I was probably fifteen.

I was probably fiffteen, a little stupid, and a little more than lovestruck. I had a crush on this boy, who had become somewhat of my bestfriend. It wasn't to be though, as he had a partner already. We'd still flirt and hang out all the time, and yeah, maybe he'd lead me on a bit, but I kind of liked it.

I think it was Halloween night. Myself, him, and two of our other friends were all in his basement passing around a sole hard cidar (as you do at fifteen) and one of those flavored vapor pens that have a set amont of puffs. We thought we were so cool. We had been messing around the whole evening and were piled around some beanbag chairs.

I'm not sure how it came up, but I said I'd never had my first kiss before.

He said, "Wait - you haven't?"

I shook my head.

He leaned across the beanbag between us and said, "Come here."

I leaned over, we kissed, and... that's it.

My face turned beat red and he was smiling, but that's... it. For the next five years I endured the worst possible, toxic, rubber-band relationship with him. On and off, lies and half-truths, it was horrible.

I'm twenty-two now, but... I won't forget my first kiss. I'll forget about him someday, hopefully, but I loved my first kiss.