My first boy to girl (me) kiss was with my, unbeknownst to me at the time, a cousin at a family reunion in another state. I was about eight years old. There were about a hundred men, women and children, most of whom I had never met before, in my mother's Graham's Scottish roots. This boy and I were egged on by all the kids to steal a kiss, as we played in the hay at 'Aunt Bertha's' farm. Later that evening, when we visited my mother's brother, I saw their son who was forced to sit in a high chair because he 'kissed his cousin.' Me! I felt so embarrassed for him. Imagine creating such shame for that lad in front of me and my family. It was the first time I had ever met him, or his family. My heart went out to him, because all children know what being shamed by others feels like. I'll never forget how be bowed his head when he saw me walk into their kitchen.
I had kissed boys in junior high and in high school. Necked with some. Even got a hickey. A kiss was not a new concept. So why would a simple kiss with a girl, be so earth shattering for me? Because to finally have this kiss was my salvation in a fight against all the shame and guilt that society had heaped upon me by age nineteen, for even having such a desire. Kissing another female was the ultimate embracing of my true identity. It would mean, I had arrived at the threshold of my life.