Misspinkkate has asked for stories of first kisses. I have delayed in my response because of what is probably a travesty � I�m not sure I remember mine. I know it�s supposed to be a memory that lasts forever, but to be honest, I�m not really sure what defines a first kiss. Was it kissing Eric Angel in a game of spin-the-bottle in the sixth grade? I don�t remember much about that except sweaty palms and giggling. Was it getting grabbed and kissed by my crush in a moment of pre-performance exuberance as we headed onstage for a performance of the Music Man in the eighth grade (thanks to luvabeans for reminding me of this one)? That one left me weak in the knees, to the point that I was still addled by it when I ran into the guy out of the blue 10 years later in front of Port Authority in NY. Was it the dramatic kiss I received from my senior prom date who, after deciding to come out of the closet did so to me in the middle of the dance floor then said, �If I weren�t gay I�d marry you� and planted a big wet one on my very confused 17-year-old lips?

I didn�t have my first real boyfriend until after high school. I went to four different schools for high school, which was good for my independence but bad for my social life. My senior year I won a scholarship to a writing workshop. S. was in my group. He was cute, smart, funny and ambitious and we took an instant liking to one another. We decided to collaborate on a short play for our workshop. Our first kiss was on a beautiful summer day. We had decamped to quirky local park with artistically created Gothic ruins in the middle of it in order to work on our play. We climbed around and settled into a corner of grass inside the stones. As I was unpacking my bag, he leaned over and kissed me on the back of the neck. I looked up, surprised and never finished taking things out of the bag. We dated for most of the summer and then split for college, he to Ohio to study architecture, me to Massachusetts to become a journalist, or so I thought at the time. I never heard from him again.

I dated on and off during college, but nothing very significant arose in the way of a relationship. My first love was someone I met one summer in France. He was American and in school with me. That was the first kiss to really take my breath away, but not the last. In my memory, that relationship was perfect, because it was pivotal and it had many elements of classic romance. But in reality, it was far from perfect and I spent more time being miserable. But as odalisk was discussing in her diary over the weekend, sometimes it�s hard to remember relationships that made you miserable as they really were, particularly when they turn out to be important in defining your character later on. The imperfect memory of an imperfect relationship with a few perfect moments sealed with one perfect kiss.

Ultimately none of these kisses mattered much. I've found my perfect kiss and I don't intend to share it. My husband and I met on a blind date. Our first kiss was in the dark Gothic doorway on campus after a concert. That was the one that really counted. That was the real first kiss. And that's the only one I really remember.

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