That most important first kiss

Do you remember your first kiss? Not that kid sister thing when she stood on tiptoes at mom’s behest to give you a smooch on the cheek for the photo album.

The real deal, the one from your sweetheart when you were just a kid, the kiss that sent you into orbit simply because it was the one.

It represented new territory and terror at once. I knew guys (and it wasn’t me, okay?) who spent time kissing their forearm to ensure they had the right technique. I recall walking into the can one afternoon at school and two guys were in front of the mirror. One was dictating the ‘dos’ and ‘don’ts’ and the other had his sleeve rolled up to his elbow preparing to give himself a hickey.

I was absolutely shocked, being so young and naïve, and never thought for a minute that kissing my arm would be anything like kissing a girl. How dumb is that?

Put the two side-by-side and it was no contest; if you wanted to know what kissing was all about, better to get a date for Saturday night than sit at home and make google-eyes at your right arm.

However, I can admit at this point in my life that I was no Casanova. Despite what some may believe, I was a pretty shy kid who played a lot of hockey and didn’t get out much beyond that. Oh, I dated a couple of girls, but they were equally as innocent as I was. Holding hands was a big deal and a hug with feeling was right out of this world.

You laugh, but that’s the way it was. Of course, girls took on a greater significance as I moved through adolescence, although there weren’t many who could supplant hockey as my first love.

Still, as I prepared to leave my teens and enter a new age of opportunity, dating quickly bridged the gap between athletic and social endeavour and I discovered I had to make up for lost time.

The Big One happened the night of The Hooley (a staff/student variety show) in Grade 13. Stop smirking. We’re talking late bloomer, remember?

I was doing a stand-up bit and my date – also in Grade 13 – was in the crowd. We had been going out for a short time then and hadn’t really moved beyond holding hands, hanging out and shooting the breeze. University was huge in our imaginations, something so massive that we could barely grasp its consequence. Maybe we talked more than we should have, but you know what all the experts say – communication is key.

So I did a couple of impressions, had the show go AWOL with the insertion of an incorrect tape during a lip sync routine, bluffed my way out of that and escaped with my pride intact.

In fact, I was feeling pretty good about it all and that enthusiasm carried us back to her front porch. The light on in the living room wasn’t encouraging, so I told her it was late and I’d give her a call tomorrow.

We stood awkwardly for a while and my mind raced, crammed with images of beefy boys kissing forearms, Fabio-like soap stars sweeping young women off their feet, and little old me mapping the step up, arm around, head-tilt either left or right so we didn’t bump noses.

Damn! It was all too much. In the end, I leaned in and kissed her forehead, with the imagined bray of a Bronx cheer and a whispered, ‘you chicken’ echoing in my head.

She was gracious, though, and gave me a wonderful crooked smile. “Next time, aim a bit lower,” she said, then unlocked the front door, blew me a kiss and was gone.

I was floored. Say what? How cool was that! I rode the subway home thinking I must be the man ‘cause I was dating one fantastic woman.

My top-heavy buss wasn’t the one, of course, the mother of all kisses. That occurred on our next date. But as a prelude it was pretty darn good, especially since I knew that first real kiss was right around the corner. Amazing too, in the end, the anticipation; it was just as sweet as the kiss itself.

Indeed, when you romance your sweetie tomorrow, keep that in mind. It might just make something as simple as a routine kiss as incredible as the first time, forevermore.

And isn’t that what Valentine’s Day is really all about?