I never liked kisses when I was younger- in fact I hated them, much preferring hugs. Hugs do not leave you with that unpleasant, damp, sticky or spiky sensation that you steeled yourself for by many older folk. The split second it was over, you wiped your poor affronted ponim* with a sleeve.

If we’re talking about first kisses, for the purpose of this post I assume we mean first “mutually consenting” kiss? In which case we must leapfrog straight over my couple of stressful years of being a serial kiss-chasey victim and on to later humiliations.

Mine was your quintessential and literal primary school kiss behind a shelter shed. Perhaps the mutually consenting thing doesn’t really apply here, as even then it wasn’t without a degree of duress. I was 11, in Grade 6 and had recently accepted the invitation to ‘go round’ (whatever that means) with a short, curly blond-haired boy in my class. Lord only knows why.

Unfortunately, unbeknownst to me, the done thing of the day was to seal that agreement with a kiss. Despite the fact I rarely spoke to this kid, consensus was that my deadline to being branded a Chicken was due to arrive. At lunchtime. Rules are rules, right? Sure I could’ve refused but if I didn’t do it, not only would I be an official Chicken but my agreement with Curlytop would be nullified and he would be free to ‘go round’ (whatever that means) with someone else.

A public kiss. For the love of Fonzie, how did I end up here?!! I wondered as a group of class mates had gathered around us in a circle and word was spreading fast. With all the feist and vigour of a schoolyard rumble, we were cheered, jeered and heckled on:
“Kiss her!!”
“Go ON!”
“Buck-buck-ba-CACK!!”
“Do it! Do it! Do it!” they chanted.

I have no idea if Curlytop felt the same way I did or not but I didn’t give a shit. We were both under public scrutiny and all I could think about was getting it overwith so I could get back out of the spotlight again, un-Chicken-branded.

With trepidation we leaned our faces in toward one another. Neither of us had the first clue about head tilting, eye-closing or nose bumping. Just how many humiliations can there BE in a handful of seconds?

We connected lips and though it was no more than an extended mouth peck, I’ll never forget the horrible grinding our teeth made as they clashed together. But it was over. Everyone cheered , we recoiled in relief and went our separate ways to recover.

I was certainly in no great hurry to repeat that experience. I saw absolutely no reason why anyone sane would choose to do that on a regular basis and I didn’t think it could be much worse. If only someone had warned me that at Summer camp the following year, I would be tongue ambushed.

How did you survive your first kiss? Or were you lucky and it was a spesh pash?

Linking up with Kerri Sackville’s #myfirst series.

*Yiddish: “face”. As in “Just LOOK at that ponim!!” *cheek pinch*

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