I’ll never forget my first kiss. I was fourteen. It was at Yosemite. I was camping there with my mother and she let me bring my best friend, Shelley. We met these guys and I developed a shy crush on one boy. His name was Lance and he was from Monrovia, CA. I was living a few miles outside San Francisco and anything L.A. seemed so cool. And I loved his name, I thought it was romantic. Lance. L-A-N-C-E. He was tall and seventeen and he gave me a beer. We all climbed onto this big tree that had fallen across the river and I sat there and waited. I kept looking up at him, wondering when he was gonna do it, and then finally. He leaned down and kissed me.

And I fell off the tree trunk and into the river.

Sputtering, I got up but it was too late. We’d been camping for five days; no hair-dryer, no black eyeliner. No matches to melt said eyeliner. When I popped back up from that sandy river I looked like shit. And Lance gave me his hand, pulled me to my feet, and smiled. Then he moved on to Shelley.

We’re not friends anymore.

So that’s my first kiss story. What’s yours?