I had my first kiss when I was 14. Correction, my first kiss was stolen from me when I was 14. I was in a storage closet with my friends Beth and John at our friends birthday party. The two of them had been making out all night and I had been third wheeling. In retrospect it’s a bit weird that I was in the actual closet with the two of them; you think I would have given them some privacy. Anyways, at one point John turned to me and said, “Hey Natalie, want to make out?” Before I could answer his tongue was in my mouth. I had always wondered what kissing felt like and whether I was any good at it. Part of me wanted to explore further but the other part said, “he was just making out with Beth!” So I used my tongue to force his tongue out of my mouth and that was that. He resumed kissing Beth and I finally gave them their privacy. The kiss lasted about five seconds and meant absolutely nothing except that I no longer had my kissing virginity. I felt gypped. For years I had been reading magazine articles on how to kiss and imagining all the perfect and cliche ways my first one would be. Instead, I would later describe it to my girlfriends as “fighting his tongue with mine.”
I would not have my second make-out until two long years later.
