As I recall, the year was 1995. I was 14 and I had my first “real” boyfriend; the kind you actually go places with and hold hands with and who pays for the movie once he has enough allowance saved (14 was still a fairly innocent age back then, at least for me). Yes, after a whole year of torture during homeroom and activity periods in junior high, Elmer* had finally asked me out during German class in the first few weeks of high school (he did this in German class with a note passed across the aisle, clumsily written in German…and no, in case you’re wondering, nothing in my life ever happens normally). I was the late bloomer in my little clique in high school. I was the wallflower, the shy one, the one who typically was sans boyfriend, so it goes without saying that I was trailing behind in the physical exploration department. One of my good friends had recently lost his virginity (oy, remind me to blog about THAT someday soon…what a doozy that whole situation was) and the rest of my friends had pretty much all had their first kiss. All except me. Every day my friends would ask me if Elmer and I had kissed yet, but we were both pretty awkward and shy and there just never seemed to be a good opportunity. I mean, granted he did ask me out with a note and all, but we weren’t the immature type of teens who just made out in the hall between classes. I’m only an exhibitionist in a state of inebriation that I only achieved after I graduated high school.
Sometime in September a friend of mine had a party at his house for his birthday and I was invited, as was Elmer. This friend of mine loved parties. They were never anything too insane, just a group of us hanging out, watching movies, playing music, gossiping, etc. No alcohol or anything like that. It was a nice relaxed atmosphere amongst some close knit groups of friends. So of course everyone knew about the whole not kissing dilemma. After it got dark several couples ended up on the back porch. Elmer and I were sharing a lounge chair while my newly devirginized friend had his girlfriend on his lap and another of my friends was with her boyfriend on the porch swing. Those couples were necking like crazy but Elmer and I just laid next to each other, unsure and nervous, cuddling but that was all.

Elmer was over 6 feet tall and a beanpole and I remember that I could feel his heart thumping through the fabric of his polo shirt. He was wearing Tommy cologne. It was quiet and dark, the light from the living room outlined Elmer’s shoulder in a warm gold. He began to lean towards me and I could hear him breathing louder as our lips nearly touched…

And then the porch light came on, while everyone inside squealed at the sight of the make out session (like they didn’t know what was going on…14 is a drama laden age and my friends were very good at creating drama…a trait in my choice of friends through much of my life, unfortunately). The host of the party stormed outside in a huff and actually sprayed the deck chairs with Lysol. Elmer and I stood off to the side, humiliated by the uproar and ensuing ruckus over something we hadn’t even been doing. Just at that moment my ride arrived (devirginized friend’s dad) and it was time to leave. I turned to Elmer and hugged him goodbye.

And he kissed me.

It was the longest and shortest moment of my teenage life. He held me close and kissed me so sweetly. Then he let me go and I stumbled through the house and down to the car parked in the driveway. My friend and his girlfriend looked at me as I walked into the closed door before fumbling it open and tumbling into the backseat.
“Are you okay?” he asked as he tried to cop a feel from his girlfriend while his dad wasn’t looking.
“Yeah,” I murmured, staring out into the night as the car pulled away from the house.
“So?” his girlfriend pressed, “did you guys…like, kiss finally?”
My forehead was resting against against the cool glass of the car window. My cheeks felt like the surface of the sun.
“Yeah.”
I smiled quietly to myself and kept my eyes focused on the warm summer night as it slipped past the window, promising myself to keep the fabulous, dizzy, excitement I was feeling somewhere safe inside for the rest of my life.

And I have.

*I’m calling him Elmer because, strangely enough, we were in the same second grade elementary school class when we were 7. We both moved away and 6 years later ended up in the homeroom for gifted students in junior high in an entirely different school/town. I call him Elmer because the main thing I remember about him from second grade was that he used to eat Elmers glue.