FKP Special Edition, Jon

January 26, 2009

Is it your first kiss that matters, or the first kiss between you and your true love? The person with whom you plan to spend your entire life certainly ranks as high as the juvenile fumblings of, well, juveniles. I met my love, my life partner as it was, and still is, lying on a friends couch on a sunny afternoon. I was in a manic fit, rendering me useless until an Adidas track suit was obtained. My amigo knew me and was unruffled by my rushing him out the door to obtain said track suit, however the young lady I was soon to kiss, for the first time, thought me quite unhinged.

Upon our return it was decided that libations would be in order, and so we trekked off to a nearby watering hole. Smoky bar, pool tables and youthful energy; a spark was definitely there. So we began a dance, the mating ritual of the North American Slacker Youth. Gen X crossed with Gen Y, which led to why not? We talked a while, drank some more. A flash of time and she sat next to me, then on my lap. Then we kissed, adrenaline surges and hormones flow. I knew she was the one.

Fifteen years later and we live three blocks from that bar. Don’t remember my very first kiss at all, but I will always remember that kiss.


"Garland Hope," 12

January 12, 2009

I was twelve
Too young to know
A kiss from a peck
Old enough to know
What love was suppose to be

His name was Sam
We were friends for a while
Then I hit second grade
And we weren’t friends
Our mothers were friends

We were practically strangers
I moved away
He switched schools
We barely spoke

I always knew he had a crush on me

Do you know that reaction?
When you ask
Who loves you and
You don’t like
That person,
The answer
To that
God dammed
Stupid question?

When you wince
At first then
Shudder than
Pretend you’re
Okay with it
That you really
Weren’t hoping
For someone else a –

Prettier more romantic
Someone else- but
Inside your stomach
Is twisting itself into
Sickness and you
Really don’t want to
Face the Facts?

That’s what happened when Sam kissed me

It was Christmas
His mother invited
My mother over
My mother made
A bee line for their
Kitchen, Sam
Was waiting for me
In the living room

I skipped in and attempted a summersault

I didn’t see him at first
I was enthralled with
A TV tray covered
In photographs

His family were the kind
Of people that had
TV tray dinners
On weekends

His mother had
Pristine bathrooms
And his sheets was always
Crisp and cool

That’s the only thing
I really remember from
That moment

And the actual kissing part of Corse

There was mistletoe
I guess it was cute
Now-my girlfriends
Tell me it was adorable
My first kiss under mistletoe
How ironic that he didn’t
Believe in Christmas

It wasn’t subtle
It wasn’t adorable
It was awkward
And messy
And uncalled for

I did not see it
Coming, At all
No clue whatsoever
I was prepared for
An hour and a half
At an x-friends
House, I brought
A copy of Harry
Potter and
A blank copy of my math homework

He tried to make
It a great kiss
I think he
Thought it out
He studied for
It, maybe
He watched
Old movies
And spied
On people

But I wouldn’t
Wish this kiss
On anyone

It was funny
And awkward
And he practically
Attacked me

It was gross
And sloppy
And humorous
And babyish
And unromantic
Overly spontaneous

I wished he asked
It was clumsy
And wrong
And inaccurate
And erroneous
And harsh
And so utterly

It was the only first kiss I’d ever imagine for me
But I wouldn’t wish it on anyone else

ed note: this post was edited for length

Blue Summer Dress (Anon., 16)

January 4, 2009

We’d been dating for exactly two months and seven days. I was sixteen, and he was seventeen. Absurd, some would say, that we hadn’t kissed yet. I agreed, but I was too nervous to do anything about it. We were at my Sweet 16 party in August, on the beach, at night. I wore a flowing blue summer dress; he was dressed in jeans and a blue button-down to match me. We were both barefoot. The sun was going down, the waves crashed onto the shore, and everything was perfect. It was warm outside, but not sticky. There was a slight breeze, but not enough to give me a chill. I don’t remember what we were talking about. I don’t know who saw, though theoretically, it could have been any of my thirty friends, my parents, or my brother. He leaned down to kiss me. I don’t know how I knew it was coming, but I did. It was amazing. There were fireworks later than night over the ocean, and we sat, curled up, watching together. You may call it a cliché, but I didn’t see it that way. It was the most memorable night of my life.

Krystal Seko, In the Photo Booth

December 15, 2008

It’s true that in order to train myself for my first kiss, I had already practiced various techniques on my pillow and hand, but nothing quite prepared me for the battle of tongues that was about to ensue. It was like two wet sea animals flailing around inside my mouth, sometimes poking, sometimes flopping, sometimes frantically moving as if desperate to escape. Besides the occasional change in the tilt of our heads from the left to the right and back again, the rest of our bodies were motionless. Our efforts were so intensely focused on the struggle inside our mouths that we didn’t have the capacity or skill to consider doing anything with our hands simultaneously. After about 5 long minutes, I’m pretty sure my tongue surrendered in order to let my lungs get some oxygen.

Miss Persnickety

December 8, 2008

It all started like this:

First I saw ma and pa kissin away and my reaction was far from horray. Guess who I saw next? Snow White! So I thought this kissin business must be right… THEN I saw it on t.v. a gal and boy kiss kissin and I felt that’s what I might be missin. It didn’t stop there NO SIREE. Two little birds were makin it a habit outside on ma tree! It seemed like the whole world was lockin lips, where was I in all of this? So I ran outside as fast as I can, grabbed Mr. Roger’s grumpy face with one hand and kissed’em! I was so happy you can’t believe, I ran back inside filled with relief. That’s it, that’s the story of how I got my first kiss. I gotta go now, Mr. Rogers wants to go for a walk…if I can find his leash!

Illustration by Brianna

December 1, 2008


November 19, 2008

Hello, new readers. And welcome to The First Kiss Project! Our goal is to collect and record as many first kiss stories as possible. To investigate that sweet or awful moment. To read other people’s stories and share your own. To find the common ground we all share as we went from never-been-kissed to something else entirely.

For those of you new to the site, and who would like to submit, please try to keep your submissions on the shorter side. Full entry details can be found at the bottom of this page.

Thanks for visiting, and enjoy!

Carrie Taylor, Minneapolis, MN

November 7, 2008

I was 7 years old and desperate to know what kissing was like. I didn’t have
a boyfriend and was terrified of my crush, so I pinned my brother down against
his will and gave him a big, sloppy kiss right on the mouth. He wouldn’t
speak to me for a week.

Andres D.S. Wilson

September 7, 2008

We sat on her bed, together but alone. She put the photos back on the nightstand —
a scrapbook from right-to-left, deserts and smiles, Israel, Russia, IDF uniforms and girls with dark curly hair. I paused and soaked in something new and exotic, taking in whiffs of her own dark curly hair and trying to guess which shampoo she used. There weren’t any pictures of him, certainly a good sign. Enshrouded in pillows and posters of cute things, I coyly took my chance, pulling her hand into mine, lost in its softness, leaving a peck on her palm as an open promise. No visible response, but I held those tiny hands tighter and tighter, making my plea without squeezing, gazing out the window as if any other kiss were as far away as the moon or one of those constellations that I always mix up.

She went for it,

punching with her lips, her mouth closed but her eyes wide open, asking in eyelashes. Chris Martin’s falsetto acted out my smiling silence, let it expand toward those very stars that seemed so distant. She slipped a smile but caught it right away, perhaps nervous it would become a hardy laugh. From what I knew of her, it seemed really out of character. Then, we leaned back on her bed, kissing but hardly knowing where it would lead, hardly caring, just being.

Andrew W. Turner

September 1, 2008

I was Perseus, son of Zeus. She was Medusa, the infamous Gorgon, cursed by Athena to go through eternity with a nest of hideous snakes atop her head.

My first kiss was during the rehearsal of a junior high school production of “Medusa’s Tale,” a feminist retelling of the classic Greek myth. In the play Perseus hears Medusa’s side of the story. He realizes the Gods have cruelly manipulated her. He comes to see the humanity beneath the snakes. He closes her eyes and gives her a tender kiss.

Then he realizes he’s not acting like a real man and chops her head off.

“Perseus,” our director, Mrs. C, intoned woefully. “I’m going to need a little more from the kiss.”

More what? I knew what a kiss was in theory. I knew it involved a mashing of lips. I knew the tongue, like an earthworm after a heavy rain, sometimes made an appearance, eyeless and flapping. But angles, pressure, penetration… these were all variables I was completely unclear about.

There was also the matter of the mechanical snakes atop Medusa’s head. They had been wired by Vern, our resident trailor park techie, and gave off flammable-looking sparks.

Our second kiss was even worse than the first. The third and fourth even moreso. Our supporting cast (Athena, Zeus, and Poseidon) snickered in the wings.

“Let’s move onto the next part,” said Mrs. C after what seemed like an eternity.

Medusa and I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I unsheathed my sword and chopped her head off.