First Kiss

The first time I ever kissed a boy was during a game of spin the bottle. I was 16.

I was petrified of boys at 16. I had a group of friends I would hang out with occasionally and I remember the girls talking about the boys they had kissed, who they had crushes on, who they wanted to start dating (or were currently dating) I, however, always felt completely baffled by this talk of the opposite sex. What happened to Boys having Cooties? I was supposed to be kissing them now?! I started to really feel the pressure after Sophomore year of high school when my last girl-friend, Stacy, admitted she had kissed a boy. Crap. I needed to get on the bandwagon! This was Junior Year and I needed to get my lips in contact with a male’s: Stat!

I was not too awkward in High School. No acne. I was a major Theatre Nerd: I was a member of the drama group, I could sing all the songs to all the musicals, ever. I used to have long hair, but cut it all off and wore it in a Bob that I would pin back with simple brown pins. I was also discovering that I had hips, and had even gone so far as getting myself a pair of hip-hugging jeans that I was really proud of. But, none of the stupid High school boys appealed to me. Who, in the pool of guys I knew, could fulfill the important role of first kiss?

I imagined my first kiss being like a scene out of Lord Of the Rings (which I was OBSESSED with). It would go as such:

I’m standing on a romantic, moonlit bridge overlooking a cascading waterfall. I’m wearing a dress that looks like it belongs on an Elven Princess. I’m trying to make a wish when, suddenly, a romantic stranger passes by. He sees me on the bridge. I make a wish. He comes over, his blue eyes catching the white peaks of the water. He whispers something clever that makes me giggle. He says I have a cute giggle. Then, he leans in and kisses me, and we confess our undying love for one another.

The end. That was the whole fantasy.

So, none of the geeky, pizza-faced, short, awkward, immature 16 year old boys seemed to fit that mold. Or, maybe I was a lesbian? I mean, seriously, not a single dude made me want to kiss them. There was that one cute guy who was in the school band, but he was off limits: too cool for me. Anyone who was as into Lord Of the Rings, and musical theatre as much as I was, was not in the popular crowd. I resigned myself to sexual confusion and celibacy for the rest of my life.

Cut to: The closing night party of our school’s rendition of “Into The Woods”. There were a bunch of people there: cast members, band members, audience members, wanna-be’s and friends. And then, after a couple swigs of that all-too-sweet Mikes Hard Lemonade we were all drinking, someone placed their empty bottle on the rug and announced we were playing spin the bottle. Oh. Shit. The rag-tag group gathered ’round the bottle and I took in the crowd. The only guy I could have considered, who also happened to be the host, was already making out on the couch with another girl. But, wait: someone brought a friend wearing a Red Hat. He was cute.

I distinctly remember the moment Red Hat and I kissed, the fear in being unsure of how to “do it right” disappearing the minute contact was made. Oh. I know how to do this! I was made to know how to do this! I LIKE THIS. We parted lips and I wanted more. Plus, every time I looked up from the spinning bottle the host and the girl on the couch were Gettin’ It On.  The bottle span and span. I wound up kissing a plethora of people: dead fish lips, big sloppy red lips, dry lips, soft lips, men, women, lesbians, gays (this was Manhattan, my school was full of all types) and then: Red Hat. I wanted to have that bottle hit Red Hat SO BAD! After a couple rounds, I spun the bottle and then just up and pounced on him. The room gasped (or, at least I like to imagine they did). I felt like I was having an out of body experience. Like a pro, Red Hat got up, grabbed me by the hand, and led me into the hallway were we started making out like two love-sick teenagers.

This was my first kiss, my first make-out, and Hell, the first time I realized I REALLY liked boys. Like, Really, Really liked them. I gave Red Hat my number because it was getting late and I needed to get home.

I remember floating toward the subway, waving goodbye to the smirking friends as I left the party (I knew I would get a whole lot of shit for what I did the next day at school once the news spread that Natalie mauled a dude at a party). It wasn’t until the train stopped at 86th street and I was told by the conductor that the trains were not running to my stop did I snap back into a little big of reality. I walked out of the subway and decided to hoof it the last mile home. It was 2am on a Thursday. I walked briskly, trying to avoid the vomit splats on the pavement from the bars lining Broadway.

Funny thing about being distracted while trying to walk really fast: I concentrated so hard on avoiding vomit puddles that I forgot to watch out for cracks in the pavement. I tripped. I fell. I got up quickly. I looked down at my hip-hugging jeans and saw the fall had ripped the knees to my pants wide open. Whoops. That didn’t bother me, though. I felt more like a badass. I earned those holes! And, frankly, I felt more accomplished than I had ever felt up until that point. Those holes were a badge of honor. And I was a Woman at that moment. Epic.

December 12, 2012 at 6:34 am by Natalie Allen