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Amy Cusick

My real first kiss was embarrassing and doesn't count in my mind as a real first kiss. I agreed to go to the movies with a guy who was two years younger than me. I didn't have my license, so I rode to the theatre with my brother and his friend. After the movie, we stood outside and he asked if he could kiss me. I saw my brother and his friend standing nearby, so I think I turned my cheek to him to avoid kissing in front of my brother.

The kiss I consider to be my real first kiss was at a dance. I was giving the eyes to Tony all night long. I was shy though, so I'd look at him and then look away. He got the idea and came up and danced behind me. I kept dancing with my friends until my friend Noy turned me around and forced me to dance with him. He was gorgeous with brown hair and a Spanish look to him and he smelled like great cologne. He was also a great dancer.

When he leaned in to kiss me, it didn't matter that I'd never kissed anyone before. He was such a great kisser that I just followed his lead.

Jacque Lynn Schiller

The new guy at our school that year was named Abel. He was really into sports and cussed a lot and I didn't think he was very cute but all the other girls liked him. During the intermission of our "Gotta Dance" talent show a bunch of us were hanging out on the back cement steps. He said something to the effect of not liking my lipstick color and I busted out with a line that I felt could have been in a movie, "Then take it off." He proceeded to kiss me. It was pinched and dry and imperceptibly violent, as if he knew I was using him to shock our classmates. As if he knew he was not the kind of boy I was supposed to find attractive.

Caitlin McGuire, 14 at first kiss

We’re Alone

Your tongue darts in and out of my mouth like tiny silver fish, looking for a home. Your hand finds its place, on the small of my back, and it’s fine because we’re alone. You whisper you love me and you promise me that things will change.
Change? Change? Change?
Who cares about change? Right now you’re changed and nothing else matters. All I feel is your tongue in my mouth and your hand on my back and your love in my heart and nothing else matters. You venture in further, I return the favor; I push you harder against the couch and you pull my hips closer to you. I pull back for a second, a millisecond, and I feel like I’ve lost you. If turning blue means a second more of feeling like this then so be it. You pull me to your chest again and your hand migrates to my neck. You arch my head back and I wait to be devoured. A second passes by; an eternity in your arms and I stay whole. I push at you harder.
Devour me. Devour me. Devour me.
My cells rebel against each other and I am everywhere because you’re holding me. Breath? There is no breath; breath does not matter, just keep moving; never stop moving me. Freeze the sun in its place; keep this moment lasting forever if only so that I can feel combined with you. Your hand trails down my shoulder and I shudder; you’ve touched a nerve in me and you set me on fire. You pull away and I pull you back; my hands are on your waist now, my fingers almost circle and I feel insignificant. You put your warm hands on my cheeks; why are you always so much warmer than me? You tell me again, you tell me you love me, and we start the beautiful and terrible dance again and it’s fine because we’re finally alone.


It was Mr. Mustard in the library with the overactive first-grader's imagination -- my first firstkiss, a very chaste peck, happened during a game of Clue. My five-year-old (I was five, too) boyfriend's older brother left the room and JD leaned toward me and asked, "Would it be okay with your mom if I kissed you?" With my devil-may-care attitude asserting itself early, I responded, "Of course!" knowing full well that it would certainly not be okay with mother, not at all.

And that was likely still true six years later when I had my second firstkiss. This one was preceded by my saying, in my trademark romantic style, "Wait a minute...just let me spit out my gum." And with that, grape bubblegum hit the pavement and BC's tongue was halfway down my throat. It was kind of icky and boring, but I felt like I was part of the club.

Those are the actual firstkisses, but I have to say that every firstkiss with someone new tends to be memorable and story-worthy. I think they've gotten sweeter as I've gotten older.


Marni's basement, it must have been 6th grade. One of those stupid kissing games. Seven minutes in heaven? Maybe. She was the equivilent of Charlie Brown's little redheaded girl. And I was, you guessed it, the little bald kid himself. But we were there. In the laundry room, for seven whole minutes. It felt less like heaven and more like Seven Minutes in Sweaty Palmed, Dry Mouthed, Stomach Pumping, What-the-hell-am-I-supposed-to-do-now Hell.

First try: She turned her head and I got a mouthful of hair. Then she said, "Okay, okay, okay." and took a deep breath - like we were about to hold hands and jump off a diving board. Which, in retrospect, we sort of were.

It wasn't exactly fireworks, but it wasn't unmitigated disaster either. It lasted all of 3 seconds. She just walked right back out of that laundry room and sat down in the circle. I don't think I spoke to her again for at least a year after that. The little redheaded girl.

Rose, I was 15-years-old

His name was Ishmael McGillicutty. (It wasn’t really. But I need to use his full name. No initials or nicknames. First name. Last name. That’s the name of my first kiss.) His hair was tomatoey red, and his eyes were asparagus green. A lovely, fresh green salad was my sweet Ishmael McGillicutty.

I could tell something was amiss when I would catch him looking at me. Which is why I didn’t ever look at him. Afraid to see what I saw when I saw him looking. And when he kissed me, he caught me by surprise. He tasted like strawberry bubblegum. His lips were very very soft and I had my hand on his waist, which was narrow and young. Though I suppose mine was, too, at the time. And when we stopped the kiss I didn’t look at him at all. I looked at his shirt - which was a pale, pale blue from too much washing and wearing. Until he lifted my chin and made me look into his eyes. And he said something to me. Something of which I have no recollection at all. Just those dusty asparagus-colored eyes is all I remember.


It's a crisp fall day here at firstkiss headquarters - perfect for kissing and nostalgia. We just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has written in already. We knew it was going to be a slow start, but we're so pleased with the response. It's amazing to read the entries as they come in.

Thank you so much for sharing your stories with us (and with the internet!). Tell your friends, and keep the stories coming!

Anonymous, 13

I found out later that his name was Jeffrey Something, but he went by Max. We all called him Max. He liked it better; it sounded better. Anyway, he was from a town over. I really don't remember how we first met, but he started hanging around with our group.

We were supposed to meet up by the deli one Saturday, and he wore this crazy leather jacket. It wasn't even cold out, and I thought it looked stupid. But he really seemed to like it. I knew tell it looked ridiculous on him and I was embarrased. But, again, he really seemed to like it. And I thought he was really cute.

So, he bought me an iced tea, and we sat on the sidewalk. We must have talked for a while, but I can't remember what we talked about. I remember he was playing with this little stick he picked up on the sidewalk. And then he tried to show me tricks he learned on his lighter.

He made some joke and I laughed, and then he just... went in. I remember feeling really warm, and it was much wetter than I could have imagined. It felt weird and made my stomach flip over. And I blushed all over. And we separated for a second, and he smiled. And I remember just smelling that leather smell from his jacket.

Anonymous, 14

Jen was the girl you bummed cigarettes from. She always knew where the best parties were. And she had her first kiss while I was still in Mathletes and barely picking out my own clothes. She listened to bands like Bauhaus and would be the first one of us to go to raves, do drugs, get in trouble and not care.

But before all that, we were almost the same. Just on the verge of choosing very different lives, we had a sleepover one night – still young enough for sleepovers, but old enough to sneak booze from her parents liquor cabinet. I didn't know she was going to, but she invited a couple of boys from the next town over. She had a crush on one of them. The other one was supposed to be for me, I guess.

We watched TV and passed around a bottle of vodka. I was lucky that it was already half water from the last time we snuck out, because I still couldn’t hold my drinks very well. It didn’t take long before I looked over to see Jen and her guy making out on the couch. My guy looked at them too. And we watched them, and tried not to watch.

He looked at me; this kid whose name I don’t remember, and may not have ever known. He looked like he wanted to kiss me. And I remember thinking about my braces. He surely wouldn’t kiss a girl with braces. But he did.

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