Well, I made this prompt up and here I am realizing how very lame my own first kiss story is. Duh. I’ll still tell it, though. Because, you know, we all like hearing about stuff like this, admit it.
Apaprently, my first kiss happened in first grade, but I don’t remember it at all. My friend Maurice says we kissed on the playground. Whatever. If I don’t remember it, it didn’t happen. So there.
The one I do remember is gross and kind of funny.
I was in 7th grade, and it was Halloween. That year, I dressed as a punk rocker, like half of the girls in my grade. It was that typical version of “punk rocker” that was actually nothing like real punk. I had some of that neon pink hairspray, and I put a ponytail on one side of my head and sprayed it pink. I know I wore an acid-washed jean skirt and weird tights, and two different color socks over the tights. I can’t remember the other components of the costume anymore, but trust me: it was not black thrift store clothes, ripped and cut apart, I didn’t shave my head or wear spikes in my hair and I certainly didn’t have safety pins through my lip. Today, I am somewhat disappointed and ashamed of my lack of commitment to the costume.
Anyway, moving on:
There was this kid Pat in my neighborhood that I kind of had a crush on. He was a grade or two older than me, and hung out with some of the guys in my neighborhood I was friends with. I only knew the guys in the neighborhood back then… all the girls were either much younger or older than me at the time. So this meant I would play or watch guys play videogames, or hang out in people’s backyards, watching guys light things on fire a lot. One time my friends Bobby and Corey found some disgusting, dead fish in the road and they lit them on fire and then beat the fire out with a huge bouncy ball. It was weird as hell, but somehow, looking back, it’s not surprising that I turned out the way I am. Maybe if I’d had lots of girl friends, I’d have been more feminine and legitimately interested in things like shoe-shopping today? Who knows. Either way, it worked out fine.
So, Pat was kind of in the group with my good friends, but on the fringe. He could be a little bit of a jerk sometimes, so some of my friends didn’t like him. I think I had a crush on him BECAUSE he wasn’t one of the usual guys I saw all the time, and he was taller, thinner and one of the only ones with dark hair. He wasn’t the guy from church I liked, but since nothing was really moving along with that one, I felt OK being flirty with this Pat kid.
And he fell for it. Pat started hanging around after school, sometimes meeting me at the bus stop to walk me home. I felt all cool, having one of the older boys interested in me, and kind of loved the attention I got from the other kids (“Ooooh, are you going out with Pat? Oooooh!”) because I was so accustomed to just being the ugly-duckling dork all the time. It was a nice change of pace.
On Halloween, I was out with my friends trick-or-treating in the neighborhood. It was early in the night, but dark. Pat and I were walking together and he put his arm around my shoulder. It progressed to holding hands, and finally, as he walked me to my house at the end of the night, he leaned in and kissed me.
It was NOT what I was expecting. I had long thought that soft, closed-mouth kisses were the proper way to kiss. I’d seen people kissing with open mouths in movies, and being the little prude that I was, I’d always avert my eyes uncomfortably. It seemed dirty, doing that. Slutty, even.
And so, Pat totally crammed his stupid tongue in my mouth and sloshed it around. I was repulsed, but tried to go along with it anyway, because what if this really wasn’t so bad once I got over the shock of it? And I kinda liked him. So… yeah. A messy, sloppy tongue kiss.
It didn’t get better (it probably lasted all of 20 seconds total) and I ended up backing away, trying to smile and act normal, but beginning to freak out that my parents might have seen the whole thing from the window. I told him goodnight and I’d see him the next day or something, and went in the house. I remember running up to my room right away and watching him walk home in the dark street, and I felt really confused and worried about something. I was a bad girl now. I didn’t want to be a bad girl. I had to confess.
So I called my best friend K. It went like this:
Me: “Oh my god, K, you know Pat?”
Me: “We were hanging out trick or treating and… K, I just had oral sex with him.”
Me: “What? Oh, you totally think I’m a slut now, don’t you?” I started crying.
K: “Ummm…no… hey, are you SURE you had oral sex? What did you do, exactly?”
Me: “He kissed me open-mouthed and put his tongue in my mouth!”
K: “Oh! That’s just a french kiss! I think oral sex is something way, way more worse!”
Thank goodness she was able to ease my fears, and tell me what a french kiss was. Maybe I should have known what one was already, but I was kind of naive and slow in some social areas, I guess. Talking about the details of kissing and/or sex wasn’t something I did.
Later, I went to the library and looked at some books on human sexuality and found out, with furiously blushing cheeks as I tried to hide what I was reading, exactly what oral sex was. Ewwww! There’s no way I am ever, ever, ever, EVER doing that! I thought.
I think I ‘broke up with’ Pat a few days after the Halloween incident. I wasn’t cool with that kind of kissing and felt like he wanted to move way too fast. It was fine, anyway. I didn’t really like him, anyway. If I was going to let ANYone put their tongue in my mouth again, I knew who I wanted it to be (church guy), and it sure as hell wasn’t that guy.
I laugh when I imagine what would have happened if I had never talked to K and found out about that kiss being a french kiss… what if I had decided to confess to my Mom about what I did? I tended to be an honest kid, and would fess up to bad things most of the time back then. I can just imagine my Mom’s face if I had just come out and said, “Mom, I had oral sex!” Mom, you really dodged a heart attack right there, I think.