Let me tell you about my first kiss. It was when I was 19. It was with a guy I'd met online. He lived in Georgia at the time, and I was in Kentucky.
He was five years older than me.
He drove up to visit me. We went to Mammoth Cave. I held his hand. I wasn't sure whether I liked holding his hand. I thought maybe his fingers were too big. He talked to my dad and I thought he sounded like sophomoric.
I told myself I wasn't giving him a chance.
We watched Moollan Rogue (or however you spell it) and I hated it. He loved it. We went for a walk at the new park. I'd never been. He stared at me a lot. We sat down on a bench, the bench was hard and he was really tall. People were walking by and I thought there might be bugs in the tall grass behind us. He kissed me and it was cool and kind of slimy and tasted weird. It didn't feel special, it felt kind of gross, and when he licked his lips and said it was great I wanted to make a face. There were no feet popping, no sizzling, not even a fizzle or a spark. I told myself it was just because I was so nervous, I told myself it wasn't horrible or revolting so that was good.
I wasn't sure I liked him but I told myself I wasn't giving him a chance.
I said "we'll have to practice."
What I meant was "I really hope it gets better than this."
It didn't ever, not really.
That's why I believe in chemistry, because no-chemistry exists.
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