First Kiss
I was in sixth grade. After school we often gathered at CH’s house, hiding from adult supervision in the recreation room (aka basement). One time, six of us, three boys and three girls, sprawled across old couches and chairs, thumbing through CH’s older brother’s 800 comic books, trying to be cool. Couples you might call us, but in sixth grade, we didn’t call anyone a couple until they either kissed or held hands in public. We were still innocent.
The closest I’d come to kissing was in the fourth grade with JK, the boy next door. The game was wrestling, me and the boys on my street. One day, I had him flat on his back in the driveway, astride his chest as if he were a horse, his arms plastered to the cement with my hands on his wrists. He struggled but couldn’t get free. One of the kids watching the fracas dared me to kiss him. I slobbered my lips all across his face. He yelled and I jumped off. We were both grossed out.
Back to the basement in sixth grade. We hung around with the comic books, drinking pop and looking bored until CH said, “Let’s play spin the bottle. Mom isn’t home and I’ve finished my Coke.” We settled in a circle on the floor, legs crossed, ready for the rules.
“What happens if the bottle points at you when it stops?” I asked.
“You get to challenge anyone to do anything,” said CH.
“Are you kidding? I’m not taking off my clothes,” said ST.
“Nah, this isn’t strip poker,” CH said.
“It sounds gross anyway,” said PM.
“Only if you make it gross,” said CH. Much hemming, hawing, groaning, moaning, and rule making ensued until CH brought the discussion to and end, saying, “Come on, everyone. LP you spin.” LP spun the bottle fiercely. We glued our eyes to it until, exhausted of energy, it stopped, pointing at JK. He grinned a vengeance grin. “I want Dorine and DL to French kiss.”
“Oh, God. This is gross. You can't order two people. It’s not in the rules,” we said in unison.
“Okay, DL. Pick Dorine and French kiss her,” crowed JK.
“Go in the back room, if you want privacy. You’ve got three minutes,” said CH.
Slow as snails, DL and I rose from the circle, closing the backroom door behind us.
CH yelled, “Start now.”
We stared at each then started laughing and whispering, trying to figure out how to French kiss. CH yelled, “Time’s up.” We stuck out our tongues, leaned toward each other and let them touch, and then walked out, trying to keep straight faces.
“Did you, do it?”
“Yes.”
“Did you put your tongues in each other’s mouth?”
DL grabbed the bottle and spun it. “Our tongues touched. Let’s see who goes next.”
I had a crush on DL from then on. We studied at each other’s house after school. He'd walk me home from school sometimes. In May, he asked me to the school dance - my first proper date. He kissed me after the dance, caressing my lips with no gross tongue action. I'll never forget that kiss. It was perfect, my standard of excellence for years.