Writespiration #78 Write About A First Kiss

Write About A First kissFirst kisses are hyped up to be this magical, calf lifting, tingly moment. In all honesty, they are usually cold, wet slug infested disappointments.

I remember mine even less fondly than that. I was in the back of a local disco for under 18’s. I forget exactly how old I was, maybe 14. The long-awaited, compulsory slow dance came on a few songs from the end. There’s that moment of sheer panic, every boy and girl in the disco freezes, and casts furtive looks around the room. No ones sure who will grab who and who will suffer the god awful fate of being left on the side.

On this occasion, some stinky teenage boy, from the popular group at school, pounced on me. He latched on with tentacle hands and dragged me (ok, willingly) onto the dance floor. He pulled me in tight like he was cinching a waist band and planted his fat lips on my face.

It was gross. He was like a crazed hoover desperate to suck the oxygen out my lungs. But worse, he then tried to choke me with a slug; his slimy fat tongue flopped in my mouth and I swear it was worst than a pneumatic drill. I have written about slug kisses before I am still not a fan!

Anyway, that’s your challenge, write about a first kiss.

Now to last weeks Writespiration and going to your happy place. First up

Helen and her deepening vampire story, its graphic, vivid and I can’t wait for it to be written. You can read another piece in this tale here.

I’m alone in the dark. I hate it. My mother makes me do this, my eyes straining until red blooms in the darkness. As if it’s going to make any difference whatsoever.
I’m human.
No matter what she does, or how much she loves me, it’s not going to change. So when she leaves, silken wings rustling, I turn inwards. To my happy place.
But something’s different.
My happy place is full of sunshine, golden green leaves above me, shafts of light coming through the trees. The air is fresh and I laugh as I run along the trail, my lack of speed and strength and night vision no problem here, an escape from the guilt of being such a disappointment.
So why the hell am I back in the club? It’s all smoke and red leather and the scent of blood, music pounding in time with my heart.
His eyes are silver grey, his lips parting as he turns. As he comes closer I can see his fangs have dropped. I lick my lips, hoping the anti-feed spray is still working. I can feel his heat, blood-warm and ice-cold. He reaches out to touch me.
My new happy place.

Next up Sarah, with a story that I am certain has legs.

Joint Pain

I don’t have a happy place.

I saw someone talking about it in a dumb Disney movie. Can’t remember which one. They’re always on in the background at Sam’s house. His little sister watches those things like her life depends on it. Shit, maybe it does. What do I know? Maybe that’s her happy place. Maybe that’s her lifeline or something. Hell of a lot better than mine. Or Sam’s.

He hands me the joint he lifted from his mum’s purse. I fish matches out of my pocket and we wait for the smoke to kill the stench of neglect and the pain of our bruises to fade.


Next up, Jane, with a beautifully happy story.

She is everywhere in the house, Georgette. Not surprising since she lived here for ninety-seven years. There’s a photo of her on the wall, as well as her parents and husband. No children though. She lived here alone with the two cows until her nephew persuaded her to move to a flat where he could keep an eye on her. There’s a smell of sprightly old lady and cats. Her chair by the stove has a ball of knitting wool shoved down the side. The messages about groceries and visits stuck on the wall by the phone still shout out that life goes on.

In the garden, her bulbs are coming up. In the cowshed, the hay bales smell fresh and spring-like. There is no feeling of emptiness or sadness, but expectancy. What is the house waiting for?


She has left a trail, determined and defiant, as if she has just gone down to the shop to buy a packet of coffee.

We’ll take good care of your house, Georgette.

I make a promise to visit her in her new flat, show her how life has forged another link, and take her the first narcissi.

Next in Charli is continuing to cheat on her WIP with the ever defiant Jen, and her happy knots.

Bumping Knots by Charli Mills

Jen worked her way down the log, hacking each branch with swift strokes. Her axe sliced raw wood, leaving a bump where once a branch grew. Sap like blood pooled, scenting the air with pine. Without pausing, Jen inhaled the natural perfume. Each step in her laced-up boots was sturdy, her feet knew the way and her thighs tingled with exertion to stay balanced while moving. By the time she reached the end of one log, she’d jump to the next one the draft horses skidded to the landing.

Bumping knots was her happy place.

Breakfast had been a disaster. Schnatterly, the dandy mine owner, showed up to rally the loggers into providing more logs for his flume. Investors were anxious for return on the gold in Boulder Creek, he claimed. Jen’s uncle didn’t like Schnatterly, and this morning the odious man announced his mine now owned the logging operation. Her uncle stood like deadwood. Worse, when Jen rose to refill her coffee, Schnatterly noticed her. Noticed she was female. “You can serve coffee to the room, Hefier.” Her cheeks had burned. Now the sawyers were all calling her Heifer. Demanding coffee.

She continued to swing her axe instead.





  1. Omg such great writing here, all of them, but Helen, your story is exquisite, and Sarah, brutal! Love them both! And Sacha you are hilarious! I detest slug kisses too!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Agreed – I told Sarah she needs to develop that bit of flash the characters have legs and a story that needs telling. You can just tell sometimes can’t you… When a story needs to be written. That’s one of them. As is Helen’s. That is going to be one hell of a vampire story.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Yes. I’m not into vampire stories but this is quite different. Can’t wait to read it. And Sarah, definitely. It was a snapshot of something bigger going on. I’d love to read more.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. You ladies are both lovely, thank you so much! And Sacha your kiss story made me laugh, reminded me of one of my first pashes, I swear I thought he wanted to suck my tonsils out 😀

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Fab write inspiration prompt. Loved Helen’s piece! My first kiss involved my friends pushing me into this poor boy and yelling KISS HIM ! Lol! Makes me laugh now. He was scared out of his wits. We never spoke again – sigh!

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  3. My first kiss was with Kenny Mathews, we both attended Kingsclere infant school in Hampshire… maybe a post will do the trick i will ping it back here when I’m done. Thanks for reminding me… I think.

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  4. Wow.

    Those are some amazing stories. I want to read more of them all.

    I don’t entirely remember my first kiss, that’s how noteworthy it was, but I believe it was with a boy who was a year younger than me and the act was so wooden that it might better be classified as an accidental collision than a gesture of any real romantic interest.

    What I remember more, was a time before that first kiss. Someone had the idea we’d play spin the bottle, and I was terrified the guys playing, who were older, cooler, and easy on the eye, would figure out I had no experience whatsoever. I had no idea how I’d even gotten invited to participate in the first place, and worried I’d ruin my chance of ever getting kissed for real afterward. I remember biting my lip repeatedly in an attempt to keep it moist, and how sweaty my palms were as I clenched my fists to keep from fidgeting more. My turn never came though, and my secret was safe a while longer.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. What?! No way, your happy place sounded amazing, I guess I wasn’t sure if you had submitted it as an entry as it wasn’t a fiction story, but this week it makes total sense as I suspect most of the entires will be non fiction memories 💖


      2. You were right. I didn’t intend to submit it as an official entry last week as it was non-fiction. It was mostly just conversation. But, really, you are being too nice. The ones you picked seriously need to be expanded into longer stories.

        Liked by 1 person

      1. Ha! I will forgive you this once 🙂 Actually I don’t mind at all. There are some really great other Allies (Alis or Allys) out there even if their parents went cheap when it came to picking out letters for their names.

        Liked by 1 person

  5. Lol, brilliant descriptives here Sach. Thanks for sharing your first . . erm? . . passionate kiss, lol. Just stopping by, love to read the stories. Sorry, up to my eyeballs in trying to sneak in work on vacation with a house full of company, hence, no time to participate til I return. 🙂 or maybe 😦 ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  6. It will seem odd to link cricket with kissing. Maggie Hoole was the only girl I knew who liked cricket. Correction. She liked cricketers. Especially a tall blond one named John Rees or Rice or something. He wasn’t especially talented but he wore his hair, a la mode for 1973, over the shoulders and he smouldered in ways that my lack of lips and excess of spots mitigated against. We were 16, just finished our O levels. She was leaving school to do something with a spatula I think while I was one of the nerdy ones, off to enjoy my A levels. But for one summer, between grim summer jobs we went to Bournemouth and Southampton to watch our beloved Hampshire and the smouldering John play. Hampshire were excellent team and they reached the quarter finals of the national cup, an away game in Leicester. We scrimped and bought tickets including a coach journey to and from. Maggie had frothy honey blond hair (in my memory at least) and two very visible breasts which acted as eye magnets for not just one such as me. As such she was so far out of my league as to be Venusian. On the way there, a three hour journey we sang and laughed. But we lost the game so the journey back began in a more sombre mood. I had a book, expecting to read for the journey but some turn of Fate’s Gyroscope and the benign absence that day of the spot god meant a strange alignment of the stars. Maggie put her arm around me, pressed a breast into my bicep and fell asleep, her head on my shoulder. I got neck cramp but didn’t move a muscles as I read the same page for an hour. Then she woke, looked at me and kissed me. Not like an aunt but on the lips and then the mouth. I didn’t know, for all my wide reading that it was de rigeur to use your tongue too. It didn’t feature much in the scifi and cricket fiction I enjoyed. And it was so wet. Looking back I did wonder briefly why affixing a postage stamp and snogging involved similar actions – I knew writing a letter was romantic; I learnt that posting it was actually the erotic part.
    I do remember being disappointed when she stopped and more disappointed when she turned to the boy on the other side and snogged him too. We did have a few more Stanley Gibbons* moments but then I went and bought her the Who’s latest double album, Who’s Next (fab cover btw if you’ve not seen it) and she thought I must be getting serious – maybe she worried I was developing a passion for stamp collecting – so dropped me like a simple chance to the wicket keeper.
    *Stanley Gibbons is a world famous stamp collection shop in London

    Liked by 3 people

    1. hahahahahaha this is so funny!!!!! I love that she leant over and kissed the other lad!!!!! I actually snorted out loud reading this. brilliance. Funny, brutal, and so so true! This is you on fine form Geoffle. Bravo.

      Liked by 1 person

  7. Haha, Sacha. I love your flash about your first kiss. I think everyone must have stories that are funny now, but back when we were in our teens, they were anything but humorous.


  8. I have a first kiss for you which is completely fictional… I don’t remember a kiss ever feeling like this. For me, they involved purely physical sensations, but for Cethlenn, the main protagonist of my latest WIP, Swanskin, it was a completely ethereal experience… Mind you, she was kissing someone quite unique.

    “Put on the ring,” I said softly. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.” I picked up his maimed hand and pushed the ring onto his index finger. Then I pressed his hand to my lips.

    He drew a shuddering breath, and then he was moving towards me, pulling me close. I melted against him, standing on tip toes to clasp my arms around his neck. He cupped my chin with his hand and tilted my face. I felt moonlight, then shadow as he stooped to kiss me.

    And that was when I came alive. Every nerve ending in my body flared into life. He pressed me back against the trunk of a tree, and I felt every fibre of its bark imprint in the arch of my spine, whilst his heart beat against my chest, like the wings of a caged bird. Above me, leaves lisped in a breeze which did not blow, and the stars wheeled along their bright path, stretched into streaks of light, slowed as time dropped out of existence. There was only this moment, in which his touch trailed fire over my skin, his lips pressed against mine, and I surrendered to instinct.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Aw thank you Sacha! It’s the first real kiss I’ve ever written, actually! Conor is kissed by someone in Book 2, but it’s over before he knows it, but it’s enough to make him fall in love with someone he shouldn’t.

        Liked by 1 person

  9. Great stories, Sacha. I so enjoy reading these.

    My first kiss was when I was 11 years old – with my 12-year-old Dutch cousin. It was very innocent, just a brush of the lips. I forgot about it for 20 years, until the day he threw himself in front of a train, haunted for most of his adult life by voices.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. It was a long time ago, Sacha, and the sting has faded. It’s just what comes up for that “first kiss” memory. Life is so layered, isn’t it? I appreciate how poignant most experiences becomes with time. ❤

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