my first kiss

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my love, i wonder if you saw the stars in my eyes, that night at the pier.

or if all you saw was your own reflection staring back and you fell in love.

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you were the girl.

my girl.

the first girl i ever kissed, hell the first person i really kissed.

it was late in the evening and you were staying over to hang out, we laid in my bed together and you whispered sweet nothings into my ear.

i didn’t want it at first, but the more you spoke the more i gave in.

god, sometimes i wish i never gave in.

soon our bodies were tangled together, your leg between mine, your elbows resting on either side next to my head.

god you were beautiful.

but i didn’t mean for things to go this far.

i loved you but i wasn’t ready.

but you were already ontop of me, kissing at my lips with that iron taste of your mouth, lips moving against my reluctant ones as i tried to get a damn grip.

i wondered if this was okay.

if this is how it was supposed to go.

it wasn’t.

and yet i didn’t run.

i let your hands explore my chest, i let them wonder along my sides, and i let your lips find my breast.

it was a strange feeling.

one i didn’t know how to discern.

i could still taste the way the minty gum lingered in your mouth.

like you had been preparing for this moment all day.

which scared me in a way, because is this all you wanted from today? to say you kissed me? that we made out in my bed together?

i’m not sure.

and i’m not sure if i ever want to know.

i remember you rolling over on my mattress afterwards, pulling me onto your lap, bringing me to lay on top of you, hands trailing up and down my trembling spine.

my love, you took my first sliver of purity away that day.

i wish i could have had a sweet kiss, one where i felt safe instead of this profound sense of uncertainty.

it wasn’t like the ones in the movies.

it was more like the ones in the home tapes of a woman who can’t say ‘no’ but never wanted to say ‘yes’.

i found my bed strangely empty only moments after.

you had called your mother with me still laying on top of you, and you told her you were bored and wanted to come home, while my face was buried against your neck.

your mother came and picked you up within 10 minutes.

i remember asking you “Why’d you say that…? Am I not fun enough?”

you simply giggled and hushed me, stroking my hair.

i’d rip that hair out mere minutes after you left my house.

but i never told you that.

you went home that night, proud.

i left my room that night, disgusted as i cut in the kitchen.

the deep hickey barely concealed by my bra served as reminder for days after.

i wish i never let you in my room.