I kind of have two first kisses, one being technically and the other being the one I remember vividly.
The first took place at a small concert of sorts. There was a comic book store in my town that rented out the space next to it and hosted local bands every couple of weeks or so. I was sitting on the couch with the girl I liked, exhausted and dazed from the loud music. I was, surprisingly and quite stupidly, on the verge of sleep when she kissed me to test the waters. I was out of it, so I almost didn’t even realize that it happened, and wasn’t even really sure that it did happen for a minute.
The second was a couple of awkward days later, when I told her that I really did like her. We were on the bus home from school, and I was feeling horrible because after I told her she said “I’m not sure you’re gonna like what I’m gonna say” and then got really quite. Naturally, I assumed that she was going to reject me, but she ended up asking me to kiss her. It was one of those glorious, clumsy moments that I knew I would never forget. What I didn’t know is that while I was right about the not forgetting part, I was wrong about the glorious aspect being eternal. Now, after all these years, it kinda grosses me out ‘cause she turned out to be a heinous monster.