I like it when my friends talk about their first time stories – first kiss, first time doing it, first lofe, first breakup, and some even their first marriage proposal. It’s different for different people, especially the first time they were kissed. Their ages varies from 16, 19, or 25. As this is going on, they’re all talking over each other, giggling like teenagers, and as one, they turn to me for an answer.
But the thing is, I don’t have a story to tell. I’m 29, and I’ve never been on a date, haven’t had a boyfriend, nor have I ever been kissed. It’s not that I’m a prude or I’m frigid. I definitely know that I’m not the latter because I do enjoy reading the naughty bits in my beloved romance novels, and I certainly enjoy directing them in my own novels that I’m currently working on. As to the former, well…
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Anyway, there was never an opportunity for me to kiss a guy. I was always immersed in books, both academic as well as my favorite novels. You might even call me a nerd. I wasn’t into sports, I wasn’t even friends with many guys till I went to college. I guess, that can be largely attributed to the fact that I spent my post-puberty days in an all-girls school. And there weren’t any boys’ schools nearby either to ogle and make goo goo eyes at. Trust me, some of my friends had looked – thoroughly.
But the thing is, until recently, I’d never felt deprived of anything by missing out on one of the most intimate and pleasurable (or so I’ve heard) gestures between two people. A kiss was just that – a kiss. I’d seen plenty of kisses – with or without tongue action – on the telly and in the movies. I’d even vicariously enjoyed them through my beloved romance novels. To be quite frank, I’d never even given much thought to the fact that I was a kiss-virgin.
While most of my friends are now either married or in loving relationships or having kids, I was used to seeing their kissy PDA-filled pictures inundating my social media feed. I’d get wistful upon seeing them, thinking maybe something was wrong with me inherently. That I was somehow to blame for being a kiss-virgin. It was beginning to get incredibly hard not to let that thought bring me down.
It felt like even my beloved romance novels had turned against me. Every other chapter turned out to be angst-filled twenty-somethings making out and necking, and then move on to the next logical step, aka, the bed. *eyeroll*
Suggested read: 16 foolproof kissing techniques for an earth-shattering kiss
But if I let it, the thought that I was unkissed would overwhelm me, to a point where it would consume all my thoughts to the point where I’d start obsessing over it, as if I had nothing else to do in the world.
Ruing the fact of being unkissed is one thing. Letting it consume me every minute of every day? It’s insanity, I decided. Plain INSANITY! Not to mention that it was ridiculous! Why would I let the fact that I am unkissed let it dictate how I live my life?
First and foremost, I’m an individual with my own thoughts and ideas, likes and dislikes, dreams and aspirations.
And who I am, does not and should not depend on what others think of me.
How happy or sad I am does not and should not be dependent on the fact that someone either decides to kiss me or not.
It could happen as I bump into a cute guy at the coffee place tomorrow morning, or it could happen after I hit my 30s. Or, it might never happen at all. However, I’m NOT going to let anyone else’s opinions and feelings about me change or dictate my own feelings about myself.
It’s my life, after all. I should have all the power on how I make myself happy. Nobody else’s opinions and feelings should matter to me. So what if I’m in my late 20s and never been kissed? If I hadn’t decided to pen this down, nobody would’ve known about it but me.
In short, it’s not relevant to who I am as a person, as an individual, and as a woman. My unkissed status, just like my unrelationship status, does not and should not matter to anyone but me. Why? Because that doesn’t define me.
I’m 29, and I’ve never been kissed.
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