Rookie of the Year.

This post is in response to the January Blog Carnival over at the 20 Something Blog Ring, all about First Kisses.

While it's entirely possible my first kiss was earlier, the first one I remember was at the tender age of 15.

 I think I reached my romantic peak somewhere around kindergarten, as I don't think I'll ever be able to top having two very public boyfriends at the same time and having it be perfectly acceptable. Then again, maybe the key to the success of those relationships was that they were entirely platonic. 

Complements of puberty, I went through a really lengthy awkward stage post kindergarten, ending with my first (and only) boyfriend during my sophomore year of high school. 

As a sophomore dating a senior, I thought I was possibly the coolest person ever. I had his class ring, a chauffeur with a sky blue  Coupe de Ville and my best friend was dating his best friend. It was like something out of my late 90's teen movie dreams.

After a few weeks of dating, my boyfriend, his best friend and my best friend all came over to my house for a snowy evening full of sledding, hot chocolate and trivial pursuit (clearly, I ran with a wild crowd). 

As things were winding down, I walked Matt to his car, having a hunch that this would be the setting for the big kiss - I mean, it HAD been a few weeks, after all. It couldn't have been more perfect: the full moon reflecting off the snow, the stars glimmering overhead. Dreamy.

Of course he leans in for the kiss, I lean in, there's contact...and the next thing I knew his tongue was essentially down my throat. But mind you, it wasn't really moving, it just kind of...sat there like a rock or a dead jelly fish. As the same time, his lips were going crazy, like a fish gasping for water. 

It's a good thing he had his eyes closed, because I'm pretty sure mine were popping out of my head.

I broke  the kiss as quickly as possible - I may never have been kissed before, but I certainly knew it shouldn't be like that!

With that, he looked down at me, eyes glimmering and whispered, "I love you." 

I'm still not sure what alarmed me more about that statement: the fact that we had only been dating a few weeks at the time or that this was his response to that vaguely terrifying kiss. 

Of course, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind: "I'm really cold."

I put Shakespeare to shame when it comes to romance.

That first kiss was so scarring, there never was another. I constantly made up excuses - I'm sick, you're sick, my teeth hurt, I burnt my tongue - until we broke up a little over a  month later.

 In hindsight, I don't know why he dealt with me for so long. A senior in high school dating a girl who won't even kiss him for over two months?  The poor guy must have really liked me.

Actually, I didn't have another kiss for almost two and a half years, not until after graduation, a debacle detailed here.