LGBTQ
Gay Awakening: Everybody Deserves a First-Time Story
Life should never be half-lived
The first girl I kissed had a mole on her cheek like Marilyn Monroe, and she was smoking a cigarette out the window of her dorm room in France the night my world was rocked for the first time.
I glanced at it while she was talking, because I found the way the smoke curled around it beautiful. She thought I was looking at her mouth. (Yes, also.)
When she smiled, it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was captivated, and she knew it.
Her next move was to slide toward the corner of the windowsill I was sitting on, too close and too determined to be mistaken for anything other than what it was.
She kissed me so abruptly, I almost fell out of the window.
Within the space of the seconds that first, tentative kiss lasted, I knew three things:
- I was definitely gay.
- I wanted her to do it again.
- Her roommate had just put her key in the door.
Right time, right place
We were teenagers, two weeks into a month-long stay at an international summer program focused on language. We had become friends quickly in our…
