My first kiss (that is, the first time someone of the preferred sex touched their lips to my lips and I wanted it to happen) it was with my oldest female friend who was the first person I intentionally went out with. Outside of some cuddling and backrubs it was the only gesture of affection in the entire 10 month relationship, occuring sometime in month four. We did not see each other in the last three months. Upon reception of this kiss I was paralysed. It was awarded as her dad was at the door to pick her up - she made her way to the door, let herself out... I was still in the back room, numb, thinking gee that was nice for a half hour after she left before changing position or opening my eyes.

Una belleza puertoriqueña, but not the apple of my nine-year-old eye - there was another in this neighborhood (in the projects, where I was visiting some relatives over summer vacation) far more lovely, but she despised me. Despised me. So Señorita Plan B was my first kiss. My hormones were not yet old enough to appreciate it. The older kids on the playground (our cousins) were fervently gratifying their respective hormone sets with their respective SOs, so our ad hoc incompetent amorositude was just a bit of marking time until it was time to go home for the night. This arrangement lasted for about a week - school started, and I returned to my genteel burb.

Years later, she comes up in conversation, and I get an update from the Old Neighborhood - she spent her adolescence setting records in promiscuity (quite an achievement in the hellhole that is this part of the Bronx). I feel like I may have contributed to her delinquence. But then again, I suppose I wasn't her first kiss.

I don't remember directly how old I was but I remember that I always estimated myself to be 7 years old. Summer holidays were always spent with my grandparents when me and my brother were kiddies. So back then my grandparents must have had friends. They took bro and I to visit these friends who, as it happened, had a daughter (or maybe a granddaughter) about my age. They also had one of those above-ground swimming pools that your dad might build one summer. Ray (short for Raylene) and I would swim around underwater and meet each lap for a bit of 7-year-old style underwater kissing. Our lips were the only parts that touched.

I remember much more clearly wandering casually around the pool to see Ray and my big bro embraced in a totally grown up 9-year-old style kiss.

After this trauma I took a couple of decades off the kissing game...

I don't think I felt it. The circumstances couldn't have been worse, and a couple years later he did himself in. A friend of mine said it was okay because if I can call it a disappointment (I do), I can't properly call it a kiss. Meaning my first is still ahead of me. I'm impatient.

I don't remember my first kiss with my first girlfriend, but we only dated for a month, and she turned out to be a psycho bitch, so I won't talk about that.

What I will talk about is my first kiss with my most recent girlfriend, which I remember like it was yesterday. It was our first actual date. We had been on a double date with her friend and a scary guy from our mutual place of employment, and decided to go to a dance together, but this was a real date. We spent the day rollerblading around Lake Calhoun in Minneapolis, and had a nice dinner at Applebee's. Afterwards we rented a couple of movies and went to her house, and watched them in her room.

There was incredible sexual tension while we watched Tin Cup, but we were both too nervous to do anything but hold hands. I mustered up enough courage to kiss her as the credits started rolling, and we made out until the tape ran out. After the TV went all static-y, we took a time-out to put Twelve Monkeys in the VCR, watched about five minutes of it, and began to make out again. This lasted well unto the wee hours of the morn -- nothing but kissing, caressing, and conversation. It was one of the happiest days of my life. It started a long, wonderful, difficult relationship that ended only a few days ago.

Now she is seeing some Japanese guy. I am very depressed.

I'll never forget it. Well, it happened yesterday, and I haven't forgotten it yet, so I'm pretty sure I won't forget it soon. My goth girl e-mailed me, and told me to meet her and her friends at the library. Some laughs, and some hand-holding ensued. Her friends wanted food. We all went down to the pizzeria. They got their pizza to go, since it was closing in 5 minutes. We all walked down to the waterfront, me with my arm around Mary, her friends lagging behind. Mary and I sat alone, together on a bench, our arms around one another. We looked out at the Hudson, and the Palisades on the other side. I looked at her. There was only one thing to say at this point. "I love you." I'd never said that and meant it, until now. She kissed me on the cheek, and I did the same. Then she turned and looked at me, and our eyes met. She closed her eyes, and I closed mine, and then her sweet lips finally touched mine. The silence said so much more than words ever could. We walked back to the library, still embraced. She kissed me goodbye, then I turned and walked to the bus stop. I can't wait to see her again.

It's kinda interesting to see how recent some of these first kisses are..

Mine was December 19, 1999.

We started off the day just as friends - well, net.crushes, just with idle chatter on the way to the other station, and on the train back to her part of the world. And, we started the afternoon just lying around on her bed, talking. But every time one of us moved, and went to sit down again, it was definetly a little closer than the time before. And I do belive my hand ended up in hers at some point...

At about 4-ish, it was time to head out to her friends' lil' Christmas party.

We did spend a little time away from everyone else at the 'gathering', on the comfiest bed in the world™. But nothing much happened, other than the two of us talking, glad we could be together. There were a couple of awkward moments, not for the first time that day, where I'm sure the both of us were expecting something to happen, but nothing did. Often because my stomach began making some *really* wierd noises.

I started getting tired (it had been a long day), so we went back to her house at about 10, back to her bed. Turns out that my stomach was grumbling for good reason, because I was a feeling lil' sick for a wee while. We just lay there for a while, most likely in each others arms, I can't quite remeber. I was on the verge of falling asleep, so she stood up, and pulled me up onto my feet, which just so happened to place me face-to-face with her. Her hands met round my waist. Mine landed behind her neck. It was pretty much inevitable that we ended up in that kiss...

Admittedly, I'd been worrying about it a little.. something suitably silly, like not really knowing what to do. But it was just that - a silly lil' worry.

Since I was standing right next to the bed, I lost my balance and fell onto it, so, we just continued from there. Things didn't go much further than that, I think I was enjoying the kisses enough.. :)

Eventually, I *did* get too tired, and really had to get some sleep...

It is summertime and I am 14 years old. We are sitting against a pillar in the Tenleytown Metro station, watching the trains go by. The cool stone tunnel reminds me of a fallout shelter or a mechanical womb.

He has his knees pulled up to his body. I'm marvelling at the length of his legs, the way his feet are tapping, his rumpled grace.

(I'm amazed, even now, by people who look hot in dirty white T-shirts).

Neither of us say anything. He's so close I can feel the heat coming off of him and I want to touch him but I'm scared so I start picking at my shoelaces instead.

And then suddenly he's holding my hand. Smiling at me, that "I know more than you do" kind of smile.

Do you want to?

I knew what he meant but I pretended I didn't and waited for a very long time and then something snapped and I knew it was inevitable--fuck, I hope I don't get sick.

It goes all the way down my spine I think I just went to some strange country where everything is slick, warm and red.

Wait a minute! What the hell is that in my mouth? Oh gross, that's a tongue and it's not mine.


Upon reflection I think I could get used to it. I kinda like its gymnastics.

He pulls away and looks at me. I feel like I've just stepped out of time but I don't let on.

I had two first kisses--one was the kind you experience in early childhood-experimentative and friendly, and the other was romantic and more interesting.

Both have unique stories.

When I was seven, I had all the boyfriends in the world. I was the tomboy. We ran around barefoot in the summer, eating sticky popsicles, and riding our bikes everywhere. We were kids. My latest friend Leslie, an oriental boy.. either Vietnamese or Korean, had just turned four. He was as smart as a six or seven year old though, but age didn't matter so much back then as did who had the coolest toys.

One day, Leslie and I were in his bedroom with another friend of ours. I don't really remember how it started, but we decided that Leslie and I were going to kiss. So we closed the door and we all sat down on Leslie's bed. He had Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle sheets or some sort of cartoon that little boys watch. We were nervous. I started to giggle. The doorknob had a lock on it that was a small piece of metal that protruded from the center of the doorknob. When it wasn't locked, the piece of metal was horizontal. To me, it looked like the doorknob was smiling at us. I told Leslie and he started to giggle as well. But then we kissed. It was very quick. Two sets of lips briefly touched each other and pulled back almost immediately.

Our friend told Leslie's father. He was this macho marine kind of guy with tattoos all over his body. He was sitting shirtless on the couch. I don't remember his reaction. I am wanting to say it was indifferent.

We were quite the topic of the playground for days.

I didn't have a crush on Leslie. In fact, I don't think we ever spoke of the kiss again. He changed a lot in the following months and he went through a stage where he hated girls.. right before he moved back to Asia. I was very sad.

My first romantic kiss was with my old best friend of about six years.

It was sort of odd.

I had told him two weeks prior to the event that I liked him, but I think we knew we liked each other because he had the gall to kiss me on the neck one night before that.

I don't know why I liked him. It was so not physical at all. He was 300 pounds, pimply, kind of grotesque in a way. But he was my best friend and he was all I had. My other best friend had moved away earlier that month.

We were at his house in the kitchen. No one was home. He had swirled my body around and then we kissed. It was a very long kiss. He wasn't a very great kisser, but seeing as that was my first french kiss, I didn't know any better. I twirled my tongue around in his mouth. I was such a bad kisser.

That was about a year and a half ago. After he moved away, I got a boyfriend and a few months into that, we started kissing. Unlike Adam, the best friend, this boy liked kissing as much as I did. Adam often avoided french kissing me. Ben was much different. I learned from him. I am a better kisser now.

When I think back on it, I kind of wish that the first kiss with Ben had been my first romantic kiss. When I think about each kiss, only the last one gives me shivers. The first one makes me think of trailer trash.

She was a singer, a soprano, not a professional singer, just a girl in a University choir that I had been in.

I had nearly been kicked out by the choir master because i could not sing, well he asked me for a scale, played a note on the piano and i was not just flat but an octave off. He started to say, "I think you might not get any enjoyment .." and I asked for another try, sing it I said, let me hear the note. There were too few boys in the choir so he agreed, sang the note and i got the octave, up and down, wer'e short of tenors and so that's what i was to be.

every week twice a week, practicing, learning and at the end of the year a concert. we sang Faure's requiem,

after the concert, letting our hair down we went out to some club in Temple Bar. drinks and dance, and Valerie and i, we danced to some song, the words still linger in my mind, so many years later. "take a parachute and jump" ... "oh sit down, oh sit down, sit down next to me" and each time that part of the song would play we would get close to each other on the dance floor drop to the floor and back up again.

leaving the club, she asks me, "what do you do when you get drunk ?" I tell her, "i climb fridges when i get drunk, ya know, the tall cooler cabinets they have in bars? i climb those when i get drunk !" recalling my most recent of alcohol sodden experience, god how we could drink when we were younger. so she says to me, "what if these buildings were fridges?" so i say "well if i climb fridges when i am drunk and these buildings were a fridge then i would climb these buildings" and no sooner had the idea fixed itself into my mind then i find myself hanging from the second story balcony of a building on Dame street right in the centre of Dublin. It was easy, hanging there, her looking up at me. cemented my desire to climb tall buildings when i am drunk

I climbed down, we walked arm in arm to the night-links, the late night busses, there to cart the interlopers in the city back to the suburbs. waiting i ask "do you mind, can i kiss you?"

she nods her head, i move foreword, it's a shock, her lips, they are warm, soft. they are wet. i didn't know it was going to be like this !. this is good, this is happy, nice, this is warmness. on the bus fall onto the back seat on the upper deck, kissing, kissing all the way home. she takes her jumper off, i kiss her through the neck hole, her stop is approaching, she asks me "have you slept with many girls?" concerned like. Jesus, this is my first kiss, here i am thinking something must be wrong with me, 18 and never been kissed. "no", i tell her, "no i haven't".

I lied. Completely.

I was 17, he was 19. I felt like a freak of nature because I had never had any sort of physical contact of the sexual flavor from either gender. He was one of my best friends and I was helping him deal with an ex-girlfriend who had hurt him badly. Everyone had always thought that we were dating, but we were just really close friends who had a lot in common. One day, however, someone asked us the right questions:

"Are you guys going out?"
an exchanged look between the two of us ... "no."
"Well ... why not?"

Why not, indeed? What were we afraid of, exactly? So, we talked about it. For three hours. About our mutual attraction, about how well we got along, about how many friends we had in common, and about both how well and how badly it could go.

Then, he asked me out. And I said, "yes."

Four hours later, after my first (and, really, only) date, we were watching The Kentucky Fried Movie in his parents' basement and he looked at me, grimacing, too afraid to kiss me.

So I kissed him.

After a while (a little bit of a while, actually), he looked really disturbed for a minute and said "That wasn't your first kiss, was it?" in a tone that a person would also say "You don't have leprosy, do you?"

So, of course, I said: "No, no ... of course not."

He never did find out.


When I was in third grade I had a crush on a girl in my class. Her name was, Jennifer... maybe. All the sudden I can't remember her name, it was a long time ago. Well, her name isn't important. She had agreed to be my "girlfriend". I recall being very excited about the prospect of having a girlfriend. She was a very nice girl and she smelled nice, always a bonus. One day after classes were out I was walking home when she appoached me. She pulled me with her around to the back of the school. She told me she wanted to kiss her "boyfriend". I'm sure my juvenille heart nearly burst with excitement. I was going to kiss a girl! This was a big deal. In a minute I would truly become a man.

She leaned forward and hesitantly but gently planted a kiss on my lips. I'm sure I was trembling. I remember she smelled like strawberries and her lips faintly tasted of chapstick. As she leaned back form the kiss she muttered, "that was nice". Then she kicked me in the nuts. I fell to my knees in the snow. Wincing in pain, I barely refrained from vomitting. She giggled and pranced off.

Thus began years of social mis-development and distrust.


The first time I met you I…

I didn't think about you.

The first time I met you I…

I tried to mesmerise.

The first time I met you I…

Was achingly lonely.

You stood on my doorstep.

And I…

I let you in and we…
We ate… chicken
And exchanged loaded glances
And you…

You drove me in your car and I…

I choked with excitement
Quivered with want
And didn't see you at all.

We met your friends and I…

I brushed myself against you
And pressed against your leg
And relished your confusion

Your innocence

Your youth
And you…

You took me home and I…

I asked you in for coffee
And I …

I sat before you on my floor
And I…

I wanted you.

Or I wanted you to want me.

And I…

I watched your mouth and I…

I watched your excitement rise
And do battle with your nerves.
And I…

I watched the coffee spill
As you shifted uncomfortably
In my chair
And I…

I knew you were leaving
So I…

Stepped up to you
Reached out for you
Pulled you close
And I…

I kissed you.

And I…

I felt you turn
Sharply, sharply
So your hardness wouldn't press against me
And I…

Filled with want I…

Exploding with desire I…

Burning I…

Saw you at last.

And I…

I think I loved you.

And I…

I let go your lapels
And I…
And I…
And I… I let you leave.

We'd been set up when a friend of mine told a friend of Richard's that I liked him. Of course, this information was passed on, post haste. So, risking life and limb, Richard ran across the road to ask if it was true, and if so, would I like to go on a date?.

Would I?!!!

I was thirteen, and shy, and serious. He was sixteen, and I thought he was the most gorgeous thing I'd ever seen in my life. He was very tall, very slim and lithe, his hair was honey-coloured, his eyes were blue and he had a lovely, laughing face.

I nodded, mutely at first, then managed to force out the words "Yes, I'd like that."

We arranged to meet, the following evening, at the local park.

We sat there, on a spring evening, sitting on a bench, and talking in the twighlight. Our legs brushed against each other from time to time as we shifted a little, and as the sun set, he took my hand and held it, gently. His hand was warm, I remember, and the touch was soft as he just let my fingers rest there, circled by his.

We kept talking as it grew dark. It got colder, and when I shivered he put his arm around me, and shared his coat, cuddling me against his chest.

The town clock struck nine. Time for me to go. My parents were meeting me at the entance to the park at nine-fifteen.

We walked slowly to the meeting place, hand in hand.

He started to bend down (I mentioned he was very tall), then stopped. With a grin, he put his hands on my waist, and lifted me onto the first step outside the police station, so I was looking him straight in the face. Then he slipped his arms round me, so his hands rested in the small of my back, and pulled me towards him.

I placed my hands lightly on his shoulders and our lips touched, lightly.

There was no awkwardness, no bumping of noses. Our mouths opened, just a little, and there it was, my first proper kiss. Not overly long, not incredibly passionate, but very sweet and perfect

As we moved apart, he brought his hand up, stroked my cheek, and said "Thank you".

I've loved kissing ever since.

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