ob·ses·sion ( b-s sh n, b-) n. 1. Compulsive preoccupation with a fixed idea or an unwanted feeling or emotion, often accompanied by symptoms of anxiety. 2. A compulsive, often unreasonable idea or emotion.

"Karen is for kids," she said-addressing herself in the third person. "Kisses are for Karen," I thought.

Our first kiss was a quick "Hello/G'bye" at a southern Indiana weekend gathering of members of "Mensa" from Indianapolis. It probably had no significance for her. I was stricken.

The next one was eight years later, at a greeting on the top of the stairs at a meeting in Toledo. So sweet, so fulfilling.

We had talked before briefly at a national gathering in Milwaukee, but she was then enamored of a tall, dark, and handsome fellow whom she later took in a second marriage and provided him with two daughters.

At Toledo, she remembered. We danced. We were going to go swimming nude at midnight, but the hotel staff forbade the opportunity. We did 'hit the pool' in suits, and later she invited me to share her shower.

"You may come in," she said. I did, and shared long hours afterward--'getting to know her,' thirtysomething, a nurse (albeit with many problems). She told me, "Penises come in all shapes and sizes!" I gave her a treasured I.D. bracelet the next morning, a silver momento of my first days as a teen pilot..

After that weekend, on Monday I visited her residence in Indianapolis (accompanied by a co-driver, on our way back to Denver). She had a babe-in-arms, but we had a few minute's walk together-around the block-while the co-driver baby-sat. I recall the light in her eyes, and the tight grip of her hand. As we embraced at parting, she apologized for the condition of her "tummy" (as if I cared about that!).

The last kiss was stolen, another year, passing through Indianapolis, again on the way to Toledo. I remembered how to find her duplex. The front door was open. I was greeted by a haggard, distressed young woman, overwhelmed by circumstance and prescription drugs, an absent mate and a "date" due in 15 minutes. I don't know who was more distressed, her or me.

Not being inclined to stay where unwanted, I abandoned her with that last kiss, not embracing but holding her head in my hands, wishing for a lifetime of many. It was one of the lowest moments in my lifetime.

Oh, lust was part of the attraction. But the principal desire was for integration of mutual sensibilities, combining non-conforming, adventurous natures. She was a sensitive writer, and I thought of combining our talents. Or was it pheromones? Whatever.

She moved from Indianapolis. I followed her history, her writing, her traumas (via Web sites). An obsession, surely. I wish she had known all those years in a quarter-century that One cared. Now her girls are grown, and I wonder if she ever misses kisses, and if she cares I still miss her, every day. C'est la vie.