by Thomas Misuraca
My first kiss? That's easy. I was nine-years-old. Joanne Greer was my date for the elementary school spring dance. My father drove me to her house to pick her up. I greeted her with a corsage and led her to our station wagon. My father played chauffeur and let us both sit in the back seat. He dropped us off at the school gymnasium and I'm sure he then headed off to the closest bar to drink steadily until it was time to pick us up.
On the way back, he asked if we'd had fun and what songs we'd danced to. I told him that we danced to a few slow songs. Not that there were many. The school didn't want to encourage serious dating at such a young age.
When we reached Joanne's house, I followed her out of the car and walked her up the pathway to the front door. Her mother looked out the window, then disappeared, relieved her daughter was safe. I'd never seen a Mr. Greer, and since I was not the type to ask, I assumed he was either dead or divorced.
There was an uncertain moment. Was I old enough to kiss her? Was it the right thing to do? But she made the first move. She leaned her face close to mine and kissed me very quickly on the lips. I was pleasantly surprised.
As she turned to enter her house, I asked, “Can I have one more?”
This time I was ready. I closed my eyes and got lost in the feeling of another's lips touching mine.
This must have thrilled my father as he watched from the car. All those worries he'd had since he caught me and the boy down the street playing doctor were washed away. His long lecture about boys not touching each other and not touching your privates at all must have worked.
He was wrong.
The summer before Junior High, I met two sisters and their friend Joe at the local school playground. Joe and I hit it off with talk of video games, sports and comic books. It was soon revealed that the older sister, Denise, was his girlfriend, and the other sister, Bea, was interested in me.
What an exciting day! A new friend and potentially my first girlfriend!
Joe suggested a game of spin the bottle. We moved to the back entrance of the school, where older kids drank at night. They smashed most of their bottles against the wall, but Joe found one in tact. None of use cared that it was sticky with beer. We were anxious to play the taboo game.
We sat in a circle and Joe handed me the bottle.
“New guys first,” he said.
With a shaking hand, I spun. It stopped with its tip pointing to Denise. Apprehensively, I turned to Joe. Kissing his girl was not a very nice thing to do to a friend on the first day you met.
“Go ahead,” he encouraged.
I leaned forward and gave Denise a quick peck on the lips. Her lips puckered back, but it was just a reflex. No feeling in it at all.
Denise spun next and it landed on her sister. A cute little kiss was shared.
Joe spun and got Denise. To my surprise, he kissed her with his tongue entering her mouth. I had never seen that kind of kiss before. And something about it made me nervous.
When Bea spun, it landed on me. My heart raced.
Bea leaned in and I pecked her lips in rapid succession, like a bird searching for worms. She was disappointed that it didn't last longer, but there was sure to be another chance.
On my turn, it landed on Joe. We all laughed at the idea, but rules were rules. We cautiously leaned towards each other. Our lips quickly touched and just as quickly pulled away as we all erupted with giggles. But within that moment, I felt a connection between us, an electricity that rippled through my body, rousing those new sensations that puberty had uncovered.
We laughed at how funny this was. The girls joined in as Denise picked up the bottle and spun. It landed on Joe. They kissed for a very long time. And when Joe spun, it landed on Denise again. They kissed even longer.
Eventually, Joe threw away the bottle and we broke off into kissing groups. Each couple tried to out-slobber the other. I was still unable to bring my tongue into the action, but Bea was too young to notice any difference. The session lasted over an hour.
All the time, I couldn't stop thinking about that tiny peck from Joe.
I had three girlfriends in Junior High School. That's still hard for me to believe, because all the pictures from that time reveal I was at my awkward stage. My body was growing in height, but not in weight, so I looked malnourished. My hair was long and untamable and most of my pale face was covered by large, metal-framed glasses. Those and my good grades granted me the nickname “Brainy.”
But there were many make-out sessions. There was one in the loft of a girl's garage. I can't remember her name, but she was really into me, and so aggressive, I ended up avoiding her.
For about a year, I dated my classmate Jane. We lived in different neighborhoods, and would intentionally miss the school bus so I could walk her home and stop to kiss along the way. She'd never let me into her house; something told me her father wouldn't have approved of her having a boyfriend.
That summer, Jane announced she also liked this other guy, Timmy. I was hurt by this, but for some stupid reason agreed to go roller-skating with the two of them. Jane brought her best friend, Lori. I didn't realize it at the time, but Jane was trying to set the two of us up.
I was too jealous to notice. Timmy held Jane's hand as they skated around the rink. To make matters worse, he was a nice guy. And cuter than me.
When Jane and Timmy slid into one of the booths to make-out, I pulled Lori into the other side to do the same. Lori was excited that I was making the first move, but this was only a kiss of envy. But was I envious of Timmy or Jane?
As the next school year progressed, the girls grew distant. By the time we entered high school, I barely saw them.
That's when I met Kurt.
Kurt confessed to me that he liked boys. I was both stunned and honored by this. We were working on a science project together, so had to talk on the phone nightly. Those conversations quickly turned personal.
“If you get a girlfriend,” I told him once, “you, Jane and I can double date at the roller-skating rink.”
This was a partial lie, I didn't consider Jane my girlfriend anymore, but wanted to sound like I still had one.
“Well,” he said hesitantly. “I don't really like any girls.”
“Then we'll visit other high schools.”
“What I mean,” his voice fell to a whisper, “is I like boys.”
I couldn't speak. If this was a joke and I said the wrong thing, he could start spreading rumors about me. If it wasn't and I acted like it was, it could crush him.
“Are you serious?” was all I could say.
“Yeah,” he told me.
“Have you ever done anything with another guy?”
“Oh yeah,” his laugh revealed that his experiences were plenty. He told me about a few guys in school he'd had encounters with. And to my surprise, I felt jealous. Why hadn't any of them approached me?
“Have you ever done anything with a guy?” he asked me.
“No,” I replied quickly. Though this boy had just confessed his secrets to me, I couldn't do the same. I summoned the courage to say, “But I'd be OK with trying something sometime.”
Looking back on it. Kurt wasn't dumb. He knew exactly who I was, but he was kind enough to play along.
And play along he did. I went to his house after school to work on the science project. After we worked for a little while, we found ourselves exploring each other. He always initiated, but I never denied.
Except for kissing. If ever I thought he were trying to kiss me, I turned my head away.
A kiss would mean it was something more.
Sophomore year, I dated Moria. She was in my class, but also in the glee club with my older sister. Between school and glee club practice we made-out in deserted sections of the school.
She tried to use her tongue, but I didn’t welcome it into my mouth. I'd done this with the girls in Junior High, and they'd been OK with it. So I thought.
When my sister got home that night, she came to my room.
“Moria thinks you don't know how to French Kiss,” she told me.
What an awful moment? My girlfriend had been talking about what we did in private with my sister. It was a violation.
“I know how,” I said, defensively. “I just don't think we're ready for that, yet.”
I knew how to French Kiss, but feared that I was not good at it.
The next time I saw Kurt, we fooled around in his room. His mother worked after school, so we had the place to ourselves.
As we lay there naked, I asked him, “Do you know how to French Kiss?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Want me to show you?”
I wanted to tell him that I knew how. I wanted to tell him the whole story about Moria. I wanted to tell him about all the girls I'd kissed. Yeah, it'd been more playful kisses, but-
Kurt didn't wait for an answer.
A few days later, my sister came into my room after her glee club practice.
“Moria says you're a great kisser,” she informed me.
The comment made me cringe.
I broke up with Moria the next day.
Then it all stopped. After I broke up with Moria, I didn't look to date other girls. My encounters with Kurt slowed and stopped before high school ended.
By college, my interests were studying and making new friends. I didn't have the luxury of living away at school, but often hung out at the dorms. This should've been the time for me to experiment and have a good time, but I had no urge for anything more than friendships.
I wouldn't share another kiss for six more years.
I should have kissed Sam O'Connell at the lighthouse that time.
After my twenty-fifth birthday, I started dating men. Friends were getting married and I found myself alone most of the time. I craved the companionship of a man.
I answered personal ads in the local newspaper. The first few dates were awkward. We’d meet for coffee and I was so nervous, I babbled like an idiot. They never called me back, and I was too timid to call them.
Then came Steve. We hit it off on our first phone call. I was so comfortable that I told him this was all new to me. He understood and was excited to be a part of it.
He wanted to meet for dinner, which was a new step for me. This was an actual date, not just a meeting. If things went wrong, we'd be stuck in a restaurant for at least an hour.
I arrived at our meeting spot twenty minutes earlier than the agreed time. I'd never seen Steve before, so everybody who passed could have been him.
When a man strode toward me with a genuine smile on his face, I knew this was Steve. To my surprise, he was what I considered cute: boyish looks, a somewhat beefy body, and the clothes and hairstyle of a preppy.
We chatted all the way into the restaurant. During that one meal, we wanted to tell each other every thing about our lives. As we spoke, we stared into each other’s eyes.
I smiled more than I had in years.
The date ended with a walk on the beach. An awkwardness grew between us. Not a bad one, but one that was calling for the next move: a kiss. I had no idea how to initiate it. Steve had dated guys before, been in relationships. He should make the first move.
Or was he taking it slow to make me feel comfortable?
There was a small playground at the edge of the beach that was deserted in the nighttime. I was so invigorated, I climbed on the monkey bars like a little kid. I swung around Steve and eeked like a monkey.
He was staring at me as if I were the most wonderful person he’d ever met.
“Oh what the hell,” I exclaimed and jumped from the monkey bars into his arms.
We kissed.
