I was my husband’s first serious girlfriend; for him, our first kiss was truly a first kiss in every sense.
It wasn’t much of a kiss from an erotic standpoint, but it was sweet and cute and heartfelt, and I still remember it more than 25 years after the fact.
I didn’t marry him for his osculatory skills. After all, that can be taught. I married him for his keen, questing, playful, loving mind. The smooching was just the icing on the wedding-cake.
That happened to me, not a week ago!
I’d known SolGrundy through the boards for a while, and always thought he was a cool guy. When he came out here, I started developing a pretty big crush on him. Which was wierd, because I mostly identified as straight at the time. (I knew, more or less, that I was bisexual, but it was something that I tried hard not to think about too much.) We finally met in person at a DopeFest in San Francisco. I was really hoping that he’d turn out to be really ugly, or hideously scared, or something, so that I could get over my crush. No such luck: he was really cute, the inconsiderate bastard. We didn’t really talk much at the 'Fest, but towards the end of the night, he and I and another doper whose screenname I can’t remember (bodypoet?) got in a discussion about which Buffy character we’d most like to sleep with.
Anyway, about two months later, I’m still crushing on this guy, and I figure, what the hell. I send him an e-mail, asking if he’d like to get together sometime. I made a joke about how there were still some crucial issues about which Buffy character was the most shaggable that needed to be worked out. We met on Haight Street, and spent the whole day walking around the city, especially Golden Gate Park. At the end of the day, he brings up the Buffy thing, and we joke about it, and then go to our respective homes. No kissing, yet. Heck, I don’t think we actually touched each other that day. But we didn’t waste any time in setting up a second date.
This time, we decide to just hang out at his place and watch TV. We’re sitting there on his couch, and he says, “There’s something we didn’t finish discussing at the end of our date last week.” All I can think is, “Gee, I thought we’d covered the whole Buffy thing pretty well.” I’m still trying to figure out what he’s talking about when he leans in and kisses me!
I don’t even remember what we watched. I just sat there thinking, “I just totally kissed a dude.” In short order, this morphed into, “Why aren’t I kissing him right now?” So I did. There was a lot of kissing on that date.
Other stuff, too. 
Hmm, I’m still despondently single, not meeting my prospective mans until May…but I just had to pop in to say that along with “how did you meet your SO” this is the sweetest thread ever!
Same here…we need a singles thread
MANS?plural? 
I agree.I’m going all warm and fuzzy inside…
I took a couple of friends along on the family’s vacation to Lake George this summer. I had a huge crush on one of them, and suspected that he was attracted to me, but we’re both incredibly shy people, given to discounting the idea that anyone else could find us even remotely appealing…
Anyway, we spent a lot of the vacation reading and eventually snuggling in his bed–platonically, of course, because there was no way this person next to me had anything else on his mind, and he was thinking the same way… The second-to-last night, it was getting decidedly more romantic in nature, but it still took a while to work up to the kiss. I have no idea who actually initiated it, but it was pretty spectacular, given that it was not only our first kiss, but both our first kisses in general. It took us a while, but man was it worth it.
There were many more that night, and there have been many more since.
After several dates, mostly consisting of long drives through the country and moonlit walks through the botanical garden, I was beginning to think that he would never kiss me. It was obvious that we were clicking; the body contact was increasingly close, but no sign of a kiss. Finally, at the end of our third (or was it fourth?) date, he walked me to my door. We were saying goodbye when he leaned in and kissed me. Before I could even react, he turned and left me standing there. 
I decided to give him another chance and I was handsomely rewarded. It’s been nine years since that kiss and I still get weak when we kiss. I’ve always taken his quick flight after the first kiss to be nerves.
Second date, skating at the ice rink up by Central Park North. I’m a complete klutz, and fell several times. One time, I caught his arm on the way down, bringing him down with me, and we kissed. Very romantic, ice skating is.
My first date with Himself, we ended up way early for the movie we were going to see. So to kill some time, we took a walk in a fairly secluded area. He kissed me and I got all melty.
**Rhiannon8404 ** and I have three “first kisses”:
New Years Eve 1990. We were both in college and had just met a few weeks earlier at a gathering with friends, and this was our first date. I was still living at home, but my parents were out of town. We went out for pizza, wandered around town for a while, and then went back to my house.
Our first “first kiss” was the obligatory midnight kiss, but it was really nothing more than a peck: totally platonic.
A while later we were laying on the floor in front of the fireplace talking. I have no idea what the converstaion was, but at one point there was a lull. I leaned over, kissed her gently, and…
she had fallen asleep.
A week or two later I went to meet her after work one evening, and we kissed in the parking lot standing next to her car. That one she actually remembers.
My previous boyfriend of 5 years was a terrible kisser. I always thought that he was trying to ascertain if I still had my tonsils intact, so I avoided the kissing part as much as I could.
Fast forward to meeting my now husband. His first kiss was on Xmas day, a month after we had started dating. He was very gentle and sweet, so not like an invasive medical procedure that I knew right away that he was special (I was already suspecting that).
With a detour on the road once, we’ll be together 10 years next November. He’s still the best kisser I’ve ever met.
Pepper Mill and I met at NorEasCon, the World Science Fiction Convention held in Boston every 15 years or so. We met on opening night, when I saw rom her badge that she was from New Jersey, and said that I was, too. Of course, since I was living in New England, my badge gave that as my home, so I had to convince her that this wasn’t a cheap pickup line. I asked her to watch my backpack when I went to get cake from the front for us all (It was the 50th anniversary of he first WorldCon).
After that we kept running into each other all four days of the Con, which was pretty weird when you consider how many people were there, and how many folks we knew that we didn’t see. But we ran into each other several times a day for each day there. On the last day, I was getting a cab back to my apartment because it was late (Boston public transit stops running by 1 AM, to the annoyance of anyone going clubbing or to theaters or concerts). As I got in the cab, she suddenly leaned forward and kissed me. Very seriously. “I wanted you to remember me,” she explained later.
It worked. We’ve been married for over eleven years.
Awesome thread. I love these stories. I have to say, what follows is probably the best story of my life…here goes:
I was 18 and in my first year of college. I had never had a boyfriend and was pursuing a complete and utter loser with all my might. Amber, my best college friend, was hoping that I’d get another hobby. She was doing costumes for a University play, and she asked me to help out–you know, to take my mind off Loser. I went to a couple of rehearsals with her to assist her with costuming duties, and while I didn’t really bond with any of the cast, I noticed that the hyper, skinny, brilliant director simply lit up the auditorium. When we (briefly) talked, he made me laugh, and I was floored and a bit intimidated by his intelligence and spark. When the play went up, it was the best theatrical production I’d ever seen, and the direction was clearly revolutionary–someone only three year my senior had done this, and I was bowled over. At this point, I didn’t really have a crush on Director Kid, because Loser Boy was still my big hobby, but there was definitely some admiration going on.
At the end of the quarter, everyone who had worked on a play at our university’s theater company was invited to a big party, to be held at the university church’s activity center. I wasn’t going to go, but my roommate persuaded me into going so that she could tag along. (Loser Boy was out of town that weekend, otherwise I never would have gone!) The party theme was “drag ball,” but I didn’t really feel like trying to dress up as a guy, so I wore a sparkly disco dress and hoped for the best.
When I got there, it was a little crazy. Lots of beer and Madonna music, and plenty of boys in dresses. Hey–it was a theater crowd, I shouldn’t have expected anything different! I drank a little, found Amber, and danced for a while. Director Kid kind of meandered over, clad in a long, green gown. The three of us danced as our own little group for a few minutes, then Amber left to use the restroom or whatnot.
The music faded out, down to a smooth, long synthetic chord. A beat rose from the speakers, and the crowd started bouncing. The strains of “Vogue” made my heart start pumping something fierce. His eyes gazed into mine and the beat was flying faster and faster. For the next few minutes, we both danced as though our lives depended on it. When the tension between us couldn’t build any more, he leaned over and kissed me. He pulled back to see what I thought. I smiled and kissed back.
The next thing we knew, he had dragged me upstairs, away from the party, for more kissing and some talking. We could actually hear each other up there, so we struggled to introduce ourselves through the awkwardness of making out upstairs of a party. In a church. :eek: We knew each other’s names but not much else, so we talked about what we were studying, where we were from, you know, the kind of stuff dweeby people talk about whilst hooking up. He looked at me earnestly and asked, “Will you be my girlfriend?” I wasn’t quite ready for that, so I said that we should get to know each other first. He said he felt rejected, but I assured him that that wasn’t true. If he wanted, we could see each other again and go on a real date or something.
“You’re pretty,” he said, “and you smell nice.”
“Thanks.”
We decided to get out of there and go home. The music had stopped, so the party must be over.
Well…it was. Way over. Everyone else was gone, and there was a gate locked right in front of us, keeping us trapped on the second floor. (I guess we had hidden too well.) Our coats and his shoes had been on the first floor, and it was March in Chicago. We looked for a phone to call someone who might be able to help us, but found nothing. Even if we had, who wants to call campus security when you’ve been trapped in a church, making out, both wearing dresses? “This could only happen to me,” both of us moaned. Our chance for escape became clear in a moment, and we both knew what we had to do.
EMERGENCY EXIT. ALARM WILL SOUND.
We threw open the door, and the alarms cut through the quiet night. The fire escape was rickety, but we made it down safely and started running down the street toward his dorm. (It was much closer than mine.)
Alarms wailed. Freezing wind whipped our arms and legs. His bare feet thudded on the pavement. We ran, ran, out of sight, and didn’t look back.
The dorm was warm. We looked at each other and began to realize that this was really meant to be.
That all happened on the tenth of March, 2000. Five years and two days ago. We’re getting married in August.