My first kiss (well, not my FIRST kiss, but the one that counted, I guess) happened at my best friend's birthday party in the basement of her family's house in Cerro Gordo, Illinois.
So, there I was, freshly fourteen, my same old devil-may-care smile spreading over new braces smarting on my teeth, new shirt and shoes, gangly arms exhibiting an ever expanding galaxy of freckles, a wild tangle of red hair that had put up a good fight being wrestled back into a ponytail by an ambitious scrunchie, and I’d brought with me along with my new denim purse, machinations to plant one on Beau Rollins*. See, I knew he was coming to this party, and I had decided I was going to kiss him... and when I decided to do things, I usually did them. (This approach prevails today.)
He was what we called back then, "Cute.” Tall, muscular and skinny at the same time, and he had a brown flop of hair that actually had some style that reflected pop culture of the time - which in small towns is usually about 5 years off , but it was 1993, and that skater chip was still cutting edge in a town where most kids got their hair cuts in their back yards.
Anyway, he walked in, and sat right by me. I remember thinking, "Dang it, I wish I hadn't worn white socks," as I glanced down at my feet. Then, it occurred to me that I'd never considered wearing socks of a different color before, and I figured my sudden distaste for this fashion transgression was a sure sign that I, at that moment, had grown into a mature woman... which, of course, was belied by the itty-bitty-titties reluctant to the tutelage of my training bra.
As the evening went on, we'd had cake and pretzels and pop and juice and cookies and all the things kids this age roll their eyes at, embarrassed of the moms who dared to provide these treats... which, of course, we grazed upon greedily. Beau kept bumping his knee against mine while we talked about baseball and dirt bikes. Then, finally, he asked me if I wanted to go, "over there.”
"Over there," was a dark corner by the washer where Sara's mom had hung some towels to dry. "Over there," was where some kids were disappearing for ten minutes at a time, returning with flushed faces and wide eyes. "Yeah, dude, let's do this," I replied and grabbed his hand.
Once behind the privacy towel, I wrapped my arms around his neck and planted my lips hard on his. He seemed surprised by my move, and I wondered what the heck he was expecting me to do if not that. He pulled away a little, and led me closer to the washer. Leaning back against the washer, he grabbed my belt loop with one hand and put his other on the back of my neck, leaned over me, and softly kissed me. My body relaxed and leaned into him and..... I felt it. As the real life version stood at ardent attention against the dark denim of his jeans, the word for it, "boner," popped into my head. I, of course, immediately started laughing into his mouth. He pushed me away, incredulous, mouth agape, "What!?"
"Nothing," I mumbled, "Just something from earlier." So, he tried again to, with all earnest, romance me into pressing myself against his pecker while he kept darting his tongue in and out of my mouth really fast. That's when my giggles gave way to guffaws, and Beau turned bright red, ripped back the towel, and stormed out, me yelling after him, "WHAT!? IT'S FUNNY, DUDE!" I remember he marched right upstairs and asked Sara's mom if he could call his mother to get him. He waited outside. I never saw him again, because my family had recently moved to the town next over, and I no longer went to his school.
He would later tell everyone that he’d felt me up, that my boobs were gross, and that I’d asked him to get me pregnant.
*name changed
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