We are alone, sitting on a mat under the stars and drinking coffee waiting for the dawn to break, just like Jamie and Landon in “A Walk to Remember.” He’s nervous because this is the first time he has held me so close, and this is going to be the first time that he’ll kiss me. I am nervous because this is the closest that I’ve been with a boy, and this is the first time that I am going to be kissed. I am leaning on him, his arms are wrapped around me and we can both feel each other’s heart beating.
He wants to kiss me.
The wind blows lightly, I shiver a bit and giggle. My face is still flustered for being so jumpy, but he looks at me in the eyes, lifts my chin and kisses me.
It is exactly how I imagined my first kiss to be.
We were in a crowded, noisy bar with our friends, drinking colored cocktails. We were making every second of whatever remains of the day count. We were sitting on a bench, in front of a table full of booze and food. Everyone was ecstatic, we were here to celebrate. My sight started to get a little woozy, and I had the urge to just stop talking for a while and stare at something to rest my eyes. I was tipsy. He was tipsy. And so was everybody else. I can barely feel my cheeks, but I know our arms brush against each other.
They dared him to kiss me.
He did not ask if it was OK with me, he was just, I don’t know, waiting for me to face him. Maybe wondering if I was game. Or maybe he’s just too nice to say no. I took a shot and he took a shot: game. I felt his hands cup my face, as he leaned in closer and kissed me. It was wrong, maybe, and stupid too. It wasn’t how I imagined my first kiss to be — but it felt right.