If we’re being specific here, I believe my first kiss was in pre-school with my four-year-old boyfriend Peyton. However, I count my actual first kiss the beginning of my freshman year of high school. (Is that late? Am I a late-bloomer for that?)
For some backstory, I went to a summer camp the summer before my freshman year. There I met the man of my dreams. He was funny, cute, and, best of all, he had his license. Unfortunately, he lived about an hour away, and in between sports practices and curfews, our love was doomed one. On the bright side, I had one of the best first kisses a person could have.
After camp was over, we continued to text and talk, until we decided we should hang out in person. At the time, I lived in my childhood home which had the best back patio area with a fire pit and light (and even a hot tub). So, he took it upon himself to drive over an hour to my place so we could sit by the fire and enjoy each other’s company. The night was going well and the fire left a romantic hue on the two of us when our conversation lulled. I knew it was go-time.
My heart started pounding and I remember looking distinctly at my shoelaces out of nervousness. This boy took the initiative and lifted my chin to kiss me. Let me reiterate, HE LIFTED MY CHIN TO KISS ME WHILE WE WERE SITTING NEXT TO FIRE UNDER A BLANKET LIKE A FULL BLOWN ROMANTIC COMEDY. I still feel lucky to have such a good first kiss.
