If you have ever heard the Blur song, you’ll know how confusing it can be…
The first kiss I ever had was from a girl called Storm, and no that’s not a pseudonym or an X-Men character.
She arrived late into my year at school because she was transferred and I found out that she liked me because she gave me a teddy outside French class (well she didn’t, but her friend from the boarding house did, and the guy I was chatting to at the time immediately thought it was for him – arrogant little sod). We started a brief relationship, like you do in Year Seven, consisting mostly of holding hands and talking to each other.
The first time we kissed was downstairs from the entrance to her boarding house, outside the food tech room, and it was diabolical. No, really. I just remember it being warm and a bit wet, and I kept my tongue firmly in my own mouth because I didn’t want to impose my tongue on her (that sounds weirder out loud than in my head at the time, trust me). Anyway, things fizzled out as they do at that age, and I heard that she gave me some rubbish score out of ten for it, possibly a one or a two, but not undeservedly so.
If you were to speak to her today, however, you would discover that she now defines her sexuality as gay, classifying herself as a lesbian and having a big ol’ crush on a certain Davina McCall. Ironic huh? It gets worse.
My first proper kiss with a guy, and I use ‘proper’ as in not through force of social pressure and alcohol, was with a guy who had previously been going out with one of my best friends, which is a cardinal sin but our friendship was pretty much over when she got the school hating me for being gay. By this point I knew he really liked me, and I really liked him. We mostly communicated through texts and the internet, and we used to secretly hold hands at lunch with only his best friend knowing what was going on.
When we first kissed outside the English room, I knew the difference. I had practiced the kissing thing with a few of my friends so I knew what I was doing. My stomach flipped, my groin reacted swiftly and all I remember about the act was the intensity of the connection. When I stayed round his house once, we spent an hour kissing until his mum called us down for a meal, and I knew she recognised the stubble rash that adorned both of our mouths, but bless her, she ignored it.
We kept up this secret game until I discovered that he had been seen going into town with his ex-girlfriend and had been seen kissing her and other girls, so I dumped him and walked away.
The ironic thing is if you were to talk to him today, he would deny that it ever happened and claim we were just friends when he was seeing his ex-girlfriend. He would also deny still having contact with me or inviting me up to stay at his, but such is his career path – homosexuality is equated to weakness.