First Iss

As if it happened yesterday, I remember my first kiss, even though it happened a lifetime ago. We were both 19-years-old, almost 20-years-old. Just about to start graduate college. A little late for my first kiss, but it wasn't her first.

There's nothing like the first kiss. I even remember her name, Pooja. For the life of me, I don't remember her last name though.

I remember that once I kissed her, I was in love, puppy love. I never felt anything like it. It was a powerful feeling. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. All I could think about was Pooja.

I wrote her name everywhere, a thousand times a day. I doodled her name on all my papers and books, Pooja, Pooja Pooja.

Never having kissed anyone before, except for my Mom, my aunts, and my grandmother, I didn't know how to kiss. All I knew was that I wanted to kiss this girl because she was pretty and she had big tits. Did I mention that she had big tits? She had big, no HUGE, HUMONGOUS tits.

I remember when she kissed me, she stuck her tongue in my mouth. Eww. Gross. That was new.

I didn't know what to do. At first I was grossed out when she stuck her tongue in my mouth. Yet, as soon as her experienced tongue touched my virginal tongue, I felt an excitement that I hadn't felt since my Dad bought me a bicycle for my 10th Birthday.

I was slow to mature sexually. Most guys have their first kiss years before their 18th birthday, but not me. Too busy playing sport.

I don't know if it was because my friends were more aggressive than I had been in trying to get her phone number, or the fact that I hung back and allowed them to make fools of themselves, or maybe I just appealed to her more, but she lingered closer to me. Smiling and making eye contact, and making some light and pleasant conversation, she showed more interest in me than in them.

Eventually my friends got tired of being rejected by her and found another victim to chase after, which is what we did most of our free time, picking up girls. Actually, with all of us being so immaturely obnoxious, we annoyed them, until they gave us their phone numbers, which in most cases turned out to be phony phone numbers.

Pooja and I walked and talked for miles and a couple of hours. Then, when I volunteered to walk her home, she gave me her phone number. Fearing rejection, I remember it took me a monumental amount of courage but I asked her out.

I called her that night and the next few nights following. We had made a connection, albeit a telephone connection. A time before cell phones, the Internet, and caller ID, even answering machines, I was relegated to hanging around my house waiting for her to return my calls. It seemed that every time I called her her parents picked up. Though they were very sweet and polite in their conversations with me, Pooja and I seemed to always just miss one another. It was frustrating.

By the time I finally got her on the line, I was excited. It was an excitement that I had never experienced before, maybe because our connection wasn't instant and immediate but delayed by the lack of technology. By the time I finally talked with her, the sexual frustration that I felt that turned to delayed gratification was allowed to simmer longer, before heating to a boil, especially when I thought about kissing her and fondling her big tits.

She invited me over that Saturday since her parents were out the entire day to the army club for some sort of a get-together that happens regularly among Defense officers.

Finally, I arrived at the address she gave me. her parents had already left. We were alone. She was the first girl that I had ever been alone with, except for my cousins, but that wasn't the same. I didn't feel the same feelings towards my female cousins, as I felt for her.

We sat on the couch watching television and talking. I remember prime time TV had kiddie shows like wonder years, Flintstones, tom and jerry, and Top Cat, no sex and little violence. It was a simpler time.

I remember she kissed me. I didn't have the nerve to kiss her, even though I was dying to kiss her and she surprised me by kissing me. Yet, once I felt her soft lips pressed against mine, with her arms wrapped around my neck, she parted my lips with her tongue. It was incredible. I remember being embarrassed because I had an immediate erection, one that tented my pants and I lowered my hand, so that she wouldn't see that I was excited.

One kiss led to another and another and soon we were making out. She allowed my hand to feel her breasts. I remember because they filled my entire hand. They felt so big and so firm. Her breasts were the first breast I ever felt.

I was so very sexually excited. Only, I was still a virgin and she was, too, or I thought she was, I would never know.

Nonetheless, she allowed me to feel her breasts through her pink T-shirt and white bra and I was happy with that. This was our first date, if you want to even call it that. She was the first woman that I not only kissed, but French kissed, and hers were the first tits that I ever felt.

By the 2nd month at college, Pooja left the city as her father got posted out and our kiss dates were over for ever. By that time, I was already dating another girl (I think her name was madhavi or madhuri or something, shucks I should have remembered that) who gave me another first, my first hand job. I should write that story, too, while it's still fresh in my mind.

There are some firsts that we'll never forget and I've never forgotten the first kiss that I had with Pooja. I wonder where she is now and if she remembers me. Maybe not. I have a feeling that I wasn't her first kiss, but she was mine.