I was a very shy teenager and so was my first boyfriend.  We had been dating for about 6 months; this included hand holding, watching movies and talking about nothing in particular.  We often came close to kissing and we both knew that we wanted to be kissed, but neither of us had the courage to make the first move.

Finally, while sitting on my living room couch, he decided to go for it.  We talked about the weather (really), then he leaned forward.  I put a pillow up to my face to block him.  He kissed the pillow.  I wanted to be kissed so badly, but I was too nervous to let him get close, so I moved away from him.  He moved closer.  We talked about the movie (who cared!), and he leaned forward again.  I blocked him out again.

I walked over near the front door and stood there, leaned against the wall with my arms crossed and said impatiently, "Well, are you going to kiss me or not?"  "Yes," he said.  So I stood tall, closed my eyes, puckered my lips and faced upwards.  I waited and waited.  Why wasn't he kissing me?  So I opened my eyes and he was coming right at me.  I smiled and he kissed my teeth.  I could have died.  He left.

Word got around high school and I never had another first kiss.  The first year away at college, I was determined to learn how to kiss good and I did.

One day I was home visiting.  I walked into the latest hangout and who do you suppose I saw sitting at the bar but my old kissing partner.  Well, I was going to show him the new me.  I walked over to his bar stool and tapped him on the shoulder.  Without hesitation, I took him in my arms, dipped him back over his stool, and kissed him with my most assertive kiss.  I sat him up, looked at him victoriously, and said, "So there!"

He pointed to the woman next to him and said, "Mary Jane, I'd like you to meet my wife."

                      Mary Jane West-Delgado