The First Time Ever I…
Do you remember your first kiss?
I do. I have to say, I don’t remember any details about any kisses between my first kiss ever and my first kiss with The Husband. (No offense to any guys I kissed, but c’mon. Nobody holds a candle to The Husband.) As for remembering my first kiss ever… Let’s just say if I did forget about it altogether, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
In 7th grade I started wearing contacts, which I thought would solve all of the problems in the world. Or at least in mine. I definitely thought losing the glasses would mean getting a boyfriend, and my misguided teenage mind thought that attention from any boy was acceptable. So I became the girlfriend of a young man we’ll call The Worst Kisser Ever. (That’s not his real name.)
One night on the phone, he asked me what I would do if he French kissed me. I told him I would probably run away. The next day, in the middle of the lunchroom, he tested me. People were getting up from tables ready to go to class, and all of a sudden there he was. It happened in slow motion. His eyes were closed, he was leaning closer and closer. This was it. My first kiss.
You see, The Worst Kisser Ever had not been introduced to orthodontia yet, and his eye teeth were quite vampire-like and dominated his mouth. So, ow.
True to my word, I bolted. Yet, that did not dissuade The Worst Kisser Ever from his very public displays of affection. I was awkward and naive, and I had no idea what to do. He kept on kissing me and being bad at it, and I kept on enduring it and being embarrassed because everyone could see.
There is only one word to describe that very brief courtship. Bleah.
I have another memory the includes TWKE. Before classes began one day, it was either in the morning or right after lunch, we were in front of a bunch of lockers outside of the cafeteria. He and his friends were having a blast cutting each other down. They were trading insults, and this big, goofy blonde guy with glasses looked over at me and said to my boyfriend, “Oh yeah? At least my girlfriend isn’t a virgin!!!”
There was a chorus of ooooohhhhs and my knight in shining eye teeth looked at me and said, “You’re on your own there.”
Did I mention I was 13-years-old? THIRTEEN. Thirteen, and these morons considered my virginity worthy of mocking. Let me tell you, I was stumped. I had no idea why they thought that it was a bad thing. Why wouldn’t I be a virgin? First of all, didn’t they know what sex could lead to? Pregnancy? Diseases? And if having a reputation as a virgin was bad, it seemed having a reputation as a slut would be worse. I don’t know, I must’ve had a warped teenage mind to think that waiting was a good idea.
Throughout my teen years in my position as a wallflower, I possessed the ability to become invisible. Okay, maybe I wasn’t actually invisible, but I went unnoticed a lot of times. So unnoticed that people would have really personal conversations in front of me. Even if I hadn’t been planning on waiting to have sex, I sure didn’t want to do any messing around after hearing how people talked about it. It did not sound like fun. And how many times do girls have to have pregnancy scares before they realize how to prevent it?
I have heard that kids still get picked on for waiting. That’s just pathetic. Virgins… They don’t have to worry about getting pregnant. They don’t have to worry about STDs. They don’t have to worry about someone blabbing to the entire school that they’re easy. Or that they were bad. They don’t have to worry about the possibility of comparing someone they really love to someone that meant nothing later on. They don’t have to worry about how many people have seen them completely exposed and vulnerable.
You know who stays quiet too often? People that waited. You waited, and you should be proud. There are young people that need to hear from you. There are young people that need to hear that no, not everyone does it.
You know who else young people need to hear from? People that aren’t doing it. They need to know that not everyone is doing it.
So what do you say? Any takers? C’mon, I know you’re out there. If you’re willing to be interviewed by me for a message to those fragile young people who are being pressured every which way to give up something so precious, let me know. E-mail me at muchmorethanmommy(at)gmail(dot)com. I want to ask you some questions. Yes, I’m going to use the answers on the blog, but I won’t use names. Names will be changed to protect the innocent — and I actually mean innocent!
YOU CAN DO IT! (Be interviewed, that is.)