He was my first kiss.
It happened out on the swing set at the local play park when he was five years old, and I was three.
Our Moms were over the fence, chatting on a bench.
My first words right afterwards were "Ew, why do growed-ups want to do that?" He shook his head, replying:
"I dunno, maybe we’ll understand when we’re older."
I remembered how wise I’d thought he was at the time, smiling to myself.
He still always seemed to know what to say at the right time. And the words to make people melt completely. His voice always had a poetic kind of quality, making the words seem so much more sincere.
Especially me.
He was my first crush, a few years later, too.
He’d grown up handsome, with eyes that seemed to show his every emotion and thought, and dark hair that framed his face, with a cute fringe, that he often brushed out of his eyes. And he had the perfect smile.
We were still close then, me being an awkward thirteen year old, and him being slightly older, and indefinitely cooler at fifteen, and still living next door to one another.
We had Tuesday evenings as ‘our’ evenings, and no matter what other plans we had the choice to make, we never did, because it was always something we’d done. We’d hang out and eat junk food or pizza, or rent a movie, or go to the movie theatre, if budget allowed for it to happen.
Eventually as we got older, he started going to shows, and I’d occasionally tag along on Friday and Saturday nights. I made my own circle of friends, and he had his, but at the same time we still had time for each other.
But right now, I hadn’t seen him for a few months. It was summer in Chicago, and I was sat in my cool apartment, which was only cool because I had the air conditioner on.
I was now a working office person, for a huge company, living the typical city lifestyle, and mixing in groups I wouldn’t have thought I’d ever mix with when I’d been friends with him
They were all for conservative views, where as he said whatever he wanted to say. They dressed down every situation, whereas he liked over-dramatics. They wore suits, to his band shirts and jeans.
I missed him.
And the fact that I missed him so badly stopped me from picking up the phone and calling him. He was living the dream, and I had such a mundane existence, I felt like I’d failed. We’d promised each other we’d never be boring. Was I boring?
Actually, the question was more of a ‘Does it matter if I am?’
It didn’t seem like it did.
It didn’t seem like I’d be seeing Pete any time soon, and so I didn’t care if I was boring.
And it seemed like he didn’t care if I was boring, either.
Until all those thoughts fell apart. When he called, and said he was back in Wilmette, where we grew up, and insisted that he was coming to see me. I had half an hour, and I was frantically straightening my hair, the cushions on the couch, and putting on make up.
I looked half presentable. Or so I thought. But apparently he didn’t. He was stood in my doorway now, looking me up and down slowly, as if he didn’t quite know what he was looking at.
"Um, hi?" He asked, and his voice was the same as the last time I’d seen him. His eyes were the same. He still looked just as good.
"Hey, Pete." I smiled. He was still looking me up and down, and I wondered what he was thinking. Once upon a time I would have been able to read him like a book, but now…I couldn’t.
"Um, Sophia? What happened?" He asked, and I knew he meant my clothes, my hair, and my apartment.
My clothes were supposed to be casual, but somehow they were smart/casual.
My hair didn’t have the choppy side bangs Pete had once suggested I’d got, and that had suited me so well. Instead I had a professional shoulder-length cut, which was perfectly groomed.
My apartment didn’t have what Pete probably expected in the way of posters and band stuff, and cool little items. It was well-furnished throughout, and professional looking, and to-the-point tidy.
"I got professional." I sighed, walking back inside, knowing he’d follow me.
"I can see. Do you like it?" He asked, and I knew that wasn’t the question he was really asking.
"Well, it’s not really…me…is it?" I asked, sighing.
"You tell me, I don’t think I know you any more." He said, looking around. I looked into his eyes, and knew he was…upset?
"It’s not me." I said quietly, looking at the floor.
"The city life got to you, huh?" He asked, stepping closer to me. "What if I offered you the chance to get out and see the world?" he asked. "What would you say?"
"I’d say if you were there, I’d be there too, in a shot." I admitted quietly, almost admitting it to myself as much as I was admitting it to him.
"I’ll be there." He whispered, and I could feel his hands experimentally softly on my hips.
"Peter, what are you doing?" I asked, even though it wasn’t the question I should have been asking him.
"You know exactly what I’m doing." He said, with a small smile. The Wentz smile. I couldn’t help but smile back. All the feelings I’d been repressing for him for years were bubbling up. I’d always hid them behind my tongue and a false front.
"Soph, I’ve been thinking about you every day for years, every night, even." He said, and I sensed that Pete Wentz was about to spill everything, something I knew he rarely did. "I wish I’d done things much sooner, I mean, we’re better off as lovers, and not the other way around." He said, smiling, and I was smiling too.
"I missed you, Pete." I smiled lightly.
"I missed you more, I’ll bet. Look, can we start something?" He asked, and I nodded slowly, knowing it’s what I’d wanted for the longest time, even if I’d never really admitted it to myself before.
He leant down, and his lips touched mine lightly, before it happened again, and the third time, his tongue graced my lips, asking for entry. I allowed him to, and it seemed like one of those movie moments, where the background blurs and the main characters are all you see onscreen.
All that mattered was Pete and I. And his arms around me, and my hands on his chest, and the kiss that was still between us.
Eventually when we had to breathe, I searched his eyes, only seeing lust, and want for me. And I liked it like that.
"Why didn’t we do this years ago?" he asked quietly.
"You never asked me before." I giggled. "You know I’m shy."
"I know so much about you, but so little." He admitted, sighing softly. "You’re coming on tour, then?" he asked, and I nodded.
"I can’t lose you twice." I smiled lightly.
"I can’t leave you after that, so it’s good." He smiled, and I couldn’t have been happier. He’d come back, and I was going to be un-boring-ified.
And who knew? Maybe one day I’d be saying ‘I love you’ to Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III.
But one thing, he’d never get away from me.
The only one who knew before now was my bad squirrel. I hope he takes all your nuts lol. And, is the answer for a blimp the same as it is for a normal person? I really don’t know. I’ve never experienced my tailbone hurting and don’t know if it’s due to my age….