#MyFirst... Date

I was a horrible person.

Okay, I wasn't really a horrible person. I was just young. And I was very inexperienced in the Ways of the Male. Or rather, how to deal appropriately with the Ways of the Male.

I was fifteen years old, and on holidays in Surfers Paradise with my parents. I had brought along a friend, and a few other friends of mine were there with various parents. My friends and I had met up one night for dinner at the local Toga restaurant, Roman Scandals. (Yes, the wait staff wore togas. It was considered very Of The Moment.)

Clive and friends

I had some Donelli Lambrusco at dinner, because it was sweet and cheap and that's what we drank (and if you are under 18 and reading this, underage drinking is BAD, as you will learn from this post).

I can't remember the details because a) it was thirty years ago, and b) Donelli Lambrusco, but somehow after dinner I ended up being walked back to our Surfers apartment by Clive the Toga Waiter. Clive was 18 or so - not much older than me - and very cute in the dark, at least when viewed through the prism of cheap, spritzy wine.

I was a little late for curfew, and as Clive waited by the elevator with me, and pressed his 18 year old lips to mine, the lift doors opened, and out jumped my father.

"I have to go!" I cried to Clive, and followed my dad into the lift.

"When did you meet that boy?" my father asked me.

"Tonight," I said sheepishly, and he shook his head.

The next day, I met Clive the Toga Waiter at the beer garden down the road. We had arranged our date when we were pashing, and it had seemed exciting at the time. I had never gone on a formal date before, and Clive looked so cute in the Donelli.

But when I got to the beer garden, and saw him in daylight without his toga (meaning, in shorts and a tee shirt - not naked, for goodness sake), I realised I had made a terrible mistake.

"You want a drink?" Clive asked me, and I shook my head.

"You want some chips?" he tried again, and I shook my head once more.

And so I sat, beside him, not saying a word, as he scoffed his chips and drank his beer and watched the footy game on the telly, thinking no doubt (because I was), "what an absolute little nob".

Then, after twenty minutes had passed, I said "I have to go," and left. And then I ran, and took a shower, and never saw his face again.

So that was my first ever date. Pretty hideous, but memorable. My second (first) date was much, much better.

But that is another story.

Next week's topic: #MyFirst... Agonising Loss of Material Possession

#MyFirst... Kiss

Each Monday I will be writing about a First. I will choose the First (first kiss? first drink? first fight? first phobia?)I will post the topic here and write my own little piece about it. And I will invite YOU to write about your own First on your blog anytime during the week. If you have never experienced that particular first, write about why not. And how you feel about that.
Then add your blog post via the linky below, and/or tweet it under the hashtag #MyFirst.

Today's topic is My First... Kiss

I was 14 years old, and I was in the back of a car, being driven to somewhere exciting.

There were a few of us in the car - my bestie, another friend or two, and a boy I'd never met before. A cute boy. A 15 year old. A boy with a whiff of facial hair about his upper lip. We hadn't exchanged any words at that point, but he was in the seat next to me, and he was very close.

The boy's name was Reuben Valentino. And no it wasn't, but I swear to god it was something very similar. He was a Jewish Lothario, a boy with a reputation of a love god, and a slightly Yiddish name to match.

I don't recall where we were going, but I do recall enjoying the ride. I was young and innocent and enjoying being out in a car and feeling the intoxicating power of being 14 years old. I was chatting to my bestie about something terribly exciting, and then I turned my head, and suddenly there was a tongue in my mouth. Oh yes. Reuben Valentino had pressed his prickly face to mine and he had opened his lips and PUT HIS TONGUE IN MY MOUTH.

For the love of god get that thing away from me!

What on earth?

I got the shock of my life. It took me a few moments to work out that Reuben was actually kissing me. It didn't feel at all like it looked in the movies. It wasn't very nice at all. In fact, it was a bit disgusting. It was like a tepid, fat slug had found it's way into my mmouth and was rolling around in there looking for food. I really wanted it to stop.

I didn't realise I was supposed to have my eyes closed and glanced up to notice the 19 year old driver of the car staring at us in the rear vision mirror. Well, that was awkward. It was bad enough that I had a slug in my mouth, but to have others there to witness my humiliation made the whole experience even worse. Being 14 wasn't so great after all.

The kiss-type thing finally ended, and at some point we climbed out of the car. I can't recall anything else of the evening, but I know we didn't kiss again. I kept well enough from Reuben to make sure of that. But I was rather anxious about his expectations. How could I explain to Reuben that I didn't want a relationship? How could I break up with him when we'd never actually started going out?

Well, I needn't have worried. The next day, I got a phone call at home*.

"Kerri? It's Reuben."

My tongue contracted in horror.

"Yes?"

"I hear you just want to be friends. So we'll be friends, yeah?"

"Er.. yeah. Thanks."

"See ya."

"See ya."

And that was the last of Reuben and his tongue, though I am sure it graced many a happy mouth in its time.

Postscript: About 3 or 4 boys later, I started having excellent pashes. Sometimes you need to kiss a few slugs to get to your prince.

*Well, of course it was at home. It was the 80's. We didn't have mobiles in those days.

Next week's topic: My First... Bestie