Birthday Kiss: A Tale Of Lost Virginity

I had never really been excited about turning 17. The way I saw it, it was an age that meant nothing. Aside from legal admission to R-rated movies, I still had to wait a year to apply for most jobs or buy anything my parents wouldn’t want me having. It was saying to others, “Yeah, I’m practically an adult, but my curfew’s 11 p.m., so I better head off now.”

I found it strange when my friends made a big deal about it.

A couple days before I officially turned 17, a birthday lunch was thrown for me by some old friends. During the meal, I found myself constantly glancing to the far left side of the table. Glancing back at me was a girl with a soft face, smiling as she brushed long, dark hair behind her ear.

Jane was a small girl with a tiny voice, just a couple months younger than me. Her laughter was loud, but her conversation quiet, often mouthing words to me with full, soft lips. We hadn’t known each other long, but it had been nearly a year since my last relationship.

As she continued to smile at me, I remembered what she had promised me that afternoon: a birthday kiss.

I received the present later on in a dark movie theater. Near the end of the film, her slim body rested against mine. My eyes met hers and she pulled me down to speak.

“Would you ever do anything else with me?” she whispered.

Like any intelligent teenage boy, I nodded enthusiastically.

A week later, I found myself walking to a church to meet Jane with a box of recently purchased condoms in my pocket. Purchasing them was mostly stress-free. I escaped the glare of an elderly neighbor with the box in hand.