My first kiss was the end result of a spinning bottle. It stopped on a dark-haired Georgia boy who I had developed a Georgia-size crush on while at camp. I was too young to be kissing boys, especially boys his age, tho he didn't take advantage. Our lips met and unmet. Just like that, it was over, the best thing that happened to me all summer.
My first "French" kiss was had in the woods. It was the opposite of what it should have been — rough, hard, unpleasant. His tongue poked at my mouth like a strep culture. When we stepped out of the trees, we were spotted by a crowd. They laughed at our secret, but it made me want to cry.
My most memorable kiss occurred the second time I kissed C. The first time, alcohol numbed us both. But the second time, the lint between my toes tingled and the souls of my shoes swelled with goosebumps. I saw fireworks explode in my black eyelid landscape. I know that description is overused, but it was exactly what happened. Eye sparks.
My worst kiss isn't stored in my hard drive. It's more a montage of clinking teeth, mouth rot and unfelt passion. There's not one particular face. Just a Mr. Potato Head of bad kissing elements.
My funniest kiss does standout however! I was in jr. high. After swapping saliva, he told everyone in school, "I didn't even get a semi." I thought it was code back then. Now I just find it deliriously funny.