# 0172

by Grace Jo


– [ 736 ] +

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I just had my first kiss last weekend. I was at Berkeley for a leadership camp and all the people involved stayed at the same hotel. After the lights out check my friends and I crept upstairs to the boys rooms and stayed till three in the morning. We weren't doing anything wrong; just talking.
There was a boy. He was doing everything right, it was too good to be true. He used peppermint chapstick and when I turned on his iPod to listen, my favorite song was playing. He whispered in my ear and his smile gave me butterflies. I fell asleep on his bed, but my friends wouldn't allow it. They woke me up and pushed me out the door. He walked my friends and I to the stairwell to tell us goodnight, but I deliberately held him back and let my friends leave first.
All I remember thinking was, "I'm never going to see him again. To hell with it." I don't remember pushing him to the wall, I was half asleep. In fact I missed his mouth at first, I got his cheek instead -- but his mouth had no trouble finding my own. His hands were firmly set around my waist, and he wasted no time slipping his tongue into my mouth. But that might actually have been my fault since I had tilted my head so far to the right I had to come back up for air. I was the one who broke the kiss.
"Go," he whispered to me, "You should go."
I set one foot on the stair and looked back at him. And all I could think was, "God I hope I never see you again." And I leaned my face back into his for one last kiss goodbye. Without further ado, I bolted back downstairs, although I remember feeling more like I was flying. My friends would later tell me I looked like a giddy school girl. They bombarded me with questions the second I reached Room 217. And I can't remember replying to any of them. But they didn't believe that I had done it.
Being half asleep and delirious from the exhilaration of my first make-out session, I asked them rhetorically if I was a good kisser. My best friend replied hastily with, "If you've never been told you're a good kisser, you're not" according to the movie John Tucker Must Die. My other friend, on the other hand, called up the boys' room to ask whether or not I was a good kisser to which he replied with, "Yeah, somewhat."
I was absolutely mortified. To make matters worse, it turns out we had the same plane flight the next day (or later on that day, whichever you prefer). But in the end, I had gotten exactly what I had wanted-- some crazy story for me to take home from Berkeley.