Marla's First Kiss by Iris Rosewater

Warren leaned down, his eyes starting to close and his lips advancing… Marla felt her heart beat wildly as she realized that this was it. Her first kiss happening right now…

Marla wanted to be kissed. Really kissed. She was a hopeless romantic and finally 16 years old. She studied kisses in movies. Old movies had the harsh kisses – planted by heroic men on the painted lips of helpless women like Ingrid Bergman and Eva Gardner. They never looked all that enjoyable. Marla always wondered if the actresses got sore necks after shooting those scenes for too long. And then there were the modern versions of those pushy kissing scenes, where it seemed almost frenzied and pretty sloppy. Her favorites, she decided long ago, were the slow ones. You could see it in their eyes long before their lips met, and the kiss was a perfect prelude to some epiphany they had simultaneously. Yes, those tentative, sweet kisses were just her style. And, now that she could legally date, she was on a mission in pursuit of her first.

For her birthday, Marla had asked for a transforming make over. Haircut, new clothes, nails done… the whole nine yards. Up to now, it hadn’t really mattered if anyone thought she was “hot,” because she couldn’t do anything about it. Now, however, it was of the utmost import that she look her absolute best. She felt pretty realistic about her appearance. She didn’t pretend to think she was ugly so her friends would goosh reassurances at her. But, she also knew she wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous. She considered herself “cute”. Borderline pretty. And, with new highlights in her dirty-blonde hair, eyelashes curled, and push-up bra applied, she started looking around for perspective kissers.

Homecoming was fast approaching, and Marla had narrowed her list of decent boys down to two – Warren Gentry and Kyle Spencer. Neither were attached. They fell into a similar category with Marla – they were borderline cute and had decent personalities. If she wasted her time oogling over the boys every sophomore oogled over –like Mike Draper, for instance- she would never get asked out. Boys like that could have any girl they wanted.

Strategy was everything. She bribed her friend in American History to switch seats with her, so she could take the chair next to Warren. When the next project came up, she sweetly asked him if he’d be her partner. It was kind of a sacrifice in the name of the kiss to ask him… he wasn’t the best student. But, it would be worth it! He had good lips… not the thin kind that didn’t stick out at all, or thick kind… they were a nice complement to her own bee-stung set.

In Biology, she already sat at the same lab table with Kyle. He was very shy and had a rather sad case of acne, which covered most of his nose and chin. As she watched him read the questions at the end of chapter 6 aloud, she studied the pustule at the end of his nose and abruptly changed her mind about him. She couldn’t take any chances that her first kiss would be oily in any way.

After a couple of weeks of sitting next to Warren and carefully playing her cards, he had started to show some interest in Marla. He walked her to her next class, and then started waiting outside the portable to walk her to lunch after that. On the Monday before Homecoming, Warren acted nervous as they sat at the table with a group of friends. He concentrated on dipping his French fries with extra care, and avoided eye contact with Marla. She smiled wryly to herself as the girls beside her laughed and chatted. Finally, they left the lunch room. Staring at his feet and mumbling, he asked her and she pretended surprise, covering her mouth as she let out a little gasp. She bounced to biology, where she hadn’t so much as glanced at Kyle Spencer for days.

Lots of preparation went into Homecoming. Marla’s best friend, Dawn came over in the late afternoon to help primp. They had selected a dark blue dress with swirling sequins along the neckline and the cut of the empire waist, and layers of thin gauzy fabric trailing to her pedicured toes. Dawn had her first real kiss a whole year earlier and tried to impart any helpful knowledge she could, demonstrating her expertise on her own hand for the full effect. They decided when she should blot her lip gloss, so it wouldn’t be too sticky or leave any residue on his lips.

The dance went fine. Not fabulously. He was a poor dancer, shifting his weight from one foot to the other while awkwardly encompassing her in his gangly arms during slow dances, and moving his arms around strangely and bobbing during the fast ones. She felt a little embarrassed of him and tried really hard not to show it on her face. The dance was inconsequential, anyway. It was AFTER the dance that was important. Marla stuck it out like a trooper, imagining meeting her lofty goal within hours.

Warren hadn’t had the best time, either. He felt awkward about the whole thing, really. In a gentlemanly fashion, he went around his parents’ Volvo wagon to open Marla’s door. She took his hand as he helped her out, and then held on to it while they walked to the front door. It was only 11:30 (1/2 hour pre-curfew) so she was confident that her dad wouldn’t be peeking through the blinds every thirty seconds, watching for her. They stood on the front porch for a couple of minutes, still holding hands. Warren kept his gaze on his scuffed borrowed shoes, while Marla quietly said her thanks for a lovely evening. She had practiced her doe eyed-inviting look in the mirror that very day, and conjured it up right when she caught his glance. Tentatively, he leaned forward (just like she had hoped) and then proceeded to press his medium-sized lips against hers. Very quickly, Marla realized her plan had been flawed. His mouth opened, exceeding the feminine circumference of her own in a horrible way. And then came his tongue. He must have been breathing with his mouth open, she thought to herself, because it was strangely cold and reminded her of a big slug slopping itself around hers. He seemed not to notice her disgust and kept kissing her for a good 15 seconds before she found a way to tie it off and go into a quick hug, so she could wipe some excess saliva on his jacket (thank goodness she’d blotted the lip-goo off, or it would have given her away). He stepped back dreamily, looking into her face and saying he had fun and they should do it again sometime. Or, never… she thought to herself, pasting a temporary smile on her sullied mouth. She said goodnight and swept inside, running up the stairs before anyone could catch her and ask how it went.

In the bathroom, she spent 15 minutes scrubbing every centimeter of the inside of her mouth and tongue with a new toothbrush and baking soda toothpaste. One minute for every second of the wretched invasion. And then she went to her bedroom and flopped onto her bed, ripping off her strappy high heels, jerking at the zipper on her dress and throwing it on the floor. Lying in her slip, she went over the last few weeks in her mind. All that work. She cried. She cried for wasting her energy. She cried for her first kiss being terrible. But, in the end, she cried for what she’d done to Warren and knew she would have to undo it. And the very last tear Marla shed before falling asleep that night was in the moment she realized that she was not a hopeless romantic after all.