There are a lot of things that people can say about me that are not only accurate, but also highly incriminating.  And mostly I’m proud of these misdeeds.  I’ve already divulged my exploits as a failed insurance cheat, a white devil involved in blaxploitation, the soul crushing hazing that we placed on a physically handicapped pledge brother, and even the secret desires to smack my old boss atop his bald head.  Yes, I am poorly adjusted and marginally neurotic, a barely functioning adult at best.

Let’s be clear though on one issue.  No one has ever claimed that I was a smooth operator with the ladies.  And to prove this I am going to relate to the entire Internet world the story of my first kiss.  Or more accurately the story of when I should have had my first kiss, but … um … didn’t.

I’m outing myself as a loser.  But I do so with pride.

Yes, my pimp hand is more like a special ed kid’s webbed flipper.  No one has ever looked at me and said, “holy shit, that guy has balls the size of rodeo bull.”  And there is a damn good reason for this.  I have about much game as Stephen Hawking in musical chairs.  Need more evidence?  My skillz are so shitty that my friends started calling me PG-13 after this clip from Swingers:

Am I ashamed?  Hell no.

… yes …

The Setting: Before I get into the specifics of the kiss that wasn’t, let me put a little effort into the setting.  I was in 6th grade or about 12 years old.  I had long hair, buck teeth, and a wardrobe of ripped jeans & black heavy metal T-shirts.  I was living in the worst man-made shit hole in North Texas.  Its not that the house was particularly bad, it was more the fact of what the pack of feral wolves that was my family did to the house while we lived there.  I believe when I moved back to Stillwater in 8th grade, the city council had the house condemned and firebombed.

I was a stoner.  My oldest sister, Trish, worried over my life direction, asked me one day why I couldn’t be just a “rocker”?  But Trish how could I be a “rocker” and still smoke so much weed?  Aha!  Quite the logical conundrum.  Yeah, I was 12 years old.  Throw in some smoking, Budweiser, and Everclear and you’ve got my middle school years.  Good times … good times.

Despite my anti-social, anti-authority, anti-bathing behavior, I was actually sort of famous at my school.  Firstly, I was the king of the young derelicts society, the other stoner larvae in the making.  Establishing my street cred was actually pretty easy … I smoked, I got high, I got drunk, and my mom had no clue where I was spending most of my time.  Match that against any other credentials of another 12-year old and you can see that I was 2 Legit 2 Quit.

(As quick aside: if my son ever tries to pull half the shit I did in my misdirected, formative years, I’m going to break both of his legs and lock in my basement until he’s 35.  Ok, the aside is over.)

Here’s the part that truly confounded my teachers.  I scored in the 97th centile in the standardized tests given to middle schoolers.  For this reason I was selected by Duke University (TIPS) to take the ACT in 7th grade along with college students.  I got a pre-study packet to prep for the test (you can imagine how much time I spent studying that thing) … but still pulled a 21 out of 36.  It was good enough for a regional award for high achievement … we didn’t go, but I got recognized in front of the school for it.

Genius without a cause.  At least that’s how I fancied myself.

Everything seemed to be hunky dory for the king of the dip shits, right?  No.  Any kid that is wearing Death Metal T-shirts, misses nearly 60 days of school in a single year (I think its a state record … but I still passed), and plays roughly 75 hours of Dungeons & Dragons each week is really just crying for help.  I was miserable inside, too insecure to be myself so I adopted a rebel persona and played the part to a tee.

And now the First Kiss.

My Tale of Woe: My brother was dating one of my sister’s (Wendy) class mates, Kendra.  She was two years younger than him and two years older than me.  She had another friend named … Mindy.  To the eyes of a 12-year old, a girl that is 15 years old with actual BOOBIES is as close to Heidi Klum as I’ve ever gotten.  Remember, I’m pretending to be this crazy stoner kid.  So I played my part of fearless hooligan and started talking her up on the phone and whenever she hung around my brother’s girlfriend.

I was sure that she would never take the bait.  Afterall, I was in middle school and she was in HIGH school.  The rules were clear: you never date backwards in educational facilities.  I didn’t even have pubes for Chrissakes.  So my macking was risk free, right?

Wrong.

She took the bait and agreed one day to be my girl friend.  Oh fuck.  I was terrified.  What the hell was I going to do with this girl with real BOOBIES?  How could this happen?  My entire demeanor changed from loud mouth punk to brooding, suicidal philosopher.

The situation came to a head when my brother and I walked over to Kendra’s house.  Mindy was waiting.  We moved to the mom’s bedroom and all four of us climbed onto the bed.  My brother and his girlfriend were lying at the top.  Mindy was laying at the bottom.  Waiting for me.  She wanted a mug down.  Oh fuck.  Oh holy hell.  I laid down next to her with my shredded jeans and black denim jacket with Iron Maiden patches.

Mindy looked into my eyes.

I hovered over her face, my heart was beating so hard that I thought I may just pass out.  And looking back I wish I had.  Mindy flashed the come hither look.  Her high school face was beckoning the young traveler from Jefferson Middle School into shark infested waters.  I immediately decided to compromise.  I would kiss her.  But not on the lips.  On the cheek.  (Hey!  Screw you!  That was a big step for me!)

I leaned in …

She was expecting a kiss from the land of France.  Tongue.  She closed her eyes and turned her mouth to mine and proceeded to lick the side of my face as I tried to kiss her cheek.  Her tongue slavered from the side of my mouth all the way to my ear.  Oh merciful God in heaven!  I was shell shocked.  Terrified.  I didn’t know what to do.

So …

I pretended to fall off the matress.  I rolled off the edge and hit the floor.  With only seconds to think, I rolled under the bed and hid.  There was only silence from above as several precious seconds ticked by.  I was like a infantry rifleman ducking in the trenches of Versailles.  Nazi bullets were flying overhead and I was covering my head with prayers.

“Ooooooh, he’s scared,” Mindy cooed to the others.

Had I come out then, I’m sure that she would have given me the French Kiss 101 lesson.  First kiss … check.  I could brag to my other prepubescent stoner friends that I bagged a high school chick.  But I couldn’t move.  I was frozen in place, too terrified, too ashamed to see her face.  She called for me to come out like a little dog, but I stayed in place, pulling the drapery of the bed to hide my presence.

Eventually, she left the room.  Eventually, she left the house.  She never called again.  We never spoke.

As you can imagine, the shame was horrific.  At least she was in high school, so the gossip would not spread to the younger folks in the middle school.  The damage was done though.  I was reeling with self loathing.  Sensing my angst over my failure in an ancient coming of age ritual for young men throughout the world and history, my brother reacted appropriately.  He mocked me openly, berating me for being a pussy, and nearly disowning me.

I deserved it.

Since that moment onwards, I was conditioned like a Pavlovian dog.  Whenever the opportunity to kiss another girl arose throughout middle school and later high school, I quickly avoided it.  I remember leaving confused girls on the doorsteps of their house after a successful date as I pulled an Usain Bolt back to my grandmother’s car to escape.

My streak of cowardice was finally broken when I was 19.  Nineteen!  I won’t go into the details of that kiss … they are nearly as dreadful … and awkward … and too much saliva.  But always through college and my bachelor days, the specter of Mindy and the almost first kiss lingered at the back of my mind like a sexual Albatross hanging around my neck.

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