After the rough, inevitable e-breakup, I arrived at college having vowed to “concentrate on -me- right now”, and that is naturally when I first laid eyes on him. He (dubbed the hottest sophomore in our dorm by popular vote) was dark, shaggy-haired, and so, so tall. I’d steal terribly obvious glances at him in the dining hall . . . and in the elevator . . . and hanging outside of his room (we lived on the same floor so this is not as creepy as it sounds . . . or maybe it IS exactly as creepy as it sounds . . . shut up), and in my fashion, I’d routinely make a fool out of myself hoping he’d pay attention to me.
I don’t know if any of that actually worked, but we did eventually interact, and, after stumbling through the awkward first conversation with him, I was smitten. Through the following weeks I was a bundle of nerves every time we met. He of course, was collected, cool, confident, suave, etc., and he, also of course, had the attention of many of the other freshman girls. I blushed and made sad attempts at flirting every time our paths crossed–and fumed whenever I saw him talking to anyone else.Halloween night rolled around, and, as is tradition at my college, a bunch of the students prepped to streak across campus in nothing but sneakers and shaving cream. Ever a shrinking violet, I never took part in this, but he did. Us nonparticipants would watch the shenanigans from the safety of our dorm balconies, and this particular Halloween, I had a vested interest in spectatin’. My roommates and I watched him run by with the crowd, and for a brief moment I wished I had the courage to run–-so very unsupported–-beside him.
I eventually slunk back to our floor’s study tent (the tent erected in our lobby for the purposes of “studying” . . . yeah, I don’t know what was up with that, either!). I heard the ringing of the elevator bell followed by some familiar shuffling steps. The tent flap unzipped and a friendly face popped in, “Mind if I join you?” I choked and giggled and nodded and he, still smelling of 99 cent shaving cream (a smell I’d cherish for years later), climbed on in beside me. We sat pretending to read in awkward tension for a while, his knee occasionally brushing against mine (in that “OMG did he mean to do that I think he meant to do that” kind of way).He eventually broke the silence commenting on something about relationships in his psych text book. This conversation turned to the topic of kissing (seriously, it’s like a sitcom, right?), and he asked me if I thought it weird to kiss with your eyes open. My heart was in my throat, my eyes darted to the floor, and I muttered abruptly, “Uh yeah, that’s totally weird!” Persistent, he moved dangerously close and, prefacing his next move with something like, “Hmmm, I don’t know . . . should we try it out?” he waited for my (terror-filled) eyes to meet his and laid one on me.
I was on the moon. Kissing with your eyes open isn’t weird. It’s the best! We continued, eyes open then closed then open again. I had no idea kissing could be like that – it was straight-up perfect. We were finally interrupted by one of our floor mates, curious about the suspicious tent-activity (our actions were most innocent, but that tent was tainted from that night on), and in a nervous huff I rushed back to my room. I spent the next hour gushing to my dearest best friend (seriously I think it was 3 in the morning at this point, she’s a trooper) and didn’t sleep, replaying the night’s events in my head for hours.
I think I did pretty badly on the test I had the next morning, but it was so worth it. He and I ended up spending the better part of our college careers together, and I got a glorious, much-needed re-do on all of my questionable “firsts.”
What was your first kiss like? Was it anything like my first kiss? Tell me everything in the comments!