Wait. I have three "first kisses" actually. But the first one I don't count. Because it was more of a kiss rape. And the second? Well, he missed my mouth and frenched my cheek. So that doesn't count either.
Story of my first kiss rape:
When I was in the eighth grade, I was friends with this boy Kyle Driggers. He was in the seventh grade (Almost typed second. Boy would that have been a different story!). I did not like this boy beyond the smelly, snotty friend that he was. He was in no way cute. Plus he was younger. Like, duh.
So this one day after school, Kyle and I are hanging out on the picnic tables waiting for something or other. I remember it was a cold day and wishing I was not outside, sitting with Kyle. Without any forewarning or flirting of any kind, Kyle grabs my face with both hands and shoves his face into my face. It didn't feel like a kiss. It felt like I was being smothered by someone's face.
I guess he thought he'd bamboozle me into kissing him. Well, not even, Mr. Driggers. Not even.
So I shoved Kyle back, slapped his face (the first time in my life I'd ever slapped someone), said something mean, and ran to the girl's bathroom. I don't think we were friends after that. Poor Kyle.
Story of my real first kiss:
It was my sophomore year of high school. Late, je sais! But since my first two kisses didn't count, I wasn't that old. Plus I'd lied my little ass off and told everyone I'd had plenty of kisses before.
I had had a crush on John Britt for a while before he finally started holding my hand and then we were going out. A week or so later (I think), we were talking outside of the drama room about my upcoming birthday party when John leaned in close and kissed me. For real. A good, honest, magical first kiss.
And damn could that boy kiss! In fact, I pretty much measure all my kisses against his to this day. He was that good.
I was on cloud 9. I couldn't stop smiling. I floated to my first period German class and my friend Ragen looked at me like I was on crack. "That must have been some kiss," she said when I squeaked out my news.
Oh yes. Yes it was.
The rest of that whole day was a total blur. All I could think about was that kiss. And when I could do it again.
Then John and I made out every chance we got in every place we could for like 3 months.
We were constantly getting in trouble for making out at school. But, people? I could not resist his lips! Until I was a stupid girl and dumped him for absolutely no good reason whatsoever.
Then a week later this boy Paul asked me out. And I said yes. Making John think I dumped him for this other guy. And Paul was afraid to kiss. Seriously. It was months of not kissing my boyfriend. Months of regretting dumping John, even though this other boy was very nice.
It was like I'd tasted the most delicious chocolate for the first time and then wasn't allowed to eat it again for months. Only this chocolate was very talented with his tongue. And I had to see it every day between 2nd and 3rd periods. And we totally had the same friends. Torture.
Like I said, John could kiss. Damn could he kiss. Yowza.
I think he's married now.
She is a lucky lady. A lucky, lucky lady indeed.
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