by her voice.  "Chuck, are you going to the big dance on Friday?"
    For several moments he tried to decipher her words.  "What?" he mumbled.  He couldn't believe that she was asking him about the dance.
    "Are you going Friday night?"  Her voice was almost inviting.
    Was she giving him the opportunity to ask her to go with him? Or was she just making small talk?  Someone must have already asked her to go.
    "Huh, I was thinking of going."
    It was the first dance of the semester and from what he had heard it was very popular--the event of the season--a chance for everyone to enjoy him and herself and to meet and make new friends.  "What about you?"
    She nodded her head and smiled.
    "Everyone seems to be going."
    There was a long silence as they moved toward the main sidewalk.
    "Colleen, I know it's probably too late."  He stopped and
stared at the ground.  He was afraid to look at her.
"But...would...would you...come to the dance...with me."  He was shocked at his audacity.  He had uttered the magic words.
    The silence lengthened.  He waited.  She did not answer.  Was that good...or was it bad.  He wanted to look at her.  To study her face, but he could not force his eyes toward her.  He gulped.
     "What did you say, Chuck?"
    Had he mumbled the words so badly that she had not understood him?  Had he really asked her to go to the dance with him?  Should he try again?  He felt small and insignificant, unworthy to even be walking with her.
    "Would...you...go...to the...dance with me?"  There, he asked her again.
    She stopped and placed her hand on his left forearm halting his progress.  She looked up at him.  Her face solemn and concerned.
    His eyes were drawn to hers even though he tried to avoid them. They held his.  A tiny smile softened her mouth.
    He had never seen a more beautiful face: solemn, yet winsome; regretful, yet serene; distressed, yet prepossessing.
    Her lips moved but he did not hear her answer.  His eyes were captivated by their lusciousness, their delicacy, and their daintiness. He wanted to bend down and cover them with his.  But he did not.
    Suddenly the magic of the moment passed.  The rattle of passing traffic intruded; a small gust of wind chilled him; a cloud drifted over the face of the sun, dulling the afternoon.
    "What did you say, Colleen?"
    "I'm sorry, Chuck.  I can't.  I've promised someone else."  She smiled contritely, as if she would have gone with him if he asked her sooner.
    He felt exhilarated, buoyant, alive.  Yet she refused him. His chest expanded; he felt strong and confident.  Yet she said, "No."   But he had asked her; that was the important thing. It was almost as if he had kissed her.

Email: go1c@telusplanet.net