This week Michael asks us to reflect on the time we received our first kiss.
The first time a guy tried to kiss me, I bolted!
However, I can sum up my actual first kiss in three words:
Fear, surprise and embarrassment.
Fear because it was my first, especially after that time.
Surprise because it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
Embarrassment because he belched.
I was 14, and he’d had his eye on me for a couple of years, being three years older than me. He worked in the pet shop, and was always teasing me, making me blush and scurry away like a scared rabbit.
He was a nice enough guy though, very considerate and bought me chocolates on our first ‘date’ after clearing it with my Mum.
He rode a moped, and it was a bit of an anti climax getting aboard in my posh frock with my freshly washed hair being crammed into a crash helmet. Elegance is not my forte.
We had a pleasant evening, though I can’t for the life of me remember what we did or where we went, and he dropped me off home by 9.30.
He kissed me goodnight, and just when things could have got a little interesting, bingo. Fresh bread made its presence felt and that was that.
We dated for a few months, but I was young, totally naive, and afraid of my own shadow.
He’d still tease me in the shop, but at least I didn’t blush so easily by then.