You would think the memory of a first kiss would make you feel all warm and tingly and weak in the knees.
But for most people, I’m guessing that is not the case.
My first kiss wasn’t on a sweet little date with a twelve year old boy. Oh no.
My first kiss was with a sixteen year old guy, in the closet of his bedroom.
A good memory? Yes.
My best friend at the time was Stacey, she was the first person who was nice to me when we moved from New York to Tampa, Florida. We hung out constantly and did things that two twelve year old girls should not be doing. Stacey’s parents were very loosey-goosey and kind of let us come and go as we pleased. Needless to say there were a lot of sleepovers at Stacey’s house where we could come in as late as we wanted and sneak out of the house by simply walking out the front door.
One night we had “snuck out” and were wandering the streets of our sub-division at 2:00 a.m. looking for something fun to do. Stacey had fooled around with a boy, an older boy named Dave who loved close by. Dave was cute, very cute. He was from Columbia and had a thick accent. He had dark spiky hair, pale skin and played soccer. We decided to go and knock on his bedroom window and see what he was doing.
We didn’t wake him up - he was up listening to the Led Zeppelin III album, the one with all of the little holes in the front of the record jacket.
Stacey and I crawled through the window, listened to music, and hung out for a while. I remember how much his house smelled like macaroni. Whenever I smell pasta boiling in water on the stove I think of Dave’s house.
After about an hour of me sitting on the floor playing with the Led Zeppelin album cover, poking my fingers in and out of those little holes, Stacey decided it was time for some action. She dared Dave and I to go into his closet and make out.
I remember that feeling of excitement and dread, because I had thought about kissing a boy for so long and wanted to get that “first kiss” over with. But this was an older man, so of course I wanted to impress.
He had sliding doors to his closet with slats on the m so that the dim light shined through. I stepped in first and he followed. We sat cross legged, looking at each other for less than a second before he held my face and gently kissed me. I know I was stiff as a board and just sat there with my mouth wide open, letting him pretty much try and eat my face off.
After a minute or two I stood up, and like a zombie, walked out and sat back on the floor with the Led Zeppelin album, in a haze of dreamy exhaustion. I had kissed a boy!
I haven’t kissed a boy in a closet for some time now. Maybe it’s time to get on that again.
And speaking of kisses…
philosophy has a lip balm that I am loving right now.
“kiss of hope” softens and soothes dry lips and has a breath-freshening, vanilla-mint flavor. There is no color to it, it’s more like a standard Chap-Stik style lip balm. The real thing that sold me on it was the feeling four hours later that it was still on my lips. And even after lunch! I like that.'
So for my next closet adventure I am ready.
Put “Immigrant Song” on the turntable and let’s get it on.
I’m a bit more prepared this time.