I've decided to do a bit of @bloghomework , not because I think anybody really cares (face it, I don't have boobs) but because I'm laying in bed and I'm bored. Without further ado, My First Kiss.
@missy @lyxzen @rambo I think those are the proper tags, but if I'm wrong...oh fucking well.
My first kiss was fairly late in life. I come from a family with four older siblings and we lived in the country, so my friends were mostly just family members. I didn't really come in close contact with girls very often and, as a result, I developed a bit of a "fuck girls/they have cooties" attitude. That's what tough guys do, right? Kissing is for sissies and girls.
Middle school rolled around which was an awkward phase for me. Puberty punched me right in the face but I was still shy, women were evil and kissing was still for sissies. The summer between 8th and 9th grade, I hit a serious growth spurt -- I mean six inches and 40 pounds. Upon my return to school after summer vacation, I enjoyed an entirely new social life. Instead of being one of the uncool, kind of weird kids who hungout with the smart crowd and got made fun of by the tough guys, jocks and "cool" kids, I was accepted into the "in" crowd. My new friends were the jocks, hot girls, preps, gear heads, smart kids and potheads. I fit in with everybody but still had a big chip on my shoulder from all the bullying I experienced when I was younger.
I was quick to anger and quicker to fight, and I built a reputation as a tough guy. (Later in life, I figured just exactly how much I wasn't tough at all, but that's another story.) As part of my tough guy routine, I continued to pretend to hate the opposite sex while secretly wishing I knew how to act with and around girls. At the same time, I loved hearing the comments girls would make about me in the hallways or would tell me to embarrass their friends or try to get on my good side, especially when I got a job as a lifeguard, developed one of those beautiful, bronze, natural sun tans and grew my hair out to my shoulders. As a result, this period of my life developed me into being a huge tease as well as my strong confidence and cockiness that covers up my crippling self-esteem issues and introverted shyness.
In turn, most of my female friends were the slutty girls in school who got passed around and wanted to fuck me. The rest of my high school years passed surrounded by girls who wanted to sleep with me but I didn't know how to bring that about and was inwardly too shy and afraid to try. College rolled around and I still hadn't ever kissed a girl.
When I was 18, my parents were going on a weekend vacation and asked me to watch their house. I packed a bag, bought a bunch of booze, invited a couple friends for a party and drove up. We spent the night playing beer pong, quarters, waterfall and taking lots of skanky photos with each other. After getting my parents dogs drunk, knocking over a lamp and generally spilling booze everywhere, I blacked out.
When I came to, I discovered that I had managed to plug my phone into a charger, put on my pajama pants and find beds for everyone. My other realization was that my tongue was inside Kelly's (one of my friends, who has an ass to rival Chad's) mouth. In my parents bed.
That is the only time I ever remember getting blackout drunk but then coming to later that same night. That may have been my first kiss, but my first real kiss came a year later.
I had been talking to a girl named Stephanie, whom I had gone to high school with. She was two years younger but had been my pig dissection partner in anatomy class. We had always had fun together in class and the many mornings that we came in early to work on our pig because we were both hopelessly terrible at dissecting. Highly intelligent, beautiful, social and athletic, she was captain of the cheerleading team, president of the honor society, one of the top students in her class and a gymnastics instructor. She was sweet and wasn't at all like the girls I was usually friends with.
We began texting one day while I was at work, and I soon began stopping by her house on the way home, spending time together until her parents would make me leave. Every time she would walk me to the door, she'd linger close, looking up at me after we hugged goodbye and I knew she wanted me to kiss her but I didn't know how. I'd awkwardly stand there before darting out the door.
I asked her out on a date, which she agreed to, but I'd never gone on a date before and didn't know what to do. One day, she asked me to go with her family and a few family friends to go tubing and boating at their lake house. We had a great day, trying to throw each other off the tube while her mother tried to knock us both off behind the wheel of the boat. Later, when I had a moment away from Stephanie, I pulled her mother aside to bring her in on a plan I was devising.
A few days later, with the help of Stephanie's mom, I came over while she was at cheer practice, hid my car in their neighbor's garage and cooked her a meal of all her favorite foods. My plan went well until she came home, saw me in her kitchen and said "what are you doing in my house?!" After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, I stammered out an explanation and she practically melted.
After dinner, we talked late into the night, cuddling together in our usual spot on her basement couch. This time, when she walked me to the door, I knew there was no getting out of it. She kept her arms around me, stood on top of my feet and reached her lips up to me. In the flash of a second, I panicked, almost threw up, wanted to run back down the stairs to the basement and wanted so badly to kiss her that I felt like I had just been blasted in the face by an oven and that my entire body was vibrating. Taking a breath, I closed my eyes and leaned down, my lips meeting hers. That instant, my stomach exploded into thousands of fireworks, every inch of my skin seemed to tingle and become alive, my hair felt as though each strand was standing on end and I felt so happy and lightheaded that her lips hit me harder than the strongest emotion I'd ever felt. To my dying day, I'll never forget how sweet her lips tasted or how soft but firm they felt.
Then, just as quickly as it started, it ended. She parted her lips from mine, came down from her tiptoes and opened her eyes, smiling with her perfectly straight, perfectly white, perfect smile. Murmuring goodbye, she stepped back and opened the door for me. Every fiber of my being screaming for her, I wanted to grab her, kiss her, and never let her stop feeling what I experienced, but I slowly dragged my feet towards the door mat, then the threshold, then that first step of the landing. The sidewalk followed as I labored towards the driveway, each step more difficult than the last as I felt her eyes following me. All I wanted was to turn, travel the distance between us in a heartbeat, and taste her lips again. But I kept plodding along, turning left down the drive and then right at the street, crawling towards the house next door and the car I hoped wouldn't start.
It did start and I sat with my feel shaking on the pedals, sweaty and suddenly sick to my stomach, dreading the long trip home and the cruel miles that would lay between her lips and mine.
I share an understanding with addicts, who chase that elusive "first high." Since that night years ago, I've kissed many women and never experienced anything near it's like. There have been women whom I've kissed everywhere but their lips because I know it'll just tease my memory of what I once had.
