Who doesn’t remember their first kiss? Mine happened in Robin Robertson’s basement. I think we were in seventh grade. An Elvis 45 was spinning on the record player. A circle of kids was seated on the floor playing spin the bottle with a glass coke bottle. We took turns spinning that bottle. When it stopped spinning the person who’d spun and the person the bottle pointed to had to go into a closet and kiss.
My turn to spin came. I forget the name of the boy the bottle pointed to, but I clearly remember him visibly flinching. He plainly did not want to kiss me in the closet. Peer pressure won the day. We went into the closet.
He missed my mouth and slimed my red plaid cat’s eye glasses.
The other kissing party I remember happened at about the same age in another basement. The lights were dim. I wonder where the parents were? All over the room kids were paired up and making out. I was the only girl not hooked up. Maybe it had to do with those glasses…
For a while, I pretended to be busy changing records. Finally, I went and sat in a big lazy boy chair. The couple smooching behind my seat kept standing up to bop me on the top of my head. Then they would drop to the floor laughing and–I assume–continue to kiss.
I didn’t get my actual first uncoerced kiss until tenth grade. By then I’d lost weight, started using make-up and gotten contact lenses. The boy was Ed Fishel. He was very cute and in the Blue Rock Drum and Bugle Corps. We were in the backseat of a car, on the way home from a dance. I was wearing my sister’s beige fringed flapper dress.
Dear Readers: Please share your first kiss story. I asked my husband for his.: Eleven years old in the stairwell of an Oak Park Illinois apartment building. Name forgotten.
The dress below is kinda’ like Marilyn’s cute fringed number. It was darling.