Random Sunday Story: Women Kissing Women


I’m starting a new category on my blog: Random Sunday Story. Every Sunday, I will pick a picture of whatever inspires me and I will write a short story of fiction related to the picture. It can be anything (a poem, 3 sentences, a paragraph, a thought), so brace yourselves!


“It was the 40s. No one wanted to see a woman kissing another”, he said.

I stared at the picture, which I found at random at the town’s street-market. I could not help but think of how lucky I was for having found such a precious moment of someone else’s life. Their faces, their outfits, their hair. The way the Captain’s hand pulled the waist of the other woman close, closer. The sleeves of a rigid uniform that evoked the rigid emotion of the time. Not for these women, though. There was nothing rigid about them. The floral dress. The headband. The smirk. The kiss.

The kiss…

My mind became filled with the great number of kissing pictures I had seen during my life. Couples kissing, fathers kissing their daughters, mothers kissing their sons. Children kissing their pets. Women kissing men… but women kissing women were not a frequent picture.

I started to remember that one time in high-school when a woman (a girl) had dared me to kiss her. I kissed her, and she said she liked it. I didn’t. I thought it was inappropriate. I never spoke to her again. Two years later, I had seen her on her parked car, kissing a man. I had though of her for the rest of the day. Two years before, she had liked a kiss with a woman, yet now she was kissing a man. I remembered the dizziness, the chill on my spine when she had kissed me. I remembered the feeling.

Now there I was, in a town’s market, ten years after my first kiss. I gazed into the faces of the women in the picture, and I thought of myself. I’ve always been a bit egocentric. I defended myself by thinking that pictures were supposed to bring back our own memories.

“Do you wanna buy it?”, said the man. He had been carefully observing me while I inspected the old picture.


I returned the picture to its pile of unknown faces, unknown moments, forgotten people. And I carried on with my life.


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