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I had always been superstitious about the New Year's kiss —the big deal one, the one that happens the moment the old year clicks into the next. For me the kiss was the most important part of New Year's —it would shape my love life for the entire year. If I was dating someone and we didn't kiss we would break-up, if I didn't kiss anyone I would have no luck in love. Of course this wasn't true, but old beliefs are hard to shake. This New Year's I was single. I was going to a party with friends, a party I wasn't particularly looking forward to. But the one thing worse than no date or no kiss would be to sit in my apartment alone, watching the ball drop on TV. I usually had no trouble getting dates, but I had just gotten out of a really bad relationship and was for the first time in my life being picky. The way I saw it, no one was better than someone who sucked. I didn't know anyone at the party. My friends (who were all coupled) introduced me to people, but no one really caught my eye. I was happily surprised when I spotted an old friend of mine, Ian. I had grown up with him in a suburb of Boston —I'd known him since I was about 14. When he had first moved to San Francisco five years ago, we had hung out a bunch, but had kind of drifted apart in the last few years. He was a great guy and I had always considered him a good friend even though we rarely saw each other. Ian was shy and hadn't dated many girls. We had both been shy in high school, but both been two of the nicest people in our group of fucked up friends. Ian had been teased a lot, but I had always thought he was cute. We hung out talking at the party, having a good time. As midnight drew nearer, Ian began to get skittish. I could tell he was getting nervous, so I led him outside where we could have some privacy. When the countdown began I put my hands on his face and drew him closer. We kissed. At that moment I felt something I hadn't felt since my first kiss ever. As I closed my eyes, I was overwhelmed by a feeling that I was going to be with this man forever. We kissed again, then pulled back and looked at each other. We were both grinning like teenagers and felt a little awkward. "Thank you," he said softly. I shook my head; there was no need for thanks. "Do you want to come over?" I asked him. He nodded. We gathered our coats, I slipped an unopened bottle of champagne into my purse and we hurried out the door. Hailing a taxi was hard, so we started to walk to my place in the Mission. We caught a cab when we were halfway there. Once we were in the cab I showed Ian the champagne and put his hand on my knee. "I'm really glad you were there tonight," I said, hoping to make him relax. His hand was stiff and he still seemed afraid. When we reached my place we both pulled out money, unsure if we were on some kind of date or just going to hang out as friends. He insisted on paying, which I liked. I lived in an apartment with two other girls. We went straight to my room which was really small —not much in it besides a bed. I got us two glasses and we had some champagne and lay in my bed talking. After about 10 minutes I took his glass and put it down. I leaned over and kissed him. When we stopped he was smiling.  "Is this okay?" I asked him. He nodded. I scooted closer and kissed him again. "This won't be weird for our friendship will it?" I asked. "Not for me," he said, "What about for you?" I looked at him. "Who cares?' I said. I was definitely feeling a bit tipsy. We kissed again and I took off my pants. He followed my lead. He put his hand on my stomach and I pushed it down, under my panties. I knew I was soaking wet and the slight sigh that escaped his lips let me know he was pleased. I pulled off my shirt and helped him with his, then we took off our underwear. I was expecting him to come quickly and was thrilled when he didn't. He slid right into me, a perfect fit. We fucked for a while in the missionary position then I got on top. I was shocked at how good it was. "I don't want to come," he whispered and pulled me off. "Suck my dick," he said. I was taken aback by the forcefulness of his command. It turned me on. I slid down his body and started giving him a blow job. I looked up, happy to see he was watching me. I wanted it to be perfect; I wanted to be the best he had ever had. He pulled me up to him and we kissed. "Can I fuck you from behind?" he asked. "Yes," I moaned. He flipped me over and entered me. "Fuck me hard," I moaned. He started pumping faster and deeper. "Oh yes, fuck me," I yelled. He pulled my head back by my hair. He rammed his cock into me, my pussy began to tighten and my toes were curling. I bit the pillow to keep from screaming too loud and I knew he could tell because he slowed down. He pulled out and held me; I was shaking from the intensity of the orgasm. I smiled as he nuzzled the back of my head. A few minutes later I climbed on top of him. I held him tightly and I felt his final thrust as he came. We fell asleep in each other's arms. The next day I expected to feel a bit weird, but I didn't. He slept late and left to go to work later. The entire day I couldn't stop thinking about him. I stayed in that night and watched the clock; the hours crawled by, closing in on midnight when I knew he'd be getting off work. I wanted to wait and see if he would call me but I've never been the patient type. I called at exactly 11:59. By midnight he was on his way over. Today is December 31, one year later. We were married last month. This year, and for every other, there is no question about who I'm going to kiss.
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