First Kiss

The importance of your first kiss is a standard story in our culture. It's one of those things that's possibly driven more by pop culture fictions than reality. I've never had any of my friends relate the story of their first kisses to me. (But then unlike movie and sitcom friends my friends and I have rarely discussed our romantic and sexual lives with each other.) 

Some novels and stories I recently read got me thinking about my first kiss and I realized I kind of never really had one. 

 

I have kissed guys. I've probably kissed at least a couple dozen guys. But all that kissing was just sexual. Even when it was a really good friend of mine who I had a long friends-with-benefits relationship with, the kissing (which he instigated) wasn't about romantic intimacy, it was about sex. (It was also amazing kissing and that was all his doing.)

The type of first kiss I never had was that moment of first heavy physical intimacy with someone else which is special because it's like the first break in a piñata. 

I've also never had that first kiss with a guy I've got to know, the kiss that takes us out of the friend zone and towards romance. 

But, I did have a first kiss. It wasn't a revelatory moment nor intimately significant. It wasn't even a kiss, it was a lot of kissing. And I guess it kind of sort of wasn't even memorable because it was only thinking about my first kiss that made me recall the kissing part of the encounter. But it was my first time kissing and though it was all about casual sex with a stranger, the sort of thing people don't regard as special, it was pretty neat.

I could lie and create some adorable meet-cute story, but in reality I met the guy in a cruisy public restroom in downtown Seattle. I wouldn't have even known about such places except a local independent paper, the Stranger, had published a nice list of places where guys meet other guys for hook ups. This was in the early 90s, before smartphones and apps and before the phrase "hook up" meant casual sex.

I cant recall how the guy and I discovered we had a mutual interest in each other but he asked if I wanted to go to his place which was just a few blocks away. I'd never gone home with a guy before and was wary of the idea, but this guy was exactly my sort; he was short, had a solid build, had brown hair, brown eyes, and was cuter than hell. So, being a guy, I managed to ignore my wariness.

“My name's Chris,” the guy said as we headed up the hill to his place. (I've actually forgotten his name because names weren't important to me back then. I was just in it for the sex. But I know he had a short and masculine name, so I'm calling him Chris.)

“My name's Dave,” I said. “But that's not really my name. It's just the name I use when guys want to know a name.”

“Fair enough, not Dave,” Chris said.

“Sorry,” I said. I felt bad giving a fake name.

“It's OK.”

“I've never gone home with a guy before,” I told Chris.

“Really?”

“Well, y'know, it's kind of scary. Like that whole Geoffrey Dahmer thing. I doubt I could ever ask a guy to my place.” Hearing a guy he just invited home bring up a gay serial killer was probably very appealing to Chris.

“You're too good looking to be a Geoffrey Dahmer type,” Chris said.

The idea that I was good looking was news to me, but instead of accepting and returning the compliment I said “Geoffrey Dahmer was actually pretty good looking, if you see the pictures other than the ones after his arrest.”

“Yeah, I guess he was good looking,” Chris agreed. Then we stopped talking about which of us might possibly kill the other within the hour. Thinking back over it I'm surprised Chris didn't suddenly recall he had somewhere else he had to be.

“Do you work downtown?” Chris asked.

“No, I was just downtown to get my hair cut.”

“It looks good,” Chris said.

“Oh, thanks,” I said. “My one friend I get feedback from is out of town right now, so I was going to have to wait a week before anyone told me if the haircut looked good.” 

I can't recall any other small talk, but a short time later we were in Chris's sparsely furnished apartment. He explained that he'd just moved in. There was nothing for me to comment on other than the so-so view. 

Fortunately Chris stopped the pointless chit-chat by pulling me to the living room floor where we began to make out. It was my first kiss, but it wasn't an oh-my-gawd-we're-kissing moment. It was just sexual. Really, really good sexual. 

As I said, this was just a hook up between strangers, but the encounter had some memorably sweet moments. 

When Chris took his shirt off I noticed he had a belly button ring. In the early 90s body piercing was still new and outlandish. 

“Your belly button is pierced,” I insightfully commented.

“I work in a bank,” Chris said. “I have to wear a suit and tie every day. This is my bit of secret rebellion.” I didn't care about the piercing but I thought Chris's reason for it was cute. 

After we'd been making out for a while I broke off the kissing to look at Chris. Light from the setting sun was flooding the living room and it made Chris's brown hair and his beautiful brown eyes shine. Chris smiled at me and laughingly said “What?” 

An uncontrollable smile crossed my face and I said “You're just so good looking.”

Chris suddenly looked bashful. He smiled again and said “You're good looking, too.” I didn't believe him, but my lack of belief didn't stop me from going back in for more kissing. 

The kissing led to other typical two-guys-together interacting. When we were finished Chris looked at me and smiled and said “I messed up your new haircut.” Then he ruffled his hand through my hair.

“I'm OK with messy hair,” I said.

I wasn't romantically inclined back then so there was no suggestion we go get coffee nor did we share contact information. We just exchanged thanks and hugged. Then I and my messed up new haircut left Chris's apartment. I never saw him again. 

These days, possibly too late, I am romantically inclined. If I should somehow beat the odds and find a guy I like and who likes me our first physically intimate interaction will probably be a kiss. It won't be my first kiss but in another way it will.