My first kiss was a guy called Ian – and I’m not sure it was even consensual. I was 18. Gasp! I know, a little old for a first kiss.

It wasn’t from lack of trying – actually cut that – I didn’t try at all! I was scared out of my Hard Yakka emo pants and besides isn’t the boy supposed to kiss the girl? I guess I never got close enough to let someone kiss me because there were a few obstacles along the way. That all-girls boarding school for a start then my parents not letting me go to parties once I was an-actively-alcohol-seeking-teenager then there was that one guy who kissed my cheek when I suddenly turned my head and THEN I got that super short lesbian hair cut straight out of high school – which at least gives me at least another 10 months of un-kissability. So lets blame – timing, head turns and Sinead O’Connor hair styles for 18 and never been kissed.

So back to Ian – I was at a friend’s university campus, the two of us getting drunk on passion pop and screeching at each other like 18-year-olds do when, “LORENZA”S NEVER BEEN KISSED” rang out loud and high-pitched. There was one (I repeat ONE) older guy there – ‘Ian’, I think – who was like 28 or 30, I cant remember, but certainly a decade senior to us with a shaved head (so cool, although now I realise probably because it was receding), tight black jeans and some large silver piercings (ears – calm down). He leapt up from the table and took me in his stride and rammed his tongue in my mouth so fast I didn’t really have time to run. To be honest it was a pretty good first kiss compared to some of the other abhorrent tongues I’ve had slithered in over the years.

Maybe because of this first-time, no-seat-belts-on experience I much prefer the slow, slow anticipation of a kiss – it’s so much more exciting knowing that you’re going to kiss and just waiting on tender-heart-hooks for it to happen. Is he staring at my lips? Is he leaning in?! Is he… No, he’s looking at the beers on tap. Hmmm. I waited four months to kiss my first boyfriend and by then I was about to explode. Well we were only friends, right? Friends who hung out every day and night and spent every other second texting each other. Made it all the more special though – I had a post-pash buzz for days.

Kissing is kind of gross though isn’t it? I wouldn’t let most people touch or taste my food, except a family member or boyfriend. I’m just funny about things like that. But when I think about the boys and men I’ve let touch the inside of my mouth, I’m kind of really yucked out. No you can’t touch my ice-cream, but here’s my mouth, go to tonsil-town. Gross things aside it’s also a lovely, intimate thing to do with someone you really like. And there’s the whole liking them so much thing that you don’t care about sharing germs, colds, garlic breath and finding out really how sharp each other’s teeth are. Wait, am I doing it wrong?

I had this weird patch of kissing (what?) where my tongue would get almost a stitch in it – like when you cross your legs for too long and they feel uncomfortable. I guess it was almost like pins and needles, but imagine that just in the center of your tongue. I should probably see someone about that. But the thing is – it stopped. Probably because I found the right person to kiss. You see I’d built up this theory that my tongue knew someone wasn’t right for me and gave me this stitchy feeling on purpose, like a stop-it-you’re-kissing-a-douche-o-meter. You all think I’m crazy but I’m sticking with my pink, wet instinct on this.

Probably the meanest kissing thing I’ve done (yeah that’s totally a thing) is kiss a guy then give him a score of four out of 10 for one of the worst ranking kisses of my life. Out loud. In the street. Where I’m sure other people heard. I’d call and apologise but he lives in London somewhere and I can’t remember his name, or face, or anything about him really. It’s not called Sauvignon Blank for nothing.

I guess I should really thank Ian for setting the kissing bar so high even if he was taking advantage of a sweet little innocent 18-year-old like me. At least I’ll always have a good first kiss story to tell. So make sure you cherish all those first kisses whether they’re groin-breaking or gross, because you never know which one could be your last. (I mean like before you get married… not die – sheesh!)

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