My very first french kiss was when I was in fourth grade with Philippe Tremblay. I thought kissing was gross and wasn’t into it at all after that.
I was a teen and now had friends ( we were at least 15 boys and girls all hanging out together) kissing and sex were a lot of what we talked about. I was 15 years-old and one of those friends was H.D. (the one I talked about marriage with in grad school).
At 15, H. was tall, slim and still had this 1000 watt smile. He was also very nice, kind and respectful. I was nervous, jittery, mysterious. I was often asked what I was thinking about. Of course, I said « Nothing. »
We started going out together and I became so nervous. It was expected that I kiss him at some point. But he was a gentleman and didn’t press it. He came home to see my parents, I went to supper at his mom’s place. But I was so stiff, I kept my hands to myself, I don’t remember ever hugging him.
Then there was this party at a friend’s house. Music, sweaty bodies, chips, beer. I had to be there, they were my friends. And H. was my boyfriend.
So as we sat on a couch surrounded by other teens doing what they do at parties (snapping their retainers, drowning in beer, girating their hips) H. decided he was going to kiss me and he did. And there it was. Too much mouth, too much noise and saliva, there was the tongue again, it was bizarre and I broke up.
I just couldn’t face it, kissing again. It was making me feel claustrophobic.
So I went single again. It really bothered me to break up with H. because he was nice but kissing made me sick.
He later went out with my locker partner. And he still gives a very enthusiastic wave to my parents when he meets them.