Tiny Dancer

This Post is for the 20 Something Blogger Carnival, "My first kiss:"

I went on my very first date during my freshman year of college with a junior that I met through the school literary magazine. Our first date is what one of my good friends calls a “sneak date,” meaning the invitation was worded in such a way that I thought we were just going out as friends. The fact that I was actually on a date was first apparent when he tried to pay for my dinner, which incidentally, was before we sat down to eat. He had chosen to treat me to fast food Chinese for this monumental moment in my life, my introduction to the dating world. The food was forgettable at best and the conversation was uncomfortable in its attempts at rapid intimacy. The door of my dorm room was promptly slammed in his face when he dropped me off at home, as I was scared to death that he was going to try to kiss me, an incident that was to repeat over and over in the coming weeks.

In terms of low points in my first real relationship, the awkwardness of this first date hardly compares in my memory with the inelegance of our first kiss. My beau’s 21^st birthday fell a week or two after our relationship became “official.” We had not been dating long enough for me to feel obligated to buy him much of anything, so I decided instead that I would give him my first kiss as his birthday present. Yes, I really am that cheesy. In fact, I went out and purchased a bag of Hershey’s kisses to wrap up, with a card that said that he was getting kisses for his birthday. I handed over the gift with a knot of anxiety in my stomach. There was no going back now.

We did a dinner and a movie date the day before his actual birthday, I didn’t want to cramp his style by trying to tag along on his actual 21^st because he would not have been able to get into many bars with me in tow. I don’t remember where we went for dinner, but I do remember that we saw Almost Famous, and that he made his move during the credits, to the ever romantic backdrop of Tiny Dancer by Elton John. The first attempt was a fly by, he leaned in for the kiss, and I instinctively leaned away to avoid it. I gave myself an internal pep talk: You can do it! You have to do it! Don’t be a tease! So, I was ready for attempt number two, lips squeezed tightly closed into a pucker, eyes sealed shut, a very awkward, tense kiss ensued, completely asexual, like the kind of kiss you would give your mother.

One might think that was the end of the story of my first kiss, and perhaps the end of that relationship. My beau was not so easily thwarted. Assuming that we had broken the ice with the ungainly non-kiss, he said, and I remember this very distinctly, “Lets do this right,” in a breathy voice. Even with this verbal warning, attempt number three caught me off guard, and not in a good way. I was in the middle of actually cringing at the complete wrongness of what he had just said, when his lips met mine again, this time for a French kiss. As he pulled away I was in total shock, which he probably assumed was a good thing. It was not. I had never prepared for the eventuality that he would actually stick his tongue in my mouth the first time we really kissed. It just seemed so wrong, especially as a prudish 18 year old who still felt awkward talking to boys, much less kissing them.

And that was all. Thank Goodness. He quickly took me home, but not before terrorizing me with a goodnight kiss. Our relationship managed to survive my complete inexperience and awkwardness for another seven months. I think it only took me another week to get over my fear of kissing.

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