My First Kiss

From First Kiss, 1890, by William Adolphe Bouguereau. Via Wikimedia Commons

Readers,

This week we have an essay by in which she looks back at her first kiss—and her first kisser. It’s a sweet piece, and you’ll find it just below this section. ⬇️

Coincidentally, one of the writing prompts I use frequently in workshops is “Write about the first kiss that mattered to you.” So this topic felt like good fodder for a Friday Open Thread, in which I invite all of you to comment on your similar experiences. In the comments please tell us…

In the comments please tell us…

How old are you? Tell us about the first kiss that mattered to you. Who did you share that kiss with? Why did they matter to you? How did the kiss come about? Did it lead to more? Answer as many or as few of these questions as you’d like! (If you’re commenting, please also do me the favor of hitting the heart button ❤️ for algorithmic purposes. Thank you.)Leave a comment

Me, I’m 60, and as was the case for Mona Gable, the first kiss that mattered was one I received from a boy I knew in elementary school and junior high, one I had a big crush on. At a party where games like Spin the Bottle led to pairing off in dark corners, my crush grabbed my hand and led me to the back yard, where we smooched and smooched, mechanically turning our heads back and forth, until our lips were red and swollen.

My crush was wearing the blue-and-white gingham party shirt he wore to all the boy-girl parties, and I was wearing a green-and-white gingham blouse from Chwatzky’s Department Store that I’d gotten to match it.

When we came up for air, he looked at me discerningly, and I wondered if he was going to “ask me go out”—which in those days meant becoming boyfriend and girlfriend. My heart pounded in my flat, 13-year-old chest. What was he going to say?

Finally he spoke. “I hate the color green,” he said, then led me back into the house. The next day, I threw the shirt in the garbage.

Despite how it ended, it was a th…