Day 16 is my first kiss.

Up until I was seventeen or so, I was largely asexual, interested in “dating” only through social expectation and the vague thought that it’d be nice to cuddle with someone. But, seeing as I had animals in the house, the platonic physical companionship was already a done deal.

In my senior year in high school, a girl I’d known for years finally got it through my thick skull that she liked me. And I found that I rather liked her. So we started dating, she with this wonderful combination of suave and shy, and me with this slightly-less-wonderful combination of curiosity and confusion.

I have never been a socially graceful creature, I assure you.

One late evening, we were listening to music, all the lights out, in the privacy of my upstairs room. We were sprawled on the floor, snuggled comfortably, and talking. “May I kiss you someday?” she asked me.

My heart skipped a few beats, but to my credit, I didn’t stutter when I said sure. At least, I don’t think I did. The conversation continued as though she’d never asked.

A few minutes later, she rolled over and kissed me.

My brain shorted a fuse, my lungs decided that deflation was an awesome idea, and I went into an internal panic. (Exhibit A, forever unsuave.) At a total loss and not willing to ruin the moment, I played mockingbird and mimicked what she was doing. It seemed to work. (To this day, I credit my good kissing to her.) We kissed three more times that night, each time sending my brain into spin cycle. It took a long time before my heart didn’t seize up when our lips touched.

Though we broke it off after we went to separate colleges, I’m happy to say that my high school sweetheart and I are still good friends, and we still visit each other (though I’m in Nevada and she’s in New York) whenever we get the chance.