“It was at someone’s sweet sixteen, I was fifteen years old, and it was with my first ‘boyfriend,” Lizzy air quotes with her fingers. “I had to give myself a little pep talk because I was so nervous and when he finally kissed me I shrieked in excitement,” she says while flipping through her notebook.
This is what I typically get when I ask someone about their first kiss. Either it was super awkward because both people had no clue what to do, or it was simply just another exciting rite of passage from childhood to teenage years.
My first kiss is a different story.
It all started with a boy named Michael in high school. We met in film class where we quickly got along over a shared love for Tarantino movies and noir film. We spent many afternoons hiking to places where we could get the best landscape shots and many nights in his car where we would lay in the dark and listen to the Beatles on repeat.
One day after class, I picked up my books and got ready to go and eat lunch in the cafeteria. As I walked through the door, Michael stopped me and spoke the words I had never expected to come out of his mouth: “Do you wanna go out with me?”
I instantly froze and choked up. I asked myself, “What am I supposed to say?” I didn’t like him like that. It was all platonic to me. I never meant for things to become romantic because I was never attracted to him to begin with. However, he took all of the time we spent together as a friendship budding into something more.
I was reluctant, but I didn’t want our friendship to end. So I said the word I never expected to come out of my mouth: “Okay.”
We agreed to start going out on a trial basis. We would try it out for a week and see how it went. And that was that. As the school week progressed, he started to kiss me on the cheek and make skin contact way more often than before.
I was so uncomfortable.
On that weekend, my friends Samantha, Eric, and Michael were all coming to hang out at my place. Sam and Eric were already kind of hooking up, and Michael and I were officially in a trial relationship, so it felt like we were on a double date which created so much pressure.
We were in the living room watching TV when my friends Sam and Eric got up and left to probably make out in one of the rooms in my house. As soon as Michael saw that we were alone in the room, he grabbed my face and pushed it towards his.
I wasn’t ready, nor did I want to kiss him. After he let go due to him needing air, I immediately felt a pit in my stomach forming. I wanted to stop existing. I didn’t want to see him, I didn’t want to see Sam or Eric or anyone. I wanted to be in bed all alone and cry.
This isn’t what I wanted my first kiss to be like.
He tried going in for another kiss but I immediately pulled away and said I wasn’t feeling good. He said things like, “It’s okay,” “What are you feeling,” and “Another kiss won’t kill you.” I tried walking away but he pulled me back down on his lap and pulled my face to his again kiss after kiss after kiss.
The next day, I texted Michael saying I wanted to end things. He asked me why. I didn’t want to tell him it was because he made me feel weak and used, so I just said I wasn’t ready for a relationship.
Weeks after, Michael and I are texting and everything is back to normal again. He tells me he realized he did something horrible. He tells me he was an asshole and he regrets forcing himself on me.
It isn’t until years later that I understand what he was trying to say. I didn’t understand the concept of consent. I can now look back and see that I didn’t want to kiss him. I didn’t want to be held by force and I didn’t want to be coerced into something I didn’t want to do. However, I did not know what exactly about that situation made me feel sick to my stomach.
According to the Department of Justice in 2007, 35 percent of sexual assault victims in a survey said they did not report the crime because it was “unclear that it was a crime or that harm was intended.” This is most likely due to the fact that consent is not taught at a younger age. It was only until college when consent classes were given, that I realized what I experienced that day was not okay.
My experience has taught both me and Michael something important about what consent is and in what situations it is required. However, I strongly believe people shouldn’t have to learn about consent from trial and error. Rather, I believe middle schools and high schools could benefit from consent courses to teach teenagers at an early age. The earlier we teach the younger generation, the more they will understand when, where, and why consent is a necessity in any and all sexual endeavors.
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