Who were you for your first kiss?

I arrived late to the whole kissing business. Like, around 15ish late. I finally scored my first snog at a school dance.  A boy from another school showed interest in me. Boys had never showed interest in me before. I was so dazzled that I failed to notice he was missing a few teeth. Possibly his front ones. It didn’t escape my friends attention though, who teased me mercilessly about it the next day. You’d think I’d have been aware of the missing teeth while playing tonsil hockey. But, having no prior experience with tonsil hockey, it somehow escaped me. It was also pretty dim in the school canteen. And no, I hadn’t been drinking.

I don’t remember much about my first kiss, but plenty about the humiliation that followed. I can’t recall what he looked like or even his name. When I try to picture him, I see Murray, my Frenz of the Enz penpal from the same era. Murray lived in Brisbane and bore a passing resemblance to Timothy Spall.

It was another year before I got kissed again. I remember zip about the second one. Possibly because I kept pashing him for the next six years so it just blurred into the rest. We got pretty good at snogging over the years. As you do in your late teens and early 20s when you’re getting all that practice.

I don’t have the best skin for pashing. Stubble rub makes me look like there’s a terrible infection blossoming in a halo around my mouth. I blame the frenetic kissing of my youth for the constant need to slather concealer on my ruddy chin today.

The kisses I remember best are the ones stolen in dark alleys after long, sweaty, alcohol-infused hours in nightclubs. Those faintly illicit, naughty smooches. Recalling their giddy rush is my inspiration when writing saucy bits in my book and scripts.

There isn’t much kissing in my life these days. Husband would be up for it in a heartbeat, but I’ve gone off the idea a bit. I blame it on my affection for that faintly illicit, naughty snogging. When you’ve been with someone for 20 years it’s a little too familiar.

It’s weird to think I will never kiss another man – except Husband – again. Well, unless Husband divorces me for my obsessive cooking and nagging and shopping.

If he does throw me over, I’m worried that it’s unseemly to shove your tongue down men’s throats when you’re in your late 40s. Should you show decorum and simply press your lips passionately against your middle-aged paramour like they do in Pride And Prejudice?

Another one of the many things I don’t need to fret about but do.

TELL ME ABOUT YOUR FIRST KISS, GO ON …