First kiss

Although I truly love to travel, I'm glad that my job doesn't require me to be away overnight very often. I'm off to a conference in Kingston for the next couple of days, and while I relish the idea of no cooking and no diaper changes and a bed I don't have to share for just one night, I'll still miss the men in my life.

I just realized yesterday that this isn't the first time I've stayed at the hotel where the conference will be held. The summer I was fourteen, we took a family vacation to Kingston and stayed at the same hotel. It was there that I met a boy, a boy who was seventeen and lived in Kingston. What he was doing hanging around the inside of a hotel when he lived in town never was clarified. What I do clearly remember was making out with him in the hotel stairwell. It was my first mouth-open "french kiss" as we called it back then. (Do they still call it french kissing? Why do I feel suddenly ancient and out of touch?)

I'd had my first kiss earlier that year at a school dance. I spent the rest of the year with a painfully unrequited crush on the boy who never wanted to acknowledge my existence after the end of that night. But I don't think I spent a lot of energy that summer pining for the guy from Kingston. I can't even remember his first name. It might have been Steve.

So, anyway, I'm out of here for a couple days and I'm not sure what my internet connectivity is going to be. Talk amongst yourselves... as if I have to compell you to do that. Tell me the story of your first kiss, and I'll look forward to reading your stories when I come back Thursday night.