This post was part of my Blogapalooza First Blogiversary series. I celebrated my blog being around a whole year by giving away presents and sharing stories of my “firsts” in life. The prizes may be gone, but you can still enjoy the stories. (And I’ll give away more prizes soon, I promise.)
Rather than have my 40-year-old self tell you about my first kiss, I thought I’d let my 14-year-old self do it. This piece was written for an oral report in high school: a Catholic, all-girls, high school.
It was wet! It was slimy! It was slobber, and it was all over. But… it wasn’t mine. I remember the night exactly. It was March 7, 1986. That was a Friday. Truly.
I kept expecting the world to stop, but it didn’t.
Now, let me start from the beginning. There was this boy. His name was Joe. Joe Davidson to be exact. I was head over heals in love with him. Well, as much in love as you could be in the 7th grade. He asked me to “go around” on March 1, 1986. Over the phone of course. (What a wimp.) I practically promised my heart, soul, and life to him all in one word: yes. Yes! Yes! Yes! I would be his girlfriend. Forever! So we said.
Back to Friday. I was at a coed party at my friend’s house. Joe had not yet showed up, and, due to the lateness of the hour (7 PM), I was very disappointed. My hopes were burying themselves beneath the carpet. For I knew exactly what it was that I wanted. My and Joe’s first kiss. Ahhhhh, the thought of my first kiss—especially with Joe, my soon-to-be-husband—made me believe that the world would stop, and all of the people in all of the nations would praise and exult in the fact that I was to become a woman.
I believe when Joe finally did show up, he told his friend to tell me to come upstairs. Upstairs in a long, dark, secluded hallway. We were sitting side by side, and I could strongly smell the pepperoni pizza breath coming out of his mouth. Yes, it made me a bit nauseous, but what did I care—this was the MAN that I was truly, deeply in love with.
My heart was beating so fast. I knew what was coming. I knew that in less than a minute the world would stop because I had received my first kiss. He cleverly placed his arm around me, and right when I was beginning one of the few sentences I didn’t finish in my life, he laid it on me. SMACK!
Don’t worry, I will spare you of the details.
Now you all can imagine my surprise when I realized that the world didn’t stop as I had expected. In fact, people just kept on doing whatever the hell it was they were doing. To further my surprise, I realized that neither Joe nor I knew what we were doing. Didn’t he know how to kiss? DIDN’T I?! Shouldn’t this be instinct? Second nature? Well, it wasn’t. And to this very day, I still don’t know what we were doing. One might label it as kissing, but they would be wrong. God, I really don’t know how to describe it. Have you ever eaten slime-covered oysters or clams? Better yet, have you ever let slimy cow’s tongue that still has living nerves in it dissolve in your mouth?
Hey now. Quit that. I am not trying to gross you out or anything. I just want you to understand what I went through. But I am not done yet.
My disappointed heart could bear this horrible act of swapping spit until we get sick act, but that was where I drew the line. ABSOLUTELY. When he started to get touchy-touchy, feely-feely, I told him to stop. And when he started to get touchy-touchy, feely-feely after I told him to stop, well, I’ll tell you what I did. I built up all of my 7th grade courage. I got my serious look on my face. I stood up for myself, and I said, “no.”
The problem was I didn’t want to leave him. I remained by his side in the hallway. Then, yes, as you guessed, we started to get romantic all over again. I had built up kind of an immune system to our kissing, and I didn’t even mind when I got a piece of what I think was regurgitated pepperoni in my mouth. The world wasn’t stopping, but I liked being with him. I liked the kissing.
All was fine and dandy until he started that touchy-touchy, feely-feely thing again. I got mad. I was furious! This boy was breaking my line, my barrier. And I was PISSED OFF! I was so angry that I did the most noble, brave, courageous thing I could do at that moment. I locked myself in the bathroom for the rest of the night.
I kept expecting the world to stop, but it didn’t.
6 Responses
My first kiss was no thang either. I remember going into my mom’s bedroom to wake her up and tell her about it, and that it was gross and I was unimpressed.
Also, I’m glad I’m not the only person to still use the term “coed.”
You told your mom about it?!
I love your idea of writing about firsts this week. I always wanted to go to one of those cool, coed parties in junior high. But, as the kid in the mint green granny leisure suit with the Peter Pan pixie hair, I was never invited. Thanks for the glimpse into what I was missing! How cool that you have something documenting the occasion, written from your young self!
Thank you! I was inspired by random stories that I had nowhere else to post. 😉 I’m still surprised we were able to throw this party. It was at my best friend’s house, and there were no parents there at all. The upstair hallway ended up being the make-out area for several couples. I guess I left that part out of my high school oral report.
My first kiss I almost passed out. It was dry not slimy which in hind sight I am kind of grateful for. I think I was in 8th grade but I can’t really remember.
That you almost passed out is awesome. Were you holding your breath? Or was your kissing partner THAT awesome. Although since you can’t remember when it was, I’m wondering if you remember who it was. 😉