When I was young, The First Kiss seemed like the pinnacle of existence, the zenith of Life, the… well, you get the idea. I would daydream about which boy it would be (because, yeah, I thought I could have my pick) and what it would be like, and where it would happen. Would it be Chris by the swingset at school? (Technically Chris was my first kiss, but we were both 6, and I squealed in disgust.) Would it be Jimmy behind the bleachers? Or Noah on the back of the bus? I thought maybe fairies would sing, or a sweet breeze would kick up at the crucial moment and blow rose petals through our hair.
Instead, it was George. At the bowling alley. In the back seat of his Charger. George, incidentally, was my best friend’s boyfriend. My best friend was sitting next to us. We were playing a game of Truth or Dare, and the dare ended up being to kiss him.
George tasted like an ashtray, and kissed like a fish. I feel robbed.
So I hope to live vicariously through the experiences of my fellow Dopers.
I’m very curious if any of the guys intend to, or in fact are even able to, answer this question.
I’m twenty-eight, and my first kiss, at a best guess, was sometime in my early teens, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember who it was or what it was like.
This is probably one of those male vs. female idiosyncracies?
I was about 14. It was summer and I was visiting my friend Becky because the boy I had a crush on, Danny, lived right around the corner. As luck would have it, Becky left us alone for a little while and Danny kissed me as we sat on the curb in front of her house. I was on Cloud 9 for days.
I was in kindergarten. I grabbed my favorite little boy and planted one right on his lips. He didn’t seem to mind (such a gallant little man), but it was a one-time thing.
The next time, I was nine, and my cousin had a friend who was thirteen. The friend liked me and I was really flattered, so we kissed. It was a thrilling afternoon, but imagine my dismay when he wanted to do it again the next day! Ick!
I don’t know if either of these count as the real thing, but that’s all the kiss stories I’m telling.
Mine was pretty bad. I was 16, and it was our first “alone” date. We’d been out a few times with a group of friends but we’d always parted without a kiss.
He actually said “I’d like to kiss you.” Of course I said okay… And I soon regretted it because it felt like being kissed by a saint-bernard. Not quite the magical moment you hope for.
But then I had other first kisses (because the first kiss you share with someone is always a new first kiss) and they were much much better.
Mine was at a dance at my friend’s school when I was 16. One of her guy friends asked me to dance (“Heaven” by Bryan Adams, if you were wondering) and while we were on the dance floor, he started fondling my ass and kissing me, if you can call it that. What he was really doing was licking my mouth like a dog. I was repulsed.
My next kiss was much better. I was 17 and drunk at a party. A friend that I had a crush on and I were lying on the floor, watching The Lost Boys with about 7 other people in the living room and we just started making out in front of everyone, then we went in the bedroom and made out some more. He’s still the best kisser I’ve ever had (slow and sensual) and that was 17 years ago.
My first tongue kiss was when I was 12. (I know, I know - way too young, but I used to hang out with older kids.) I can still remember it like it was yesterday. Yucky. A Cinderella video was playing on the television (not Cinderella like Disney, Cinderella the band - song was “Don’t Know What You’ve Got Til It’s Gone,” or something like that), and we were at a party thrown by eight graders (we were in 7th). My first “real” boyfriend and I were on the couch. Ugh. It was, I hope, his first kiss, too. He had wet slimy lips because he kept licking them first while he was staring at me out of the corner of his eye, waiting to make his move. Then he pounced. And it felt like he was using his tongue as a plunger. Strangely enough, every single guy I’ve dated has had this problem until I began dating my husband, who has never tried to unclog my throat with his tongue.
I was 11. My family had moved across town, and one of the first friends I’d made was pretty blonde Nancy M., who lived just a few blocks away.
One rainy Saturday afternoon, Nancy, myself and her best friend (equally pretty brunette Katie H.) climbed into the bed of Nancy’s parents’ pickup truck. It was parked in the garage, which was separated from their house by about fifty feet. There was no light on, but a little daylight streamed in through the window…
I don’t remember everything, but I do know that after Katie dared Nancy to kiss me (and we did) Nancy dared Katie to kiss me, and we did.
So I guess I can boast of two distinctions: 1) My first kiss was a threesome;
And, 2) Keeping with the locale (I’m from West Virginia), it happened in a pickup truck.
(And for you aspiring comedy writers, no, none of us were related).
My first kiss was from one of the twins in my first grade parochial school class. It was either Betty or Peggy Z, not sure which. She was swishing her pigtails in my face, and I was about to complain when she swished 'em once more and planted a quick peck there.
My first, more adult kiss would have been fifth grade with Kay P. She was my first official “girlfriend”, more because she wanted me to be her boyfriend and I couldn’t really say no. We were a kissing bunch in fifth grades, with lots of “parties” to explore that particular aspect of our lives. So I would have been ten years old and it would have been early 1973.
My first french kiss was April of 1986 - I was in eighth grade - 14 years old. One of my friends had met an older guy at the mall the night before, and another of my friends was babysitting for her sister’s kids. We got a group of 4 girls together - the guy she met got a group of 4 guys together and we all went over to the house where the friend was babysitting.
We all hung out in the living room - girls on one side, guys on the other, except the one girl and one guy who knew each other. They kept trying to get us to mix. We played some kind of game to get us to mix up, but I don’t remember what it was anymore. I don’t remember how we chose partners, but I ended up with Dave, the one with the car - he was 17. I seem to remember that my friend who was acting as ring master paired us up based on her prior knowledge of which girl liked which guy, but it’s not like it really matters.
At some point the game we were playing required everyone to kiss. He went straight to the tongue - no closed mouth first, which surprised me. It is actually a very pleasant memory. I can remember the exact taste (menthol cigarettes), the temperature in the room, the feel of his hair in my hands. It went on for quite some time, for all 4 couples - so much so we didn’t notice my friend’s sister come home and she caught us all red-handed. My friend was grounded for most of the summer. (but no one ever told my folks, heh)
FWIW, we dated for about 6 months - not even the pair who got us together lasted that long. I talked to him as a friend for years, but lost contact when I got married at 25. I blame him for my obsession with blue eyes and guys who are good with their hands (he was a gear head - he had fixed up the 1976 Monte Carlo he drove all by himself.)
My first kiss, I was about 11 and he was 13. Our families were friends and we were all out camping together, the two of us were talking in the tent and everyone else had scattered off. I think I mentioned to him something about being curious, so we kissed. I don’t remember much about the actual kiss except it was sweet, definately not frenching. I heard he got married last year and is now a father.
My next kiss wouldn’t happen for years after, I worked with this guy and had a major crush on him. We had exchanged phone numbers and hung out sometimes and one time when we were hanging out he asked me what things were like on the boyfriend front and I said there was no one, and asked him if he was applying for the job. He told me that he had no time for a girlfriend (true, he was working 3 jobs at the time and got maybe one night off a week which he usually spent with the guys) but we ended up having a pretty good make out session until I had to go home. He gave me my first hickey too and I’ve liked being nibbled on ever since.
My first kiss was with my first cousin! I was around 11 and was traumatized for weeks afterwards that I might be pregnant as there was no sex education in school and my parents had never explained it to me. The fact that I might be pregnant with my first cousin’s baby obviously wasn’t explained to me either… Around 14 I figured out I wasn’t pregnant and went out with a guy called Mehmet Mehmet who kissed pretty good but my parents put the kybosh on that because his first and last names were the same. Twenty five years pass and I consider myself a pretty damn good kisser if I say so myself.
1st Kiss…uuuuhhhhhhhmmmmmmm…welllllllll…
I was 7 and in 1st grade, the boy who kissed me was Michael and he was in 5th grade.
after that was a blind date and I don’t remember his name. I was 14 and he was 16 or 17 and we went to the drive in, but didn’t watch the movie.
these 2 have warped my view for the rest of my life. I am now very picky about kissing, they were both very nice.
My first real kiss was in a play in high school. I was the male lead, but the part was supposed to have gone to the boyfriend of the girl who was the female lead. Because of this, she ate garlic before the performance.
Girl I liked. We were on our way somewhere (probably out for coffee), she was driving… and she just leaned over and planted one on my lips, then pulled back and smiled coyly. It was absolutely lovely. We didn’t end up making it to coffee.
Cars tend to be fertile ground for me… I had one girlfriend who had been dropping what were, in retrospect, painfully obvious hints that she wanted to be involved (but my brain was producing nerdorphins that prevented me from picking up on it). Eventually she just grabbed me as I was getting out of the car and proceeded to maul me.
It was one summer with the Boy Next Door. Literally, his house was separated from mine only by a chain link fence. He was blond and blue-eyed and a grade behind me in school so I was the older woman at 11 years. It was his idea and we hid out in my family’s garage, kneeling behind dusty stacks of old magazines and boxes. As I recall, it was so pleasant we repeated the experience several times that year. I still have the plastic engagement ring he gave me before his family moved away. No idea where he is today.
-sigh-
Not quite the magical moment you hope for.