I was 16 when I kissed a girl for the first time, which is embarrassing for me to admit even now, 11 years later.  At the time it felt like I was the last person I knew to do anything; and kissing was just another club to which I didn’t belong.  I mean, my voice had only just dropped (there’s no flavour of embarrassment quite like answering the phone and someone politely asking “Is that Mrs. Wohead?”).

It was late December and my new girlfriend, Jessica, and I had gone driving around with a few other friends to look at the elaborate Christmas light displays in the rich part of Dallas.  Donny pulled the van up to Jessica’s house, where I had left my car, just as the rain started to pour down.  It was a real Texas thunderstorm; we’re talking serious thunder and lightning.  And massive drops of rain.

Jessica and I said goodbye to our friends and ran up to her front porch.  Being the gentleman my dad had taught me to be, I had made a habit of walking Jessica to the door after every time we had gone out (and up until now the goodbye had gone no further than a lingering hug; every time I thought about doing more my stomach started spinning and I would panic and run.  Actually run).

We were soaked by the time we got from the car to the porch.  I was immediately nervous, which probably made me say something stupid and unfunny, but now that I know Jessica, I think she probably didn’t mind.  I don’t really remember what we talked about.  But I do remember Jessica looking straight at me, with her long, rain-matted hair stuck to the sides of her face, and saying the most direct thing either of us had said in our two-week-old relationship: ‘Greg, I really like you.  Like, really.’

‘I really like you too.’  And I knew this was going to be it.  The rain was pounding down on the pavement, splashing our shoes, and I pushed through the barrier of my nervously pounding heart and leaned in for the kiss.  And it was fantastic.  I was actually kissing a pretty girl.  I remember doing that cuppy hand thing on the side of her face and not being sure why I was doing it; I had probably seen it in a film.  In fact, it felt just like a film, with the rain coming down all around us.  Ok, so we weren’t technically in the rain like in all the films, but it was raining and we were outside and wet.

When the kiss was finished, I dashed off, got in my car and drove home.  I remember laying in bed replaying the moment in my head over and over.  My life had now been separated into two distinct eras: before The Kiss, and after.  And I was finally a member of the club.