My First Kiss.. eventually.

Many moons ago, when I was fourteen or fifteen, I had my first kiss; and many, many years after that kiss, I ended up marrying that same man.

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I know, I'm disgusting. In fact, until recent years, my life was so vomit-inducingly cute that it actually came back full circle to throw up and punch me right in the face. Now, this may be difficult to believe but, I was not always the fabulous, sultry glamour-puss you see before you (I am never letting you see me). Nay Internet rather, at the tender age of fourteen, I was a very skinny, very shy, very small and awkward cutie pie who was TERRIFIED of boys.

You see, I went to an all girls private school. The type of school where we weren't really allowed to learn anything about sex and you were made to feel like the worst imaginable human being on the planet if you forgot your regulation indoor shoes.

The most I remember from sex ed was staring at this inexplicable diagram in Biology and wondering why the hell there was a ram's head inside me and what on earth this had to do with babies.

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That, and our PSE Teacher (personal, social education) taking us off into a room and talking for hours about intercourse and something she called "sexxsssual fluid". For years no one ever explained that this was not a drink someone handed to you on completion like a Gatorade and a foil blanket after a marathon.

In a time before Google took off and your only real access to technology was going to Tesco to buy a Tamagotchi, it really was a case of clinging to hearsay and learning on the job.

Needless to say, shy, fourteen year old me was somewhat ill equipped when it came to the art of seduction.

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I first locked big, terrified eyes on Bob on the school bus home. He wandered on one day and I remember thinking, "Oh gosh, he looks nice" then burying my head in my binder like the boy from "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time".
I was still so nervous around the boys' school who shared our bus home. They were so boisterous and wreaked of hair gel and Lynx Africa whenever it rained. But one day, the handsome Bob turned to me and fatefully said, "Did you draw those?" pointing at my ring binder covered in pencil Southpark doodles. I nodded my head wide eyed, possibly about to pee. "Cool." he said.

Well, that was enough for me for one week folks. I spent the next week hiding in my maths book and pretending I had something very pressing to do in my school bag. In hindsight, this probably looked rather odd.
Eventually, my school friend (let's call her Eliana) dragged me out of my shell and back to my old, silly self again. The boys became a less scary amalgam of testosterone and began to form individual people with names and not so scary personalities. Over time, I became friends with Bob's friends and, soon enough, him and I were laughing and joking every day.

Then, one day he called my parents' landline (this is pre iphones people) and asked me on a date. Before he could take another breath, I awkwardly, and loudly, blurted out the word YES and then immediately started to have a panic attack. (Unbeknownst to me, I would exhibit this behaviour 12 years later when we date again as adults and say I love you for the first time).
He then proceeded to flip through the cinema listings in the newspaper so we could decide which movie to watch. They used to put these next to the TV guide and local attractions pages... they still do that, right? Put cinema times in the paper, I mean??

Oh, shut up, it wasn't that long ago.

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I remember how cool and calm Bob was, flicking through the paper and chatting away about our options while I, on the other hand, was freaking out completely. Don't get me wrong, I was very happy to be nominated for date night '99 but I literally had no frame of reference for this at all. In a wave of panic I blurted out something along the lines of, "WE CAN TALK ABOUT IT ON THE BUS SEEYOUTOMORROWTHENBYE." and hastily put the phone down.
"Well that was new" I thought to myself, then quickly ran up to my bedroom to bury my head in my pillow and do some grinning... then wide eyed panic face... then some more grinning.
You see, when you avoid boys completely, there isn't really an opportunity for things to have got this far before. So I was completely at a loss for how to respond.

Needless to say, I showed up that weekend to our date with an army of girlfriends from a sleepover the night before. He also showed up with a friend. Our respective friends then delivered us to one another like some hostage negotiation and off we went on our awkward, merry way.
We spent the day together shopping and walking around the city, having a lovely time. We were laughing and joking together and then he put his arm around me while we were walking. I found this both terrifying and wonderful in equal measure. 

A few hours later, we headed over to the cinema to watch the movie (some teen based alien drama with Josh Hartnett in it). During the film I kept noticing Bob's face getting distinctly closer to my own. A wave of panic washed over me. Is this it? Does the smooching happen now? Oh God. What if I'm bad at it? What if HE'S bad at it? What if we do that awkward teeth smashing together thing I've read about in Just 17? I couldn't think clearly, there were so many thoughts happening all at once and too much time had gone by without a response. I needed to do something, so I adopted a very sophisticated military technique I like to call, "stare straight ahead at the movie and pretend you don't see him". So that's what I did. Head down, power through, and just pretend this isn't happening.

www.keepcalm-o-matic.co.uk

In fact, I successfully avoided kissing the poor boy for two months. Two months, Internet. That's like 7 years in tweenager time.

Every time he went in for the kill my brain would explode and I would quickly create a diversion or point at something behind his head. It was so ridiculous, what was I so afraid of? Was this the Muslim Guilt Monster rearing it's oh, so familiar yet ugly head? It cant have been, I didn't feel guilty. I was incredibly comfortable with this boy and he was lovely. I knew I fancied the pants off him, I just didn't know how to do anything about said pants fancying. It was crippling. But Bob was a true gentleman and ever so patient with me, despite the obvious frustration.

With month three looming imminently on the horizon and no kissing (or normal behaviour) in sight, my friend Audrey (who was making out with Bob's friend, let's call him, "Marvin" at the time) felt so sorry for me, she decided to take matters into her own hands.

So, in my first and only successful attempt at truancy; Audrey, Bob, Marvin and I skipped our respective school assemblies and first lessons and stole away to Audrey's parents' house for hot chocolate. After about an hour of hanging out in the kitchen, not drinking our drinks, Audrey and Marvin disappeared down the hall to her parents' bedroom while Bob and I stayed in the kitchen/lounge area mucking around as we usually did. It was always so easy and fun to be around him... and this time I was ready. I read all the right articles in those ridiculous teen magazines and had my obligatory three hour long pep talk with Audrey the night before. I had firmly decided. This was happening. Today.
So when that boy grabbed me and tried to kiss me for the six millionth time, I just went for it. No thinking, no panicking just good old fashioned making out.
And that's exactly what we did, enthusiastically and with gusto.. all morning. And, do you know what?
It was great.

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So great, in fact, that I made my way back to school much like this:

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I don't know what I was so afraid of. Being bad at it I suppose. But we all know that's impossible.... Because I'm a sex machine. I jest, what I really mean is, when the chemistry is right, these things always work themselves out one way or another don't they?
So rest easy Internet, no matter how cringe-worthy or embarrassing life can get, there's always someone else much worse off. Like shy, nervous 14 year old me, screaming blue murder whenever her boyfriend put his hand on her leg.

Of course, I have come a long way from my panic stricken Beaker ways. These days I like to envisage myself a little more like this:

melodyandcleopatra

Now, where are my damn grapes?

My Life As An Imposter
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