I was twenty when I had my first real kiss.
Okay, wait, wait…let’s rewind. If you want to get technical, I did have a first peck from my kinda boyfriend of 6 days in the tenth grade. We had “gone out” for 6 days and then he gave me a quick peck on the mouth after school. I was so grossed out, I broke up with him the next day. Does.Not.Count.
So, there I was, a senior in college and I finally stopped focusing on school long enough to get a boy to like me. He kissed me and I ended up marrying him.
I never really felt like I knew what I was doing, as I had no experience and very little confidence, but he never complained…until one day he did and so I stopped kissing him. And obviously it went downhill from there…
So, when I jumped into this strange and scary world of dating, I was pretty gun shy about the whole kissing thing. I mean, I was pretty sure that I was a terrible kisser based on the previous review of my performance.
In the 10 months, I’ve been single, I kind of made it my very own anthropological science experiment (Reason #285 of why I am still single: I do nerdy anthropological science experiments) to see if I was a terrible kisser or if I was a good kisser…plus, it had the added bonus of some practice in the art of kissing.
Someone recently told me I was the “world’s best kisser.” With my new found confidence, I’m totally taking his word for it and I’m going to have to agree…