First 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.