Recently, during countless chats with friends navigating the treacherous waters of parenting teens, the topic of that monumental “first kiss” has come up more often than not. While some of my friends’ kids have jumped headfirst into the complex world of kissing, others seem to yearn for a sweet peck as much as I crave my morning coffee. Meanwhile, many are far more engrossed in their virtual escapades—let’s face it, Minecraft and TikTok can offer far more certainty than the unpredictable tides of adolescence.
Most of us are fortunate enough to encounter a few electrifying kissing moments in our lives, which can lead us to believe in fate, love at first sight, or at least the undeniable pull of attraction. However, unless you’re living in a John Hughes film, your initial kiss likely fell short of expectations. My own first experience was a bizarre blend of awkwardness and intrigue.
My Two Soap Opera Crushes
At the tender age of 14, I found myself as a regular on the ABC soap opera One Life to Live (I’ve shared a bit about that journey here). In the early 1980s, the scandalous romance of Luke and Laura on General Hospital captivated audiences, prompting One Life to Live‘s producers to realize my character, Cassie Callison, needed not one, but two suitors to vie for her affections before summer break.
One suitor was a polished country club type adored by the snooty Dorian Lord; the other was a rough-around-the-edges mechanic with a questionable past, much to Dorian’s chagrin. The summer would unfold with Cassie torn between these two contrasting romances.
The producer of the show pitched this storyline to my mother and me during a hurried meeting at the studio. He had a peculiar habit of gazing just above our heads while speaking, leaving me to wonder if he was addressing me or an invisible figure in the distance. My mother bobbed her head in a frantic attempt to catch his eye, eager for reassurance that Cassie’s plot would remain age-appropriate. He winked knowingly as he concluded the meeting, playfully suggesting, “I’m sure Lila must have at least two boyfriends.”
In Reality, I Was Flying Solo
Unlike Cassie, I was boyfriendless at 14. My crushes on teen heartthrobs like Shaun Cassidy and Parker Stevenson filled my walls with posters from Tiger Beat, but I saw them more like art than potential partners. After spending the first eight years of school in an all-girls environment, boys remained a perplexing and slightly intimidating mystery. My friends gushed over boys’ lips and smiles, feelings I hadn’t yet grasped.
The Day I Kissed 14 Boys at 14
One bright April day, I was set to experience 14 first kisses on a soundstage, surrounded by a camera crew and network executives. My mother and I had been informed that auditions for both boyfriend roles would take place simultaneously, culminating in scenes that ended with passionate smooches.
Though my mother wanted to caution the producers about my inexperience, I insisted she stay silent. “I’ve got this,” I said, convinced it would be a hilarious part of my job, not a nerve-wracking ordeal.
As I entered the studio on West 66th Street, ready to meet my faux suitors, I saw all 14 of them lounging outside the rehearsal room—half were polished and preppy, the other half rugged and rebellious. They exuded an intoxicating charm.
One particularly striking guy with sandy hair and dimples caught my attention. I was unsure whether he was auditioning for the preppy role or the mechanic but, in that moment, I understood what “sexy” meant—it meant wanting to kiss someone’s dimples.
In a fit of desperation, I called my sister for advice, knowing she’d recently schooled me on the “four bases” of kissing. But when her dorm phone went unanswered, I resorted to calling my mother for guidance. “I’m at work. I saw the boys,” I said nervously.
“Do you want me to come to the studio?” she asked.
“No, I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“It’s just… they’re… handsome. And older. You know?”
“Are you scared?”
“Um… maybe. I don’t know…”
“Whenever I get nervous, I imagine them sitting naked in a field of strawberries.”
“Muuuum! I don’t want to envision any of these guys naked!”
She paused, and I heard my name called over the loudspeaker for makeup. “I have to go,” I said.
“Remember, they were once 14 too, and probably more nervous than you. Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”
“Duh.”
“And remember, we all pretend to know what we’re doing.”
A Tasting Menu of Kisses
That afternoon turned into a crash course on kissing. I gathered a wealth of knowledge in mere hours that would have taken years to accumulate in real life. The guys were actors with a lot to prove, just like I was.
One kisser, tall and lanky, approached with all the subtlety of a dentist on a mission. His tongue explored my mouth as if it were a dental exam. I winced, wondering if I needed to rethink my flossing habits.
Then there was the “world-class stage kisser,” who performed a masterclass in how to make it look like he was passionately kissing me while merely mashing his lips around mine—a baffling yet oddly impressive trick.
Another kisser surprised me with his erratic style, darting his tongue in and out, leaving me breathless and bewildered. I learned quickly that this sort of approach was far too much for my teenage nerves.
Yet, amidst the chaotic symphony of kisses, one stood out—a perfect blend of ease and connection. It wasn’t the fireworks I had imagined, but it was comfortable and just a little thrilling. I felt an undeniable spark with the dimpled boy, even if it was technically my ninth kiss of the day.
The Journey of First Experiences
Reflecting on that surreal day, I realize now my mother’s advice resonated deeply: we often navigate life’s big moments without a clear roadmap. Whether it’s a first kiss, love, job, or even loss, we learn to find glimmers of perfection amid the chaos.
That day could have been a disaster, but instead, it became a lesson in embracing the imperfect. There’s no such thing as a flawless first experience, only our ability to discover beauty in the messiness of life.
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