July 19th of this year. It was my nineteenth birthday. I had a brand new boyfriend, my first one. We were in a goth club with all of my friends. It felt magical. And then I had a panic attack. Less then magical. Spent the next three days shaking. Oh well. Hopefully there will be fewer issues next time.
Given my handle here, I really should be required to post to this thread… 
My first “kiss” was in grade school, when Beth L. kissed my hand on the schoolbus on a dare from one of her friends… I was terribly shy (I still am, although thankfully not as much) and very much a loner at most times…
My first “real” kiss was, what I now consider a “pity” kiss… I had met a good lady friend and over the course of a summer and fall of hanging out, I’d let her know that even though I was in my early 20’s, I’d never been kissed. I whined and cajoled and eventually, she relented and kissed me. In fact, she also asked me if I’d ever felt a woman’s breast, and having not done so, allowed me to do the same that evening…
The first kiss I “earned” was a few years later, probably in my mid 20’s… I don’t remember much about it. I guess I consider the “pity” kiss my first kiss…
I think all my obsessing about kissing during those many years just stuck with me…now, some 10 years later, it’s definately my favorite thing to do these days…
I was 15. I had met my girlfriend (Heather) through a mutual friend. It was football season, and we were doing our two-a-day practices. Heather used to come out and watch me practice, then we’d go chill out somewhere between practices.
After about two days of dating, she asked me why I hadn’t kissed her yet. I said, “No good reason.” Then I kissed her.
I later found out she went back to her friends and told them all that I was a terrific kisser. Haven’t had any complaints since.
I was 12 or 13. My friends and I were at a dance at the local Y. My friend’s brother was there, along with his friend, Tom. Tom asked me to dance and we did the obligatory “Stairway to Heaven” thing and then headed outside to the woods. He leaned me against a tree and reached down and kissed me. Then he kissed me again. When he went in for the french kiss thing, I remember his mouth tasted sweet, like soda. I wondered if that was normal.
Anywho, a few minutes later he stopped mid-kiss and whispered to me, “Just relax.” I hadn’t realized it but every muscle in my body had tensed up, including my mouth, I’m sure. I was pretty nervous despite all the experience I had kissing Barry Gibb’s face on the cover of Teen Beat! I took a deep breath, relaxed, and dove back in. It was much nicer once I quit thinking about it on a technical level and just enjoyed the moment.
Kissed Tom at all the Y dances after that. He also asked me to my first high school dance at a nationally prestigious local, private, college prep school. Years later I learned that Tom had been kicked out of college for drug abuse. After that he spent a few months in jail for repetitive DUIs. Basically HE was the .01% of students from his high school who didn’t go on to earn a college degree. 
I hope he’s gotten his shit together, but I must admit that the rebel in me is somewhat amused that he took the road less traveled.
Scotty kissed me in the back row of the movie room when our class was watching The Red Balloon. Just a little smooch and then he tried to hold my hand, but our teacher made him go back to his seat. He was the cutest little red headed boy I ever did see.
The next time was junior year of high school and I’d locked my keys in the car right before a football game. Alex and a couple of his friends came sauntering along and he had the door open in two shakes. Then Alex kissed me as a thank you-- he didn’t even ask, just grinned and kissed me and said ‘you’re welcome’. A few weeks later we started dating.
I kissed a boy named Mark behind our school, at age 13. His first kiss too, I think. It was a bit slimy and overzealous, but we were both into it so I’m chalking it up as a good experience. We were both wearing our cheezy bright yellow after-school basketball uniforms…
I was 16, and an exchange student in Denmark. The whole passel of students had gotten together for a bus tour of the country; most of us hadn’t seen each other all year. I had a crush on an adorable boy from New Zealand named Peter, but he was getting together with a girl from Fresno. (Put 50 16-17 yo teens on a bus in a foreign country and watch the hormones go crazy!)
So anyway there was this other boy from Brazil (Rio de Janeiro, to be exact), and he was pretty cute too. We’d been kind of flirting with each other all week, sort of, but it hadn’t occurred to me that he might actually make a move. That night we went to Bakken, an amusement park with roller coasters and so on. In line for the first roller coaster ride, he asked to sit with me, and my friend Deb graciously encouraged me to abandon her in favor of him.
We sat down and he held my hand!! And then we got into the first tunnel, and completely unexpectedly, I was kissed. An extremely rickety and bumpy wooden ride it was, may I add, and it was not the most comfortable experience.
I was–again unexpectedly–kissed a couple more times that night, before a certain ride made me sick and Fernando, as his name was, had to take care of me. When I got back to my room, I looked so terrible that my friend assumed that he had Done Something to me, and I had to explain that in fact he’d been very nice.
The trip was soon over, and he cried when the bus dropped him off, much to my surprise. I was (and still am) pretty sure that he had a good opinion of himself as a seducer of girls.
Sadly, he was a terrible kisser. I didn’t figure that out until I got some better experience, and was rather let down over the whole thing, as I had been looking forward to my First Kiss with great anticipation and romance. Oh well, it makes a pretty good story; I was first kissed on a roller coaster by a boy from Rio.
My first first kiss: We were both about 5. He was the child of my parents’ best friends from college. We had decided we were going to get married and should get the kissing part out of the way. It was in the basement of my house. As we moved in closer time seemed to stretch out. It wasn’t until we heard my little brother coming down the stairs that we rushed to get the kiss over with. I remember wiping my lips.
My first real kiss: It was my first boyfriend - we were both 16. He had come over to my house and we were having ice cream up in my room (the first and last time my parents ever let boys in my room w/o parents nearby). We kept alluding to kissing - we had had a few dates before but no kisses. We heard a car pull up and saw that his mother was there to pick him up and we quickly decided to kiss. He scraped/bit my lip with his braces and started giggling nervously. It was really sweet - incredibly ungainly - but sweet. Later I discovered the boy couldn’t kiss and set about teaching him. I am sure whoever he is with today is thanking me.
Oh God… nasty memories… well OK, funny now, but nasty then.
I was 12 or 13, she was 11, and called Meredith. (Yes, really.) It was in the garage at her friend’s house, which was one of the few places we could escape from parents, for a few minutes at least.
Picture the scene. Snow-wash denim, hair gel, Right Said Fred on the ghetto-blaster. Damn we were cool Yeah! The moment was right, I went for it…
What does she say? Loudly, so all our friends can hear?
“Er, that’s disgusting!”
:o
:mad:
She came round to it, but still…
I was 12. My ex-GF and I decided to get back together. We were standing in the dark outside of our middle school after a school dance, waiting for our rides. Just before I left, she leaned over and gave me what she later described as an “all-brace kiss”.
I was walking on air all week. I think it was quite fortunate that she initiated it, or I might never have worked up the courage to kiss anybody. Even with that experience, it took me a couple more years to go beyond the smooching stage and into the actual kissing stage. You know, the one with passion and tongues and whatnot.
When I was 14, I came to realize that I su-hu-hu-hucked at kissing. The way I realized this was my GF saying “You have GOT to learn to kiss better.” Fortunately I was far from her first (so I didn’t ruin anything for her), and more fortunately I did get better.
On 2 later occasions I have been a girl’s first kiss. I have a theory. If (a) you are a good kisser and (b) you are her first, then (1) It will be some of the best kissing you have ever had and (2) the likelihood is high that you will set an almost impossibly high standard by which future kisses will be judged. Suffice to say, my best kisses were with virgin-lipped girls.
sigh
First kiss was in third grade – Julie Hofstader planted one on me while we were in a darkened booth at a museum of some kind. I had a crush on her already, and she had said that I had pretty eyes, but I was too much of a wuss to appreciate it properly.
My real first kiss was in ninth grade, at the JROTC military ball (wanna make somethin’ of it?). I had dated this girl a few times when she went to my school, and she invited me to the dance after she had transferred to her new school. My dad drove us there, and picked us up after, so we had some free time while we waited. We kissed while we were waiting – unclinching every time a familiar-looking set of headlights came by! (During the dance, on the other hand, the organizers were so uptight that they wouldn’t let us take our jackets off). Not the most inspired kissing I’ve ever done, but quite satisfactory at the time. I was too immature to be in a relationship at that point, so it didn’t go on very long – I hope I didn’t hurt her.
Boy, you were quite the tiger, Nametag!
Off topic, but is it written somewhere in the constitution that all schools have to show “The Red Balloon”?
In the back of my SUV at the park on the end of Texas Street in the South Park (heh) neighborhood. I was 17 (I’m 18 now), and she was 14. She was going out with one of my acquaintances, who was a total nutjob psycho boyfriend type. Anyway, they had an official clause in their relationship by which cheating didn’t count if it happened under the influence of drugs or alcohol. (Yeah, it was his idea. He took full advantage of it, as well. I know, I know, two wrongs don’t make a right, but whatever.) She and I both knew we both wanted it to happen. So I picked up a box of nitrous oxide (so chosen because it wouldn’t affect her ability to make decisions about how far we would go, and wouldn’t last long enough for us to go too far while on it), drove her to the park, and we started hitting those whippits. A few whippits into the box, she just finished a balloon and I just finished a balloon and it felt like all the stars were aligned so I rolled onto her and attempted to kiss her. The rush of it all overwhelmed me and I quickly rolled back off. After the next whippit I went back at it and this time I stuck in there. We spent the rest of the day inhaling whippits and making out in the back of that car.
We eventually reached third base, and were heading towards home plate (or so I thought) when she dumped me for my best friend (who is, BTW, female)–my friend made the first move, cause I guess she thought we had cut things off, and well, that pretty much did it–while I was in Arizona for a week.
I have an interesting dissociative-psychedelic-drug-related story about the first time I had sex, too, but that’s a tale for another thread.