Lori: My very first kiss was in kindergarten. While heading outside for playtime, he startled me with a bird-peck right on the beak. Unbeknownst to me, the decoy was designed to throw me off guard for his subsequent slug to my gut. I’ll never forget that time I was sucker punched by cupid’s arrow.
Val: Unlike ‘whori’ Lori, my first kiss wasn’t until second grade. He was my first crush, and I puppy loved him. As he leaned in for an awkward kiss, I bolted back, tripping over my bike. Tumbling heels over head, my skirt flipped up and over my face. Mortified, we avoided eye contact until he eventually moved out of town.
Lori: The first time I received a french kiss was in Grade 8. It was a jarring, tongue-thrusting event, similar to a lizard probing for crickets. Before finding my prince, I fooled around with a fair number of frogs. Not all of them ended in reptile dysfunction.
Val: My introduction to french kissing happened in Grade 9, when he assumed the way to my heart was through my esophagus. Up until then, my gag reflex had only been hair-triggered by a tongue depressor. I gave him a gross misconduct for violating the rules of tonsil hockey, and ejected him from the game.
These days, smooching is highly underrated. Maybe it’s time to bring back “long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.” The kind of kiss that makes your peepee tingle. Fun fact: one minute of necking burns 6.4 calories. That means if you suck face for 55 minutes, you’ve earned a sin-free slice of chocolate cake. Lady boner, schwing!
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