<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d7917459\x26blogName\x3dfirstkissproject\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLACK\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttp://firstkissproject.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://firstkissproject.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d4021338945997668753', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

Y. Lejand, The Coughdrop Kiss



The blinds were drawn across the library windows, but there wasn't much to see on such a gunmetal-gray, cloudy day. There was a certain damp mustiness that rose from the shelves of books. It was a kind of typical dustiness, of mothballs and yellowed pages and outdated magazines, and it lay over the entirety of the library like a fog that not even the misplaced sleek modern furniture from the defunct renovation could disguise.

Naturally on these days visitors were infrequent, but at 6:00 AM in the morning, a rare few actually knew the library was open at such an early time. At a table that was a little island among other little table-islands, they sat across from each other. Their postures were colored gray and listless. They were vaguely leaning forward in a sleepy stupor. Their faces were drawn and sallow. Their shoulders were slack. Their heads were in their arms. One of the two emitted a faint cough.

"God, it sucks to be sick."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

They limply rifled through their books. He lifted his chemistry book out of the way. She shuffled her note cards into order. He opened his copy of Camus' The Stranger, then he sighed and closed it again. She pulled her Spanish book towards her, turned to page 156, sighed and pushed it to the side, and dropped her head onto the cool desk.

"Good idea," he observed, and he promptly laid his head down on the desk as well. As he did so, she could catch the faint whiff of his breath. It was a warm smell, not at all organic or putrid with breakfast or chapped saliva from last night's sleep. She briefly closed her eyes took another quick but cautious breath. But, rather, she surmised, it was minty with a hint of honey and… a missing smell, but her eyes fluttered gently as she also discerned, threading through the other odors, the damp scent of saliva and she was intrigued.

They sat that way, across from each other, their heads down on the cool surface of the desk. She could feel the faint wisp of his exhale wafting across the desktop as if it were slowly tracing the fake whorls and knots of the fake wood grains patterned into the plastic. Each breath created an ephemeral cloud of condensation on the artificial wending woodwork, a map that lead to her, warm on her face, and fascinating to her nostrils.

She breathed out, sending her own breath like a telegram, but de repente (as page 156 of her Spanish book flashed nonsensically through her mind) something gurgled in her throat as she tried to exhale. Her eyes shot wide open. She sat up so suddenly that she jostled the desk and let out a whooping, cacophonous cough. It was the kind of cough that was meant to clear the throat of phlegm, mucus, and other gooey debris, and it clacked into the back of her mouth and onto the roof of her mouth in a gummy clatter, which she promptly swallowed.

He was already sitting up.

She allowed herself a sheepish gaze and politely cleared her throat with a small ahem. "That was gross," she said.

He had no comment. "You want a cough drop?" he asked, already reaching into his backpack.

She was already unwrapping her own. "That's okay." She could feel it quell her cough and soothe her throat, but it was the medicated taste that was marketed as "cherry-flavored."

Once more she tried to focus on page 156. The verbs were swimming in front of her eyes. Tengo la tos. No, it's el tos. No, it's la tos. The fluorescent lights made the page burn too bright. Everything around her looked dull. She decided to put her head back onto the desk. He was already head down in the book, sleeping. His lips fluttered as he breathed out. From this low angle, the words in the book appeared slanted. Y de repente los dos… But she could feel the tugging sensation at her eyelids.

I was… She stopped when he stopped. Just wondering… She had been dreaming about bees and koalas chewing doublemint gum and stopped. What… The warm sensation of his breath on her face had ceased and she indistinctly wondered why. Flavor… She heard a shuffle of clothing and opened her eyes. Then she closed them again.

The taste, it was laced with honey and mint, and ah--she licked his lips meditatively--the missing scent, the missing flavor… she contemplated as they allowed their tongues, sweetly flavored by the slick, sweetened, medicated lozenges, to collide… the missing scent, the missing flavor…

"Thanks for the extra cough drop."

"Same here. See you in class then."

She unwrapped the cough drop he had given her and smoothed out the wrapper. She read the ingredients: mint, honey, and…eucalyptus.

18-Year-Old First Kiss, Leila Hernandez

I was 18 years old and a senior in high school, and I still hadn't experienced my first kiss. I went on Spring Break with a group of girlfriends to South Padre Island, Texas (only a 90-minute drive from where we lived), where we had rented a condo right on the beach.

I met Mark at Carlos 'n Charlie's. He liked my hat. He had beautiful blue eyes. We danced, we had a few drinks, and we went back to the condo with my friends.

I was so nervous. I knew how to act with guy friends, but I didn't know how to act with cute boys who actually showed interest in me (eight years later, and still don't). We sat on the porch and awkwardly talked about music and movies. I learned that Mark was 21 (an older man, I was so proud of myself) and from San Francisco. But I really fell for him when he quoted a line from Shakespeare's "Henry V."

We decided to take a walk down the beach. It was 3:00am by this time and the sky was lit with stars. Mark asked if he could hold my hand. We walked a little further, and then stopped. Mark stood in front of me, held both my hands, and asked if he could kiss me. I said, "Yeah."

His breath was a mixture of Big Red chewing gum and Bud Lite. It was heavenly. To this day, it was still the most gentle kiss I've ever experienced. We laid in the sand and kissed some more. We kissed for a long time. I didn't want it to end. But it did.

We walked back the condo, and as we kissed and cuddled on the couch, I started to fall asleep. Mark said he’d let me go to sleep, and he left.

I went back to Carlos ‘n Charlie’s the next night to look for Mark. I never saw him again, but I’m not sad. He gave me the perfect first kiss and the perfect memory. If you’re reading this Mark, thank you.

thechameleon

In Junior High, I was a definite burn out. But in High School I didn't really have a group that I fit in with. I wasn't a jock really, I wasn't a thespian, I wasn't a geek - but I kind of touched all those groups. So, in my quest to kind of find out where I belonged I ended up, well, I ended up playing Dungeons and Dragons.

Ok. So I'm at this kid's house, and he's really into it, you know. He acts out all the moves and does all the accents and everything. So this kid's sister showed some interest in me. Visably. Because, I guess, I'm the one cool kid at her brother's D&D game. Or so I thought. And so the game is going on and, somehow, I don't really remember how it happened. But the game is going on in the basement and we end up meeting in the stairway.

And we kiss. With the sounds of the game going on in the background, you know. The screams and murder of wizards and the rolling of multi-sided dice, we're kissing. And I remember that my mom came to pick me up after. And that Toto song is playing, "I bless the rains down in Africa..." and it's such an emotional thing you know because the song is playing and I just kissed this girl for the first time. And that was it. So that was my first kiss.

Amy, Amy, Jack & Me (And Mary-Francis Too)

It was the eighth grade. I had just moved to Maine with my mother and stepfather to escape what could generously be called one of the most awful middle school experiences in human history. I was a strange lad with a bad temper and way too many demons for someone my age. Maine would be a fresh start.

Amy was one of the first people I met when I started school. She was not, however, my first kiss. I never kissed her at all, despite desperately wanting to. She and I were the same age, but she was vastly more experienced. I had never used my tongue for much more than speaking, yet she was sexually active. I mean, she went all the way! She slept with several boys who were older and more mature than I – some as ancient as 16. Some people might have judged her and called her a slut, but I never did. I was blown away by her openness. I wanted her, and she knew it. I became her willing sidekick. If I couldn’t have her, at least I could be near her. At least I could hear the war stories and embellish them in my mind, replacing the anonymous boys with me.

Amy had a friend, or a cousin or something, from some far away place… Idaho? I can’t remember. Her name was Mary-Francis, and she was going to be in town for the weekend. Amy wanted to hook us up because Mary-Francis was inexperienced and I, well, I had been lying to Amy all along about my exploits. After all, I had just moved to Maine and no one had any proof that I was virgin, so I denied it vehemently. I pretended I was the epitome of manliness back in Massachusetts. Certainly not a troubled, awkward, weirdo that got beat up all the time. That was definitely not me anymore.

So, one warm night – I can’t remember the season – I trekked over to Amy’s to meet up with Mary-Francis and another one of our friends named Amy. (Seems like every girl I knew in Maine was named either Amy, Jen or Sarah.) Amy number two had brought Jack Daniels. All of us took pulls and pretended it tasted good. It was fucking terrible though. The whole experience was excruciating for me. I knew I was expected to make a move on this stranger; this innocent youngster with new breasts and a bob haircut. I took another pull. My heart sank.

Finally we walked off together at her suggestion. She had to have seen through my ridiculous façade. We giggled like idiots and blushed and stared at each others’ shoes. I kept debating with myself the same way I might in the line of a scary amusement park ride. “Just do it you chicken shit!” I would think with self-loathing, “You’re such an asshole. You can probably get to second base!” Then she threw her arms over my shoulders and smiled. She followed my eyes as they fell toward the ground, and she followed them back up again. She was going to make me do this.

So I did. I put my open mouth around hers and tentatively inserted my tongue. We wiggled around nervously for a few seconds, and I broke away. “Was that it?” she inquired innocently. She truly didn’t know what had just happened. “That’s it” I replied, trying to remember that I was a Don Juan from another state. I never got to take her shirt off, but it’s probably better that way. I wouldn’t have had the slightest idea what to do.

Lou Hunny

I was very shy kid and kept my nose in books because of it. At the time it was easier for me to relate to textbooks than people and quietly hid in libraries because of it. I knew very little about the opposite sex and logically deduced that if I read enough stories about romance I would be an expert when I had my first kiss with a boy.

I was a late bloomer and didn’t experience that until I was a sophomore in high school. My friend Kandy was having a sleep over so she invited two of her friends and I to her house. My parents knew her parents so the legitimacy of the request was not questioned. What my parents didn’t know was that her parents were not going to be home for the weekend and we’d have the house all to ourselves. Kandy’s friend Missy invited her boyfriend Scott and three of his friends over. I had guy friends but not close ones, let alone converse with boys I never met before. We raided her parents’ alcohol cabinet and we started to drink beer and started talking. As the night progressed we started to move into different areas of the house.

My friend Kandy paired up with Paul in the backyard, my friend Donna paired up with Mike in the kitchen and I was paired up with Steve in the living room. He was a kind, gentle and soft-spoken guy who made small talk with me while trying to put his arm around me. I could smell beer on his breath and an hour before he had smoked a few cigarettes with Paul. Four hours had gone by and to sober up I was nursing a coke and looked down to see what time it was. When I looked up and smiled at Steve he bent down to kiss me.

It was only a millisecond in time, but that moment will always stay ingrained in my brain. I said to myself, “This is it! I’m finally going to have my first kiss!” I had read my mother’s Harlequin’s Novels and randomly picked up romance novels at the local library. The man takes the woman in his arms, turns her head and BAM! It would be an earth shaking, head spinning, fire works explosion of a moment. When his lips touched mine and his tongue explored my mouth all I could taste was cigarettes! It was like kissing an ashtray and a wet one at that! I pulled away and weakly smiled at Steve. He kissed me again only to now taste cigarettes and a hint of beer left in his mouth. Needless to say I was disappointed. I wondered why I didn’t feel the earth move nor felt or heard fireworks bursting in my head.

I now can laugh at the experience, but at the time I had wondered if the romance novels lied to me about kissing let alone “the first” kiss. Needless to say, I’ve had many kisses since then from boys and it has gotten better over the years. My first kiss may not have been ideal but it certainly made for a great laugh and a comical moment from my youth.

Please keep entries to 500 words or fewer when possible. Your email address, and any other identifying information you choose, will be kept private. By submitting your story, you grant the First Kiss Project copyright and publicity rights. If you do not wish to grant the First Kiss Project these rights, it is suggested that you do not submit to this website. The First Kiss Project is all about sharing, but please don't steal these stories or use them as your own. Thanks.