I was sixteen years old when I got my first kiss.
Now, this wasn’t REALLY my first kiss, but I’m not counting that time with Reuban back in first grade or that time I had to make out with someone on stage (That’s a whole different story). Those are notreal kisses, and anyone who says they are is WRONG! Ahem.
Anyway, my first kiss.
I’d been with my first *insert dewey eyes and sappy music here* boyfriend for
about three weeks and I could not wait to get that kiss. I was sixteen for heaven’s
sake! My clock was ticking! But he was a pure gentleman and he insisted that my first kiss needed to be wildly romantic.
Bless.
Anyway, one beautiful sunny day (and yes, I know when people think of Hawaii they think of endless beautiful sunny days, but really the chances of getting a day when it is not pouring rain are slim, so this was quite a stroke of luck) my boyfriend took me out to a place I like to call Five Waterfalls. I have no idea what it’s really called. In fact, I seem to remember passing a “No Trespassing” sign on our way up, and there was defiantly some sort of water treatment facility on the property, so it’s very likely that just being there was pretty illegal. Anyway,
we went to Five Waterfalls. I call it that because there were five waterfalls there.
This isn't it, this is Rainbow Falls, but you get the idea. Just pretend there are five waterfalls instead of one.
Now five waterfalls was a beautiful, idyllic sort of place. Picture a huge lake/river, in Hawaii, surrounded by Five Waterfalls. Picture pure blue sky without a hint of cloud, tropical birds flying around singing, and sixteen year old me being wined and dined (metaphorically of course, I was far too much of a goody two shoes to actually drink wine) by her handsome twenty-one year old boyfriend. You’re jealous now, aren’t you? Thought so.
So there we were, eating a picnic lunch at probably one of the most beautiful and secluded places on the entire Big Island of Hawaii, when my boyfriend asked me if I wanted to swim. He took me down to the lake and we stood in the middle, surrounded by five waterfalls and singing birds and sun and sky and perfect, and he kissed me.
It was like a scene out of some Disney movie or cheesy romance novel.
It was every sixteen year old girls dream.
It was DISGUSTING!
I kid you not. It was probably the grossest thing that had ever happened to my face, and I had a horse, two dogs AND a little brother at the time! It was wet and slimy and tasted kind of like pepper and went on and on and on and on and oooooooooooooooonnnnnnn... I remember standing there thinking:
Eeew! Tongue! Pepper! EEEWWW! ... Okay. Still
kissing. Still. Kissing. Still... Kissing... MY GOD WHEN IS HE GOING TO BE DONE KISSING ME!
I couldn’t pull away first, obviously, because then I would ruin my perfect, fairy tale first kiss! So I waited. When he finally surfaced for air I tried to muster up a look that was slightly less damming than “mild disgust.” I needn’t have worried, he didn’t even just open his eyes, just sighed dreamily and smiled.
“That was amazing.” He mumbled, clearly still in a bliss coma from that apparently earth shattering kiss. I obviously didn’t know my own power.
“....Yeah, heh...Amazing” *Searches for nearest safe topic/escape route*
And that was my very first ever real not on stage or with an eight year old kiss. I thought it would get better, that maybe I would get used to it, because other people liked kissing, right?
Alas, no.
I stayed with this sweet, caring boy for nearly two years, but I never liked kissing him. I think that should probably have been a sign of the approaching Relationship Apocalypse, but no. I didn’t get that message until the One Ring he gave me got stuck on my finger and had to be cut off by a jewellery saw.
Again, not the real thing. This one probably would have fit me.
But that, as they say, is a different story.
Now, this wasn’t REALLY my first kiss, but I’m not counting that time with Reuban back in first grade or that time I had to make out with someone on stage (That’s a whole different story). Those are notreal kisses, and anyone who says they are is WRONG! Ahem.
Anyway, my first kiss.
I’d been with my first *insert dewey eyes and sappy music here* boyfriend for
about three weeks and I could not wait to get that kiss. I was sixteen for heaven’s
sake! My clock was ticking! But he was a pure gentleman and he insisted that my first kiss needed to be wildly romantic.
Bless.
Anyway, one beautiful sunny day (and yes, I know when people think of Hawaii they think of endless beautiful sunny days, but really the chances of getting a day when it is not pouring rain are slim, so this was quite a stroke of luck) my boyfriend took me out to a place I like to call Five Waterfalls. I have no idea what it’s really called. In fact, I seem to remember passing a “No Trespassing” sign on our way up, and there was defiantly some sort of water treatment facility on the property, so it’s very likely that just being there was pretty illegal. Anyway,
we went to Five Waterfalls. I call it that because there were five waterfalls there.
This isn't it, this is Rainbow Falls, but you get the idea. Just pretend there are five waterfalls instead of one.
Now five waterfalls was a beautiful, idyllic sort of place. Picture a huge lake/river, in Hawaii, surrounded by Five Waterfalls. Picture pure blue sky without a hint of cloud, tropical birds flying around singing, and sixteen year old me being wined and dined (metaphorically of course, I was far too much of a goody two shoes to actually drink wine) by her handsome twenty-one year old boyfriend. You’re jealous now, aren’t you? Thought so.
So there we were, eating a picnic lunch at probably one of the most beautiful and secluded places on the entire Big Island of Hawaii, when my boyfriend asked me if I wanted to swim. He took me down to the lake and we stood in the middle, surrounded by five waterfalls and singing birds and sun and sky and perfect, and he kissed me.
It was like a scene out of some Disney movie or cheesy romance novel.
It was every sixteen year old girls dream.
It was DISGUSTING!
I kid you not. It was probably the grossest thing that had ever happened to my face, and I had a horse, two dogs AND a little brother at the time! It was wet and slimy and tasted kind of like pepper and went on and on and on and on and oooooooooooooooonnnnnnn... I remember standing there thinking:
Eeew! Tongue! Pepper! EEEWWW! ... Okay. Still
kissing. Still. Kissing. Still... Kissing... MY GOD WHEN IS HE GOING TO BE DONE KISSING ME!
I couldn’t pull away first, obviously, because then I would ruin my perfect, fairy tale first kiss! So I waited. When he finally surfaced for air I tried to muster up a look that was slightly less damming than “mild disgust.” I needn’t have worried, he didn’t even just open his eyes, just sighed dreamily and smiled.
“That was amazing.” He mumbled, clearly still in a bliss coma from that apparently earth shattering kiss. I obviously didn’t know my own power.
“....Yeah, heh...Amazing” *Searches for nearest safe topic/escape route*
And that was my very first ever real not on stage or with an eight year old kiss. I thought it would get better, that maybe I would get used to it, because other people liked kissing, right?
Alas, no.
I stayed with this sweet, caring boy for nearly two years, but I never liked kissing him. I think that should probably have been a sign of the approaching Relationship Apocalypse, but no. I didn’t get that message until the One Ring he gave me got stuck on my finger and had to be cut off by a jewellery saw.
Again, not the real thing. This one probably would have fit me.
But that, as they say, is a different story.
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