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I was twelve years old the first time I kissed a girl.


2. me


I was twelve years old the first time I kissed a girl.

It happened at a sleepover, where we had deemed ourselves too frightened to fall asleep after a horror movie marathon. Instead we played around and one of the girls thought it would be fun to play spin the bottle to get our minds to think about something else. It was a girls only sleepover. I don’t remember much, except that my mouth tasted of vinegar chips and when the bottle eventually stopped on me, it felt like my insides could burst any moment, because of the conflicting emotions that was beginning to surface inside me. The other girls were laughing, and I don’t even remember who I kissed, but I know it was a close friend of mine. I don’t particularly remember the moment, I just remember how I was feeling that night after the kiss.

That moment was the start of long internet searches and an internal battle with myself began. Who was I? Who did I want to be? I easily came to terms with the fact that I liked girls just as much as I liked guys. I never felt any shame about that.

    The second time I kissed a girl was when I was fourteen. I remember her vividly, but her kisses were friendly kisses. I only let myself indulge because I wondered “if I don’t kiss her now, then which girls will I ever kiss?” She was exploring her own sexuality I think, and though she was beautiful, golden light and sunday mornings, we still kept it chaste. We did not belong together, though we both fit under the term “bisexual” at that time.

    I kissed another girl when I was fifteen. For once I felt sure about myself and I wanted to explore her mouth like astronauts explore the cosmos. I liked her and from her eager response and her roaming hands on my body, it felt very mutual. This time it was not a chaste, friendly kiss. I kissed her for an eternity and she held me, like I had never before belonged in anybody else’s arms. She was the first person I ever felt connected to, and though we had our days, it did not last. She was not my eternity.

    When I was eighteen, I went to a dance club for the very first time. I danced with my friends and though a guy flirted with me, when I went to the bathroom by myself, I was starting to suspect that guys were maybe not my thing. Girls always looked prettier, hotter, and I had never wanted to kiss a guy like I found myself wanting to do with girls. I had no label, but my friends still seemed surprised when they found me thirty minutes later shoved against the wall, moaning with my one hand down some girl’s pants. I wanted to go home with her, I wanted to take her home with me, but as I was dragged away I know that kiss had changed something inside of me. Like that day when I was twelve, the ripple effect of my actions began.

    When I was nineteen I came out. Officially. Not really with a label though. I just told my family and my friends that they would probably be seeing me with girls instead of boys. It seemed to not surprise any of them, though my friends quickly became annoyed when our girls nights out started with me staring openly at the pretty girls and ended with me embarrassing myself by trying to dance with them, just to see if I could be lucky and have a shot. It almost never happened, especially not when my friends were there, almost acting like a buffer, but I still tried nonetheless.

    At twenty-two I got a pretty decent job, just something to do while I decided which career I wanted to study. And there she was. With strawberry blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, a dazzling smile that left me breathless every time she directed it at me and the softest of hands. We quickly hit it off, exchanged numbers, and before I even had the time to take a look around, we were going on dates and making out in the breakroom on our shifts. Her kisses meant the world to me and she had them all, every kind imaginable and willingly offered them to me on a daily basis, asking for nothing in return.

    I had fallen in love with slow caresses and languid kisses by the time I turned twenty-three. I met her family and she met mine and all of a sudden my whole world revolved around her.

    I was twenty-five the day I willingly gave up my right to ever share a new first kiss with someone else. I got married, so that she could be my every kiss from now on and until eternity. From that first day when I kissed a girl at twelve years old, I could have never predicted how I would meet one shiny angel ten years later or how she would know every kiss I had ever shared with somebody else as though it had been her own two lips. I had given them all to her, every kiss, every sigh, every moan, bottled it up and gifted it to her, so that she could be the only girl who would know how to kiss my lips, because she reveres them like they are made of stardust.

    The first girl I ever kissed made me feel like I was soaring, but the last girl I will ever kiss makes me feel like the entire universe revolves around us.

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