I Remember: My first kiss

This was supposed to go out on Valentine’s but I couldn’t do it on time and well, I’m not going to wait until next year to post it on a related date so here it is.  At least it’s still February 🙂


 

My first kiss?

I was in college.  Oh, yes.  I have explained that no boys looked at me, until I was in college.  Well, one did, but he never kissed me and that would be another post.

When I was freshman in college though, something surprising happened.  One guy, one very good looking guy, started following me and one of my best friends – Ivette – (we were a pack of six girls) and for the first time, it wasn’t because of her (she was a boy magnet, every guy we met went after her).

He asked one of my friends my name (she thought he was talking about the other skinny girl in our pack, and initially gave him the wrong name, which I thought was hilarious) and then approached me by calling me by my name, which of course blew my mind because it had never happened before.

I was into guys with oriental features at the time and he was indigenous looking which made him perfect to my young, naive eyes.  Straight black hair, long on top – to his chin – shaved underneath, narrow dark eyes, big smile with dimples, and a six pack.  He wasn’t taller than me but he was very fit, muscular.

I hear he was threaten to death by at least three of my best friends – who truly were like sisters to me – but we started talking anyway.  And that’s all we did, for the most of it.  We spent HOURS talking.  Yet, I don’t remember it being transcendental, it was just… talking.  We went outside of campus a few times, one of them being the event of the year, where we spent six hours trying to get to Mayagüez through Las Marías and we never found our way.

Well, we dated for about six months.  And then one night when he was leaving me in front of my dorm everyone started screaming.   I think they planned it.  They blocked his car and wouldn’t let him leave until he kissed me.  No one knew it was my first kiss.

After a few minutes of negotiation he went out of the window of the car and called me.  I went and pecked him while everyone whoohoo-ed. That night I laid in bed remembering how moist and soft it felt to have his lips on mine.  And how it wasn’t nearly as special as everyone claimed.  I wasn’t impressed.

The feeling continued when a few days later he left his bachelor degree incomplete resigning his enrolment and didn’t even said goodbye.  My best friend Ivette, the pretty one, texted him four messages composed only of insulting, filthy words (This was back when you had to dial the alphabet in the numbers of the public telephone mind you, and she did so in record time.  I was very impressed).  I never saw him again (I talked to him on the phone once about a year later, in a visit to one of the dorm girls on her birthday.  She lived in his town, he called her to say happy birthday and I was there.  I remember I laughed a lot).  And that was the only time he kissed me.

Interesting fact:  he left me for a girl who was, dun dun dun, in eight grade.  He was twenty one and she was, how old is an eight grader?  Like thirteen?  Whatever.  She was a kid.  I heard some months later that he was very sorry.  That he knew he made the wrong choice.

I couldn’t care less.   But I still remember the kiss.

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