The Republic of T.

Black. Gay. Father. Vegetarian. Buddhist. Liberal.

First Gay Kiss

Ramone is asking “When was your first gay kiss?”

The world as I knew it completely changed after my first gay kiss. I mean, I’d kissed girls before, but my first kiss with a guy confirmed all of the feelings I’d had buried inside for so long. It was almost like a fairy tale, especially since the guy was someone I’d had a crush on for a very long time. It was after that special moment with him at 17 that I started to dream of building a life with another man—a home, kids and all kinds of pets.

When was your first kiss?

Does it have to be the first time? Why not the first best time? I guess I ask because I’m one of those people who doesn’t have the fondest memories of the first guy I ever kissed.

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His name was Tony, and he was a French major. It was my freshman year of college. I know other gay men have stories of fooling around with other neighborhood boys or friends of theirs. I don’t know where those neighborhoods were, but I didn’t grow up in one. And I didn’t have those kinds of friends either, though I really wished I had. For about six years, until I went off to college, I was a gay boy who’d never so much as been kissed. How did I know I was gay, then? How did you know you weren’t before you had your first kiss with a girl/boy? Actually, I’d kiss a girl by then. With tongue. I could not figure out what the big deal was. Then I met Tony.

We met at a meeting of the gay student group. One of the reasons I chose the school I did was because it had gay student group. You might say I went off to college to be gay. Between classes at least. It was the winter of my freshman year, and Tony asked for my number after the meeting. A few days later, he called. We went out, and though I don’t remember what we did, we ended up back at my room. One thing led to another and next thing I knew, Tony was kissing me. Now I knew what the big deal was. Instead of wondering what I was supposed to feel, I was kissing him back before I even thought about it. I felt like kissing him back. I even knew what to do with my tongue. Tony sure knew what to do with his.

About that time, my roommate came back. I was out to him by then, so it wasn’t a big surprise. (He suggested that in the future we hang a tie on the door as a signal.) But it was a bit of a mood-killer and Tony decided it was time for him to go and that he’d call me later. He did call and went out again. But that time we ended up at his place. His roommate was out of town, and I’ll just sum up the rest with a quote from Marsha Warfield (I think): “I didn’t lose my virginity. I gave it away. I was tired of it.”

But that’s another story for another day.

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