First Kiss

I was fifteen years old and getting very nervous. The ubiquitous phrase “Sixteen and Never Been Kissed” had been in my lexicon for several years.

The prospect of reaching the 16 benchmark un-kissed was weighing heavily on my adolescent being. The utter humiliation would surely affect me for the rest of my life. Without question girls would know and shun me like the plague!

School work, sports and church all fell to a subordinate level in comparison with the challenge of getting a smooch before it was too late.

A couple years before, I had asked Betsy Burns to go steady with me. I purchased a ring, gave it to her and she put it on a gold chain and hung it on her neck.

I was so proud and felt jubilant and completely contented. So much so, that I failed to call her, write her or in any way acknowledge her existence. After several months of neglect, Betsy broke up with me. I was completely devastated. I spent many months in agonized heartache.

Of course, I now see that my lack of understanding about the basics of boy/girl interactions was downright comical. Fifty years later, I sometimes wonder how much I’ve learned.

Betsy and I had held hands a few times, but didn’t kiss. So, in the summer of my 15^th year, I’m scared to death, but…there is hope!

A 17-year-old girl was visiting for the summer from California. She was cute, she was staying across the street and she knew about kissing.

We started talking and, a few days later, walked the neighborhood. After a couple more meetings, we made it to a secluded spot and sat down. After more conversation, I put my arm around her shoulder. She responded by tilting her head at just the right angle for the life-changing event.

I closed my eyes and puckered up and moved in.

Looking back on it, it’s possible that the first thing my pursed lips touched were her tonsils. Having watched very limited love scenes on television and movies, I assumed that we were going to kiss with lip to lip contact.

She, being schooled in kissing by experienced California boys, came at me with her mouth completely agape. She could have swallowed a grapefruit whole. Her tongue was darting around like a frantic cobra, looking for a terrified mouse.

I instantly realized the error of my technique and opened my pie hole as wide as I could. I don’t really have a big mouth, so I was stretching it as far as I could without breaking skin.

Then, I got my tongue into the action. We were sparring with our tongues like a couple of fencing masters. She would lunge and I would parry. We would disengage and I, now getting the jest of it, would attack with a thrust that could rattle her molars.

She would answer with round-house sweep that would cover every centimeter in my heretofore virgin vocal cavity.

Our kissing was so frantic and disjointed that I was afraid that my tongue was going to end up in her left nostril.

After several minutes of these robust facial athletics, we disengaged, or maybe, we called a truce.   I was completely wasted.

This type of kissing was to romance like a mosh pit is to ballroom dancing. They may share music as the common denominator, but sanity level is way different.

I’ve seen “coming of age” movies over the years and none of the first kisses featured the take-no-prisoners competitive onslaught that I experienced.

That California girl that gave me my first kiss?  She is now 67 years old. I wonder if she wears dentures.