Mine occurred in first grade, with Bobby Brown, under the teacher's desk after all the other kids had left the room for recess. I don't remember who initiated it, but I was certainly a willing participant until Mrs. Clement came and hauled us out onto the playground.

I was eleven. So was he. We were in the little crawlspace under the stairs; he'd turned it into a little cozy reading nook. We shut the little door and turned out the light and it was pitch black. He asked if he could kiss me. I said yes. He missed the first time and ended up on the corner of my mouth. "Damn," he murmured, and re-aligned. It was soft, slightly lingering, and very very sweet.

Couldn't even begin to guess... I was a little slut with all the neighborhood girls as far back as I can remember.

My first *real* kiss... we'll, there's about 10 ways to slice that question, too! First actual kiss with someone I had more than a cherubic, childhood attachment to? First grownup kiss that was more than a perfunctory peck? First kiss with someone I had a major crush on? First kiss with someone I had a sexual relationship with? First kiss with my first love? First kiss with the woman I now want to spend my life with?

In that list, it's actually the last kiss that matters and none of those other 'firsts.'

Kindergarten. I remember she had blue eyes and white-blond hair. We got caught in the broom closet. I can't remember if I got spanked or yelled at or laughed over or what at home that night, but I remember the teacher, an old battle-axe of a gal, was just about apoplectic when she caught us.

I will preface this by saying I do not believe in premonitions, psychics, etc.

I had a dream one night - a very, very vivid dream. All it was was a kiss, but the feeling of reality was so perfect, that dream lingered with me.

Fast forward maybe a year. I just spent six months convincing this girl to go out with me. We go to see "Bicentennial Man" at the theater. We're snuggling together in the seats (well, as close to snuggling as two people separated by an armrest can) and suddenly inspiration hits. I lean over and surprise her with a long, tender kiss. It was exactly the kiss that I had dreamed before. I got deja vu from it.

She told me afterwards that I could use some improvement. She let me work on my technique for another three years.

So unremarkable that I can't really remember it.

I was 18. Met her at a college party. She called me later that night, and I went to her room--turned out, we were in the same dorm.

I lost my viginity that night, too. Whoo hoo!

scarabic has it right...at least for me.

But that last one was a very awkward see you later kiss the night we met at a wedding...we both got better...

i hope she is the last...i'm not prepared for any more firsts...

I had a boyfriend in kindergarten (I know, how precocious!) although we never kissed as far as I can remember. However, one day he was out sick from school, and Ricky kissed me in the cloak room. I ran away and asked my older brother to beat him up.

My first consensual, "adult" kiss was at 6th or 7th grade summer camp. It was cute, but I had gum in my mouth.

Like a "making out" kind of kiss? Not just kissing the boys in the locker room?

When I was 12, I think. On summer vacation at my grandparents. Started hanging out with this very cute boy, who was 15. The kiss was in the middle of a high school playing field and my grandfather just happened to drive past at the time. He pulled over and came and dragged me away. Yeah, thanks for that memory, initapplete. :)

On the cheek, a very warm guy at Bradford who had a circle of freshman girls-- "the John club"-- always hanging around, on the mouth, the Bosie who was using me at Emerson.

At nerd camp, shortly after I turned 14. I and my nerd girl skulked away from the Friday night nerd dance, lay down in the grass and kissed. I was terrified.

When I was but a wee lad, I had two girlfriends (seriously, girls who were friends -- we were strollered around together and played together all through high school); I never had much of a "girls are icky" phase and they were too pretty to care if the other girls thought they shouldn't be playing with a boy, particularly a boy like me: kids really go in for conspicuous consumption and peer judgment. My mom made a lot of my clothes and my brother and I shared the rest; I was the biggest kid in the class, smart and wayward, and I got in the habit of sticking up for the little guy against anyone who thought they were a bully (I was a bully bully) and so I was friends with all the "wrong kids," as far as the peer group of stuck-up girls my girlfriends ran with was concerned.

At the same time that I was cultivating friendships with the bullied misfits and the bullies I bullied (which naturally makes them like you), I was as wild as anyone in my approach to new adventure, trying a little of this and of that here and there, stuff I can't type at work.

Wait, where was I? Right, so these girls, we'll call them May and June, who both stayed playmates with me through high school, both kissed me, it musta been the summer of our tenth year on earth. We were playing at June's, in the basement by the garden door, and some game started up that involved us all pretending to be married, and May snuck up while my head was turned and kissed me on the lips, and when she was done, I turned my head, and June kissed me. I turned bright red and hugged them both, and we spent a lot of that summer french kissing in the basement, or the woods. Nobody was jealous because it was all a game, and because we three had been friends since we were tots.

I've never really put it together like this, but I figure my first kiss being with lifelong friends who I loved may have something to do with why I'm a slow hand when it comes to relationships, why making out comes long after friendship, and sex long after love. Where's the fun, otherwise? Or maybe I'm thinking too far into it. If so, I've been doing so all my life.

Other than kissing games like Truth Or Dare, etc., that would be on Stage, 7th grade. The Stage Kiss became quite real in front of an audience of about 100 students and parents.

So attaching a car to Hugh Janus' analysis train, this might explain why I'm a bit of an exhibitionist.

I was a late bloomer.

In seventh grade, I had one close male friend: Alfred. Alfred was just my height, slim, with wispy black hair always in need of a trim, and the shadow of a mustache blooming on his lip. His voice was gentle and he put a mouth over his hand when he laughed, like a Japanese schoolgirl.

I was a chunky girl with thick glasses, a clumsy haircut, and a ready braying laugh, always carrying a stack of books.

He never talked to me about girls, not even my pretty friends. I think maybe I had decided he wasn't interested in girls, though I never gave it much conscious thought.

One day as we walked down the hallway together, talking in desultory fashion of the Honors English class we'd left, Alfred suddenly pushed me into the nook that held the drinking fountain. Trapped there in the cinder-block corner, I opened my eyes wide, and closed my gaping mouth just in time as he loomed in and planted a kiss on me.

He pulled back, looked me softly in the eyes, a question on his face.


Reader, I punched him.



Really. I don't know where this instinct was born. I didn't think about it, and I'm ashamed of it. I hauled off and socked him in the eye. He sported a faint shadow of a black eye for days, a week... I don't really know how long, since we stopped spending much time together after that.

Well, I can't follow Elsa's story, it's too good.

Besides a kiss I'm told happened from a "boyfriend" in second grade (he and another boy hated each other because they both liked me. We're all in our forties now, and if I mention one to the other, they still hate each other!), my first kiss was when I was 11. We were up in my attic, in a "fort" we'd made from some furniture and things. I don't remember who initiated it, but it was nice. And evolved quickly into a French kiss, as I recall. Mmmm, thinking about it, I've always loved kissing.

In counterpoint to Elsa's story: Once, a group of us teenagers were being driven to Christian summer camp in a refurbished bus (like the kind rock stars travel in, with couches and a kitchen and so forth). There was this dude, I didn't know him very well - he was a friend of a guy I went to church with. Anyway, I was sitting on the couch and he was sitting in the front seat. At one point, most of the people left the bus to get some snacks or something; it was just me and him and one of his friends. He turned to me with his lips slightly parted, as if to kiss me. His face got very close. I opened my mouth - I don't know if I was going to protest or if I was caught up in the moment. Then, he opened wide and burped into my mouth. His friend started laughing uproariously. I hated those guys.

He turned to me with his lips slightly parted, as if to kiss me. His face got very close. I opened my mouth - I don't know if I was going to protest or if I was caught up in the moment. Then, he opened wide and burped into my mouth. His friend started laughing uproariously. I hated those guys.

That shit is FUCKED UP.

The burper's license to carry a penis should be revoked.