My infatuation with boys began at an early age. My first ever kiss was at the age of ten years old. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't something that I intended to happen. In fact, it was quite a shock!
I was playing Hide and Seek at the house of one of my mum's friends. Mitch, my mum's friend's son (there's a mouthful!) found me hidden underneath his bunkbeds, and instead of going to find our other friends, he stayed with me. It made me feel so special! I decided right then that I wanted this boy's attention to be all mine and slipped my hand into his. He responded by planting a kiss on my lips.
It's weird because, to me, kissing someone for the first time is one of the most intimate things to take place between a couple. It is at that moment that you feel that spark, the chemistry that will either ignite or douse a relationship. While sex is wild and passionate, a first kiss is soft and tentative. I mean, think about it. You can get sex, albeit at a price, from a prostitute, but most whores refuse to kiss their clients for any amount of money. For me, this adds proof to my own theory, and means I am far more nervous kissing someone for the first time than I am when we eventually end up having sex. Strange, huh?
Anyway, back to Mitch...
Through time, our families drifted apart. I met new boys. I had more first kisses. And, if I'm honest, I completely forgot about me and Mitch and our moment beneath the bunk beds. That was until a few days ago. Picture the scene. It was raining. I was waiting for a bus, at a bus stop with no bus shelter and I was drenched. It couldn't get any worse right? Wrong. A car sped past me, spraying a tsunami's worth of water over my head and dripping down my body.
Bastard.
Then the car stopped. The passenger window opened, the driver leaned over, and an apologetic head peered out and looked at my bedraggled self.
"I'm so so sor...Oh my god, is that you?"
After nine years, there was Mitch.
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