Do you remember …

The first kiss …

Do you remember the first time you kissed a boy? That one special moment when you felt silly and wonderful?

From some of my short stories, I have collected several snippets of the “first kiss.” This is one of them.


Bobby Salzano was the prettiest boy Antoinette had ever seen and when his mom came to see her mom, he and Antoinette would go in the back yard and play. For as long as she could remember whenever they were together, she felt odd or silly. 

 Bobby had beautiful wavy black hair and eyes like her brother’s blue on blue agate marbles.  He was  the only boy Antoinette liked who was taller than she. Every girl in the public school was crazy about Bobby, especially Teresa, but Antoinette knew he was crazy for her. She didn’t exactly know how she knew, but she knew. 

They were playing handball against the wall of the diner. When they got tired, they found two old milk crates and sat down to watch Slow Rosie’s dad, Carmine Tafazzoli up on the roof with his pigeons. Bobby was busy explaining about pigeons when Antoinette felt him put his finger on her arm. She flinched, but he left it there. She felt him move his finger all the way down her arm, giving her a chilly-willy. 

He said, “I like you, Toni. I want to kiss you. Okay?” 

Antoinette’s head bobbed up and down, but nothing came out of her mouth. 

 He put his hands on her shoulders, turned her crate so they were facing each other and he kissed her. And before she knew what was happening, she put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him back. She tingled all over and didn’t want to let him go. She was two weeks shy of ten and Bobby was twelve. 

Carmine yelled down at them. “Hey! You two cut that stuff out. You ain’t old enough.” They looked up, laughed and ran back to the front of the house.


Looking back to
Go forward with,





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6 responses to “Do you remember …

  1. That’s a great snippet. 🙂 altho, my first kiss was not quite so sweet. I didn’t even really like mine… not til much later did kissing have an appeal. I love reading about that tension tho….. not the actual kiss, but everything that leads up to it.


  2. While the little snippets I saved are fiction, my first kiss was in my mom’s friend’s bathroom. Me and Vincent Seminelli sat on his mom’s tub and … he was kind of sweet on me and me on him.

    I did something on the Radio Stories where I talk about the only boy I didn’t hate … in real life he was actually Peter and the first boy I kissed was the other boy I didn’t hate.

    Thanks, PK … I’m glad you enjoyed these kids. They are the central characters of something I’ve had since the seventies and one of these days I’ll revisit them.


  3. christicorbett

    My first kiss involved a soccor goal post, a tattletale, and dictionary pages.

    Fifth grade. All girls starting to notice boys and vice-versa. Over the span of about a week, during recess, us fifth graders would go to the back soccer field. It was there that you could meet a boy under the soccer goal post, and then exchange a quick smootch 🙂

    (I should note here that the playground monitors and various school staff were starting to get wind of this, and express their displeasure at our activity)

    Anyway, my big crush (I still remember his name–Tom) and I kissed under the goalpost. A quick peck, and very sweet.


    When we got back in from recess, we were pulled aside by some random “grown-up”. It seems there was a snitch in our midst!

    Yep, got caught and got in trouble.

    Our punishment? To copy, WITH NO DEVIATIONS, two dictionary pages. And they checked too! If any of those weird punctuation marks that only seem to live in dictionaries were missing you got another page.

    And, as if it couldn’t get any worse, my MOM worked at the same school and found out about it. So, I got in trouble at home too.

    So, that was my first kiss (And my last one until seventh grade)

    Christi Corbett


  4. Two whole pages ?

    Those were only pretend kisses. The real first kiss was when me and my mom visited her girlfriend and me and her son sat in the bathroom in the next room. We were on the edge of the bathtub and we did it twice.

    I remember it like JoJo and Pewee.

    Thanks for taking so much trouble to be “here” again.


  5. It took me over thirty years to recover from my first kiss, and today, forty two years later, I sometimes wonder if full recovery is even a possibility. Because I know I will carry that kiss with me for the rest of my life, I doubt it will truly ever happen.
    It was early spring-after school in an empty classroom. I was twelve. He was thirty and a teacher in my junior high grade school. Handsome. Funny. All the girls had a crush on him. But for some reason he chose me. The summer after I graduated from eighth grade, he would take me out on his boat-a boat he told me he bought specifically for that purpose. My mother would bring me to meet him. Or he would come to my house and pick me up. Why nobody questioned it I’ll never know.
    But one day, for a reason still unknown to me, I decided to question it. I decided that I no longer wanted to go on his boat, or anywhere, for that matter, with him. My sister answered the phone when he called my house that morning and I told her I didn’t want to speak to him. She told my mother. That afternoon I sat on our stone wall, my mother questioning me, questioning, questioning, questioning. Why didn’t I want to see him? It felt like it took forever to explain to her that the relationship we had was inappropriate. That a thirty year old married man had no business with a just turned thirteen year old girl.
    Forty two years ago. The memories will always haunt me. My stomach twists as I recount it now and ready myself to send it into cyberspace. I know where he is and sometimes I think about going to his house to let him know that he changed my life forever and then spit in his face. But I don’t want to see him. In some ways I am afraid-that it will bring me back to that insecure young girl, craving something unknown. In others I think I’ve grown enough to be past it, that it’s helped shape the woman I am today, and I’ve finally become stronger because of it.
    It is what it is as they say these days. Those of you who read this and have been there understand. Others, like my first and second husband, never will. I know that. I accept it. It is what it is.


  6. Dennie, thanks for sharing. I know it wasn’t easy for you to do and I appreciate your courage.

    Know that there are millions of other who have gone through something like this.

    The way to spit in his face is to be happy in spite of what he did.

    Thanks so much.


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