I Kissed a Girl and Liked It

So, it's time for another confession, following on from my "I Kicked A Girl and Didn't Like It" piece. It's not necessary to read that one before this one. But, if you choose to, great.

Before I go any further into the story, I want to give a shout-out to Simon George, who, due to a recent entry into the Microfiction Magic by him called I'm Always Losing Love, gave me the extra push to go right ahead and put this out there.

I was reluctant for various reasons. I don't mind sharing personal stuff. I usually do it in every single thing I post. Even the most surreal or seemingly silly throwaway thing I've published here is generally grounded in something real, whether a thought, emotion or something else.

But, I thought maybe some good could come of me potentially sharing one of my most embarrassing (not sure if that's the right word because it is what it is, but as I do feel some shame and am nervous about people finding this out about me, it'll do).

Anyway, so I left school when I was 16. After doing three months of a trainee chef training course, an on-the-job type thing, the following year, I enrolled in an NC or National Certificate in Retail Marketing (yeah, I am not really sure either; I needed to do something and that sounded good enough).

It was the usual mix of school leavers, slightly older ones and those returning to formal education as adults. I had formed friendships with a couple of the guys and had at least a passing crush on one of the girls on the course.

She had nice light brown hair, was quieter than some of the girls, and I think she was just quite pretty. I've never considered myself to be that good-looking or anything, and when it comes to talking to women face to face, I always feel out of my depth, well did when I was younger.

So, I never really plucked up the courage to do anything about it...until sometime into the course had passed and she had what we call in Scotland "an empty". Her parents were away for a few days, and she and her older sister were having a party. Everyone on the course was invited. By this time, a few people knew I liked her - the guys I hung around with, at the very least. So, they were all egging me on that I might get an opportunity etc. I was unsure how successful I would be, but it was a chance to try and be social (something I struggled with) and meant I could get out for the night and not seem like a sad sack. Even if part of my social phobia was already kicking in, I knew I'd be alright after a few beers had been sunk.

Me and this other guy were going to stay at another guy's house as it was in the area where the home of the girl who was having the part was. That way, we could stay there late, get hammered, and not worry about trying to get home etc.

I had a feeling things would happen, even though I lack little to no game (as the kids would say or people from the 90s), but there was just something in the air. Either that or my overactive imagination, overconfidence and raging hormones were filling in the gaps.

The night of the party arrived, I had been gifted a condom because safe sex is essential, and we headed to her house. My memory may be highly foggy about details...this is a running theme with many of my biographical pieces. However, one thing I do remember is it was fucking massive. There must have been 50+ people at the party and enough breathing room. There was a large staircase to the upper floor, the kitchen was huge, and it was not the size of the house I was used to, as I came from a reasonably working-class family.

The house didn't put me off; it just fascinated me. I can't remember the details, but after a short while, I went from the guys and went to the kitchen with the girl I was interested in for a beer. For clarity, not that I care much, I was 18 by this point, so it was all legal, baby. For underage drinking stories, you need to look elsewhere (I've not published any yet...but I may at a later point).

I cannot remember the exchange we had before we kissed, but we admitted to liking each other and then bingo. Lips were attached a lot. I was not the most experienced but I improved after the first few rounds. There were indeed no complaints from her.

It was like that funny thing that often happens when people first get together, especially if it's an early experience. We kissed, spoke a little, cuddled up, kissed more....kissed more and kissed more. Stopped for a beer...and kissed more. Then as night progressed, we headed upstairs.

More kissing happened...unfortunately, a lot of action was happening in the bedrooms. So although more kissing and, let's say, groping and stroking occurred, she was very reluctant to take things any further. I was happy enough and was not going to ignore her. We continued like that for a bit in the bedroom, then took it elsewhere. Then soon, the time was up to go; time flies when you're having fun, I guess.

Without being too arrogant, based on what was occurring, I felt like the man at the time.

The next day there was the usual teasing and taking the piss about what happened. Then I went home.

It was then that my social anxiety came crawling back to the front. I felt less like the man in the stone-cold sober of the next few days. He was more like the guy who would face a lot of annoying crap when he returned to college.

In hindsight, it would not have been unbearable; I see that now. At the time, though, it built and built in my head, and I just imagined it being something I couldn't shake.

Then also the whole potential relationship thing and worries about that. I just managed to let that cowardly side of me take the wheel. As I was already having doubts about the course and where it might take me, it was becoming more and more like a good time to bail.

Only about a week ago, some people learned about this story, and now anyone who reads this post will know it. I am not condoning my actions, but that is how I felt then; I just wanted to sever everything. It was like a switch went off in my head, and my mood and feelings about the party changed.

That's fine. It came to mind because I am about to start counselling, and I've been doing a lot of self-reflection. I have done it in the past, but usually, it's purposeless and only serves to beat me up. Now, I am trying to put the pieces together and work out why I am so damaged and how to make the changes that can be made, manage the things that can't be changed and come to terms with who I am.

It's interesting because one of the reasons why I never share that story is because I've always been afraid of how it reflects on me as a person. There are stories I will always share, even ones where I look foolish or arguably worse than I do in this story because I'm at peace with them. This one has taken the best part of 25 years to tell anyone.

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Thanks for reading!