I have known Amy since we were both 8, so most of our child and adult memories include each other at some level. Even if we weren’t there, we were there. In fact, I wrote in one of my diaries in high school, about making out with a boy: “I couldn’t wait for it to be over so I could go home and call Amy about it.” So, we’ve decided to bring you some of our memories via our blogs. Today’s memory: first kiss.
I was 12 years old, in eighth grade, and at the first church youth group event of the school year, which happened to be a lock-in. (Sidebar: Whose idea was it, anyway, to put a bunch of curious pre-teens into a room together at church and leave them all night long?) I had recently discovered flirting, and, while I probably wasn’t any good at it yet, I was enjoying checking out C., a seventh grader, as we played softball earlier in the day.
Later we turned the church fellowship hall into a massive slumber party, with the movie “Die Hard” playing in the Ladies’ Parlor and our youth leader snoozing in the corner by 9 p.m. Freedom!
C. said to me at one point “You know, you are really cool. Not like the other girls.” I don’t know what this means, but it feels good. I walk around with my head high, feeling pretty damn confident and maybe even – pretty?
I’m not sure whose idea truth or dare was, but it wasn’t mine (I promise!). I was excited to play, though, and when C. and I were dared to kiss on the lips, I knew this game had its advantages.
The kiss was wet and short and fun – when I would later meet Colleen in college we would call these kisses sans tongue “fake kisses” – but it was fun. I’m not sure if it really counts as my first kiss, though, since there was no tongue.
Not to worry: A few minutes later another seventh-grader, R., and I were dared to kiss with tongue. For 10 seconds. Here we go!
It was awful. No, awful isn’t an awful enough word. His tongue darted quickly, like a snake or a seventh-grade boys’ would, and I was totally grossed out as I just prayed the countdown from 10 would hurry up and be over. And then it was over, finally, and I had been kissed.
The next day my friend Jenny and I huddled in the back stairwell of the church to discuss our transgressions. “Do you think we’re going to hell?” she asked fearfully.
“No,” I said matter of factly. “Married people kiss in church all the time. At weddings. We are safe.”
“You’re right. We’re safe.”
Check out Amy’s blog to read about her first kiss here.