Even if it’s not Wednesday here (because I live in the future aka Australia), it’s Wednesday where this blogging challenge is taking place.
Every Wednesday/Thursday I’ll be blogging about the topic that comes through my email courtesy of Shay & Alissa.
This weeks topic is my first kiss.
At age 6 I got married. Not a childhood slavery marriage but in the sand pit at Primary School we had a pretend wedding where I and the lucky boy (whose name I don’t even remember) got married, had a quick peck, before going on our honeymoon.
I wish I could remember what I though a honeymoon was. I’m sure it was hilariously off base.
My first proper kiss with tongues was in year 9. At the time our little social group had 5 girls and 3 boys and so the boys got shared out so the boys got passed around. (I tried and there’s really no better way of phrasing it. We were young, we thought love triangles were fun and normal.)
So it was all very awkward and unnatural. We asked each other for permission before holding hands. Eventually at a party it was decided that we should kiss. Peer pressure.
So we went down into the orchard and kissed. It was ok.
A couple of weeks later when we’d broken up and he was going out with my friend, she rang me and asked me if this guy was a good kisser.
I said “meh – it was pretty sloppy” or something along those lines before she announced that he was listening in on the other line.
The good old days of landlines and three-way chat. I wasn’t even allowed to have a phone in my room so this conversation was probably held in code inthe kitchen. If I was lucky I could use the phone in my parents room, but they door had to be open.
I eventually wrote a very thinly veiled story about these people with the premise being we were all going on holiday together. It started off as a romance, slipped into soap opera territory, and by the end of it became a teen slasher. I think I nearly killed every one off.