I’ll never forget my first kiss.
I was 13 and there was a little youth center in our town, just down the hill from where I lived. A bunch of us would hang out there after school and on the weekends to play pool and watch movies, and I’d bike back home whenever I felt like it.
One night, I remember sitting outside on a log near the youth center, talking with a boy I liked. We had natural chemistry. I was strongly attracted to his intelligence. He was quick-witted and conversationally sharp, and he was also the first guy I felt physically drawn to—his looks, his athleticism, his masculinity, and the way he looked at me. As we sat there, he was frustrated with me for no apparent reason and I couldn’t figure out what was going on. After going around and around, trying to figure out what it was all about, he finally said something like, “Okay, I want to ask you a question, and I know you’re going to say no.” That got me intrigued. After another 20 minutes of trying to pull it out of him, he eventually said, “I’m afraid you’re going to say no, but … will you kiss me?” I felt my face flush with a redness the dark sky thankfully hid.
“Yes,” I said. I’d seen it done in movies a thousand times but had no idea how to do it, and I was nervous and excited about what was about to happen.
We concocted a plan, presumably since the log we were sitting on faced the road and cars were passing by now and then. Behind the youth center was an empty gravel firing range. He would walk through the youth center and out the back door into the poorly-lit firing range. A few minutes later, I would walk nonchalantly through the youth center, chat with a few friends, then slip unnoticed through the back door as well. My heart still skips a beat as I write this, and it was over 30 years ago.
He followed the plan. He walked into the youth center and I waited a minute or two. Then it was my turn. My heart beat and my face could hardly hold the secret as I stood up and walked toward the door. I walked in and casually chatted with a few kids as I tried to conceal my nervous excitement. My whole inner world was suddenly fluttering like a hummingbird and I didn’t want my frenetic anticipation to get the better of me.
As I slipped through the back door, my heart began thumping. The loud activity of the kids silenced as I closed the door. There he was standing alone in the quiet chasm, partway down the firing range, as the light from where I was standing dimmed and disappeared behind him. I walked slowly over. He put his arms around my body, and we began kissing. It was unlike any feeling I had ever felt. It was beautifully daunting. I wanted to stay in that moment. I was more than attracted to him. In that moment I was changing from a girl to something else. I was overtaken by the gnawing attraction I felt for him, and I loved how his tall, strong masculinity enveloped my smaller, feminine frame.
While kissing, I wanted to continue, but I also needed a breath. I can’t breathe through my nose very well, but I didn’t want to stop. We finally did, and I put my head on his shoulder, my wet lips on his neck. If I had been a savvier type, I would have initiated more kissing after that much-needed breath. But I only knew myself as a simple, innocent girl, and we walked back in the youth center door, unable to hold back our embarrassed smiles. Everyone noticed immediately, and we were teased for the rest of the night about it.
After that night, I didn’t know how to make the quick transition from girl to girlfriend. I only knew what it was to be a daughter, a sister, a kid. I liked him. Man, was I attracted to him. I wanted to look at him, gaze at him, drift into the depth of his eyes, be next to him, feel him next to me, sit on his lap, feel his voice vibrate through his chest, and have his arms envelop me whenever we found ourselves watching a movie at the youth center. At the time, I couldn’t articulate my feelings verbally, so I remained shy. We kept strangely distant, like an awkward mating game between two birds. Except every now and then, when we’d kiss and kiss. I even remember some friends timing us kissing out in broad daylight in front of the youth center, which seems odd, considering that once we went inside to watch movies, I didn’t even know how to be forward enough to sit by him. How I wanted to be wrapped in his arms.
I know what I was thinking, though, even if I couldn’t say it at the time. I didn’t know where it was leading, and I wasn’t prepared to go further. I loved what was happening, but a lot of kids around us were diving into sex and I knew I didn’t want to go there. I wanted to wait until I was married. We were just 13, which meant there were at least seven or eight years before that point. How could I feel so strongly for someone, knowing he might not be the type to want to wait until marriage, and expect that we’d only kiss for the next decade? I couldn’t imagine him going for that. I wasn’t mature enough to be able to explain what I can now, so not long after, I broke it off. With no explanation given, he hated me. He never spoke to me all through high school, and we went to a tiny high school where we saw each other all the time. Through the years, I’d see him kissing other girls near my locker. I’d silently ache over what I hadn’t been able to say, and I’d wish that we had open lines of communication. I not only cared about him, I also respected him as a human being, and I wanted to continue knowing him. His avoidance of me made it abundantly clear that would never happen.
I still have letters he wrote to me back in those days. We were each other’s first love, each other’s first mint chocolate-flavored kiss. He must have snuck that in before I got to the firing range. He made an indelible mark on my life, and our feelings for each other—made physical—marked my immediate transition out of girlhood. He’s always had a place in my heart and probably always will. I’m just sorry I couldn’t say the simple words that would’ve told him of my apprehension about the future. Instead, my inarticulate immaturity miscommunicated a rejection of him.
While I had a handful of experiences with physical attraction after that, I didn’t feel that kind of overall chemistry with anyone again until my freshman year in college.
Neglect’s Toll on a Wife: Perfection’s Grip on My Husband’s Attention © 2023-2024 Lila Meadowbrook
