First Frog I Kissed (Who Didn’t Transform Into Prince Charming)
I wasn’t one of those pretty mature girls in highschool.
I didn’t get the proper catcalling curves until my mid-college years. Despite the fact that I did have suitors, I decided to make it less awkward for me and my parents to not have a boyfriend until I hit college. When I started freshman year, I hung out with a group of girls who had the same plight as I was – single and boyfriendless. I was initially okay with it.
Until THEY started having boyfriends.
I was, of course, annoyed and incredibly jealous. I kept thinking, What the hell is wrong with me? I’m so much prettier than those girls! Why am I the one without a boyfriend? It didn’t matter that their boyfriends weren’t exactly that hot nor good-looking. They, at least, had one, compared to me. Me!
In came Rain.
I met Rain one wet and gloomy day in August. I was waiting for a Balic-Balic jeepney heading to Quiapo, when it started to drizzle. So, I opened my umbrella and stood under its shade. A short guy in a standard University of the East uniform was standing nearby, waiting for a Quiapo jeepney as well. He kept looking at me and my umbrella.
“Can I share your umbrella?” he asked me.
I took pity on him. “Yeah, sure.”
Rain was a very charismatic guy. As we stood under my umbrella, he struck a conversation with me, asking me where I was heading, what school am I from, where did I live, that sort of thing. When we finally caught ourselves a jeepney to ride, he continued chatting with me, oblivious that the other passengers were probably listening in on our conversation.
“I’m Rain, by the way.”
“I’m [Mistress].”
“Hey, is it okay if I get your number?”
“Ha? I don’t know, Rain.”
“Why? Your boyfriend won’t allow you to?”
“It’s not that. I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“So, it’s okay then. Come on, I just want to call you up and maybe hang out so we can get to know each other more.”
I was slightly embarrassed, as we were, after all, not alone and everybody who has been listening to our conversation knew by now that I just met this guy but I was flattered by his blatant display of interest and I admit, impressed that he had the chutzpah to ask for my number when I know I am certainly not the most approachable person. And okay, he has been the first guy to flirt with me for quite some time, except for YoungerGuy (who was heading nowhere), so it didn’t really take much for him to get my number.
He started calling me up and three days after we met, during one of his nightly visits to our home, he asked me if he had a chance with me. Naïve little ‘ol me, I, of course, said yes.
I wasn’t inlove with him. I was rather more inlove with the idea of him.
A boyfriend, finally.
I was now a part of the circle of girls in our class who had boyfriends.
In my defense, I did try to make myself believe that I was inlove with him. And frankly, it was easy since he was incredibly sweet and affectionate. We went out a lot, for a movie or dinner. Most of the time though, when he was broke, he’d just pick me up at school or just drop me off before my class. He was very much into public displays of affection and he’d make me kiss him frequently on the cheek or with a quick smack on the lips. I wasn’t really that ready for anything else.
Until one day, we went to watch a movie. As soon as we sat down and the lights went off, he moved his head closer to mine for a kiss. I assumed it was going to be one of those quick smacks so I puckered up.
And boy, was I wrong.
As soon as my lips touched his, he forcefully stuck his tongue into my mouth and gave me a taste of my first French kiss.
A first kiss can be incredibly shocking for someone who has had no experience at all in the open-mouthed art of tongue-wrestling. It becomes even more shocking when you did not expect it at all from someone you were only semi inlove with. I remembered feeling so shocked that I actually opened my eyes in surprise and found myself looking at him as he kissed me with my eyes closed.
As I felt the papillae and bristles in his tongue brushing against my own, I remembered thinking, Hmmm… My first French kiss…. This isn’t exactly as earth-shattering as I expected. Why the hell are people making such a big deal about kissing being sweet and delicious? It’s not. This feels weird… Ugh! I can feel those papilla again!…
Needless to say, it was not romantic at all.
But as with everything else, I know how to fake enthusiasm. So, I closed my eyes and proceeded to rolling my tongue around and around his mouth as if I actually knew what I was doing, all the while pretending that I too was enjoying kissing him.
I was more likely a bad kisser then. Trust me, I am sooo much better now. LOL. Kidding.
The next day, I was just so awed by what we did that I told my friends about it… So I used to kiss-and-tell. Sue me… They laughed as I narrated my opinion regarding the experience.
“You know, kissing IS supposed to be like that. You should just get used to it and eventually, you’ll start liking it,” said YoungMama, who has had a boyfriend since highschool.
“Really? But it all just felt so icky! I could feel all the ridges in his tongue.”
Lee Lee giggled. “Seriously girl, it’s your first time. Trust me, you’ll like it eventually.”
“But it felt strange! And so wet! I don’t know how you can stand it!”
“That’s supposed to be what a French kiss feels like, you idiot!,” YoungMama explained to me, laughing at me.
“Oh! Okay…”
It turns out Rain had ideas of his own as before I could even start getting used to it, he started moving on to another more dangerous maneuver: copping a feel.
But that’s another story.
Butterflies In Your Stomach Times One Hundred
The first time I fell truly inlove was with my 2nd boyfriend. I was 18, he was 15. I met him while I was in my 1st year of college, living with my cousins who were all male and he, a friend of theirs who frequently hanged out with them, lived next door.
I call him, YoungerGuy.
YoungerGuy was tall, lanky, neat-looking and he knew how to dress well. The courtship between YoungerGuy and me was long and tortuous. One day, he’d be showing up at our house, watch TV with me and my cousins at the den, and the next day, he was a no-show. I knew he was interested – I would frequently catch him looking at me – but my cousin’s teasings did not give him enough confidence to approach me. I, having been brought up conservatively, like in the 1960’s (LOL. Just kidding!) was thought never to initiate anything with a guy until he lays all his cards out. Since I wasn’t wise on the ways of flirting back then, I made no such move to show him that I too was interested, despite the fact that I was harboring a huge crush on him already. I would sketch him from my favorite window corner as he messed around with the kids from the neighborhood or played basketball with my cousins. I pretended not to see him when he was around, paid him no special attention, was awkward and quiet whenever we would cross paths. He occasionally invited me to church and I occasionally went with him. I was impatient back then, eager to experience having my first boyfriend, since all my friends were starting to have theirs, leaving me alone in my blessed singleness. Seeing that he wasn’t moving fast enough for me, I took a step back from the developments that were going on between the two of us and I got myself a boyfriend my cousins did not approve of, while all the while we continued playing the innocent game of innocently trying to catch each other’s eye.
After a month I realized that first boyfriend was a mistake and I broke up with him. That finally gave YoungerGuy the encouragement he needed and he finally stepped up, telling me his intentions and requesting to be the 18th rose on my debutante’s party. A week after, while riding the taxicab together at the backseat, as we shyly scribbled notes to each other to avoid being heard by my cousin who was sitting at the front seat, we decided to go steady.
And thus started the drama of my very first love.
The thing about first loves is that none of your other relationships will ever come close to the gamut of feelings that it brings out in you. It’s the butterflies in your stomach, multiplied a hundred times. It will always be the most magical kind of love that one will ever experience in his/her entire life. The first love is the kind of love when you were still innocent about the flirting rules, when no hint of jadedness from past relationships will mar the way you see that blossoming love. At that time, I was simply the naïve little girl who believed that the love we had will last forever and I blatantly held on to those ideals, thinking that nothing will ever tear us apart.
We found joy in doing the most simplest of things: cheering him on during his basketball games, writing each other poetry, watching a movie, reading each other’s journals, making out in the dark and quickly separating as soon as we hear footsteps going down the stairs. It was a heavenly time in my life and he was the reason for it.
Oh, we had our silly arguments, mostly regarding my lack of affection. He wanted me to be more touchy-feely, to show more vulnerability, and I was frequently torn between having to live up to his expectations from me and having to follow the rules of appropriateness as taught to teenage girls by academically-driven strict parents. I wasn’t ready to show him who I really am, still afraid to be that vulnerable with him and neither was he settling for less than what he believed a real boyfriend-girlfriend relationship should have. Still, somehow, we found a way to compromise and for almost two years, it was just pure bliss.
Until time caught up with us.
By the time he entered his 1st year in college, things gradually changed. He was slowly starting to realize that he was too young to be in a committed relationship and he didn’t want his first girlfriend to be his last. I sensed that, refused to acknowledge it at first, and we started fighting a lot about the most stupid things until finally, I realized, I had no right to hold him back. So we finally broke up.
I cried for a day. Vowed never to fall inlove again. Hated him for a week. Miserably waited for him to realize that he had made a mistake for a month. Mourned for the love that I lost for for months. I passed through all the stages of bereavement: denial, anger, bargaining, until finally, acceptance. I began to be at peace with the fact that we just weren’t meant to be. And a year or so later, I finally fell inlove again with someone else.
It’s been 8 years since the break-up. YoungerGuy and I have remained good friends. He’s still single, has a 4-year-old son now and is currently working at a call center. Yes, when we occasionally catch each other on-line and send messages through Friendster, I still feel some sort of attraction. The butterflies will always be there. There are times that I still find myself wondering about what could have been. But in all honesty, I am genuinely glad that we broke up. Back then, our young naive hearts fooled us into believing that we will love each other forever. I now know that our relationship was just not meant to last that long. We were still so young and we both had a lot of growing up to do. When you fall inlove at a young age and meet that person you think you want to spend the rest of your life with, you will always have those doubts that maybe, just maybe, there is still someone better out there. But you try to pretend those thoughts do not exist, only to let the nagging question haunt you.
“Is this as good as it gets?”
Breaking up gave us the opportunity to find out the answer ourselves. The only way to make that question stop haunting you is to risk everything, go out there and find out yourself. I met other guys, some better than him, a few I fell for even harder than I did before and I’m sure he probably met his share of women as well. I’m still nowhere near finding the answer, but in my quest, I have met some who came close. So, for now, my answer to this question is:
“No, not yet, but maybe someday soon.”
— Inspired by The Dating Dummy’s “My Apologies for the Rather Lengthy Radio Silence”
