Do you remember that movie –My Girl, in which a little boy and a little girl kissed for the first time and everything was just perfect. Well, that’s the movies, not life. At least, that’s how I felt the day of my first kiss, which of course I expected to be magical.
I was thirteen years old and I was at summer camp. Most of my friends had already kissed a boy by that time and I was the only one from our group that hadn’t. Every time they talked about it –extremely detailed chats, I may add, I felt like a three-head alien from outer space.
Why was it that anybody had kissed me yet? Was I ugly? Was I dull? During a long –and, again, very detailed conversation with my friends, I decided that would be the last one in which I had nothing to share. I was going to kiss and be kissed and everything would be right with the world again.
So I went to find Mitchell, the ugliest and dullest boy in the camp, to offer a deal. We would close our eyes and kiss at the count of three. The benefits would be mutual –both of us would no longer be the never-been-kissed guys and would be, from then on, able to share experiences with our friends.
He looked surprise at first but he assured he found it reasonable. So that’s the story of my first kiss. As ugly and dull as I thought I was myself.