There are a couple of boys from my childhood that I would have chosen to have my first kiss with. There was William, with his cute little afro. Freddy, who was delightfully handsome. He was actually my boyfriend. Well, as much as a boy could be your boyfriend in 4th grade. We never kissed because we didn't know a damned thing about kissing. But we would sneak and hold hands when nobody was looking. Like it was going out of style. If I could have gotten pregnant at that age by holding hands, I would have definitely made a large increase in Chicago's population.
You know, I never got the chance to decide who I would have my first kiss with. That right to decide was stolen from me by a nasty little boy who lived on my block. I can't even remember his name. But I remember his face. I can't remember how old I was exactly. I just remember that I was still in elementary school.
I was walking down the street with a group of friends, when all of a sudden, this boy ran up to me from behind, grabbed my head, kissed me, and stuck his tongue in my mouth.
I can remember being really confused about the tongue move. However, he seemed to be quite pleased with himself. So much, in fact, that he tried it again. But I punched him as he leaned his head in to steal another kiss. That was the day I discovered that he liked me. And realized that boys were stupid.
Except for you Snookums. You're perfect.