First Kiss Stories

November 21, 2010 · 1 comment

Who remembers their first kiss? I know I do. I was 4 years old, which is pretty amazing to me because as I am writing this, I am sitting next to my 4 year old son, and I am thinking “holy crap, he’s at the age where he can remember stuff!” My only two memories from that age are my first kiss, and getting spanked for riding my bike across the street. (Special shout out to my older brother for ratting me out on that one.) Now regarding the bike incident, I didn’t understand why the punishment was so harsh. I rode my bike across the street, but I had a big kid with me. No biggie. But now that I have little clones that I love more than life itself, I understand the terror associated with the fear of losing them under any circumstances. Ironically, parents can go overboard with punishment, which sends the message “You could have been killed, but since you managed to survive I am just going to have to scare you to death.” Even more ironic to me is the fact that the trauma from being punished ranks right up there with my first kiss as my only memories from that age. Hmmmmmmm, what would a therapist say about that?

OK, my first kiss happened at the age of 4. This seems a bit early, so I decided to solicit stories from my Facebook friends to see what their experiences were. I was overwhelmed at the response. Dozens of stories, like the girl who had a crush on a boy when she was 11, which lasted right up until the time the kiss happened. Alas, his breath that reeked of Doritos quashed that crush in a heartbeat. I can only hope the poor guy learned to rely in Tic Tacs.

I also got a kick out of the people who required additional information before they could commit to tell their story. They asked questions like

“First kiss, where?”
“Am waiving the therapist/patient privilege if I divulge the circumstances relating to my first kiss, which also happens to be the reason I see a shrink to begin with?”
And from a friend of mine who lives in the south, “Does it count if it’s family?”

I will answer those questions in the following order “On the lips; No; and EEEEEWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!”

So, what was my story? Well, my family was living in New Jersey at the time, and my dad was working like a mad dog to support us. As a result, I had been spending a lot of time with my mom, who was also hooked on “Days of Our Lives.” I watched, too, and like most 4 year old sponges, I absorbed a lot. I also had a friend named Bridget. She lived across the street, and I’d go over there to play quite often. She was also 4, and we were starting a support group.

Well, one day Bridget and I were playing in her front yard, and I remember blurting out “Hey, you wanna kiss?” And she said yes. (Note, that line has never worked for me since that day, and neither has the one that followed) “Well, there are rules. We have to take off all of our clothes first.” Again, she agreed. So, we went behind the detached garage that was next to her house, and upon disrobing, we kissed.

OK, so at this point I should mention that Bridget’s mom was a German immigrant who spoke broken English. I should also mention that while we had gone behind the garage, we were apparently still in full view from the kitchen window of Bridget’s house. AND . . . Bridget’s mother happened to be looking out said window at the time yours truly was doing his best impression of Casanova. And that’s when things took a turn for the worse.

Now I am not sure what the world record was for the 50 meter dash in 1972, but I am pretty certain that Mrs. Coleman was pretty close to breaking it as she ran out of the house to ring my neck. Additionally, while I was an articulate 4 year old, my abilities were limited to English, so I didn’t understand squat of the German gibberish that was gushing from her mouth. But I did understand that whatever she was saying, it was not nice, and she meant me harm. In my panic, all I managed to do was put on my little cowboy boots, and run away. Some girlfriends I have had since that day have accused me of the same behavior, but for different reasons. So there I was, streaking through the back yards of Haddonfield, with Bridget’s mom hot on my tail. Yeah, she caught me, and yeah, took me home . . . naked.

I was sure I was dead meat given the spanking I had received for the bike incident. But to the contrary, my mom just laughed hysterically. I mean, sure she said “Just wait until your father gets home” but it wasn’t in the “and then you will die” sense. In fact, I remember her telling me that I was definitely my father’s son. Until then I had no idea there was a question as to this fact.

So there I was, sitting on my bed wearing a pair of white pajamas with air planes on them. I didn’t know what adultery was, but I had heard the term many times on the Soaps my mom watched, and I was sure I was guilty of it. And in walked dad. And to my surprise, all he said was “Heard you kissed a girl today. Next time, keep your clothes on.” And that was it.

I was so relieved, but little did I know that when it came to romance, I peaked at the age of 4.

It’s been downhill ever since.

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