Frog Hunting: The Kiss

I really, really debated not including this one in the series at all. This is super personal and makes me extremely nervous. But the whole purpose of this series is to keep things fun. So I have to ask myself, if it’s just fun and not for marriage and the point is to learn and grow and have a good time, then why would it be a problem? 

Because I have a secret: I’m 33 years old and I’ve never kissed anyone. Well, except for that one time I was dancing with a friend and suddenly we were brushing lips. Then, just as suddenly, we parted like we’d hit an electric fence, because we were just friends and friends don’t kiss. 


If it had been a teen movie, we would have discovered from our brief brush of lips that we were actually secretly in love. That would have been the beginning of wrestling with our hearts and not wanting to ruin the friendship. Eventually, we would have both acknowledged what we always knew was true, and we would have ended with a for-real kiss, followed by a walk into the moonlight while an 80s song played. 

But this is real life and we stayed friends and I think he even might be married now, or something. 

Very recently I had to acknowledge the reason I have never kissed anyone is not wholly due to the austere community in which I was raised. I can’t entirely blame the teaching of anti-anything-sexual, or remotely sexual, or remotely, remotely, suggestively sexual. The world where if you looked upon a man with attraction without first having the blessing of your parents, your aunts, uncles, cousins, and your dentist, you’d most certainly strayed from “the path.” If you held hands or kissed anyone without a ring on your finger, you were riding down that slippery slope that would very likely lead to Hell. 

No, I can’t entirely blame this teaching. And this I learned from an actual kiss. 

The story is as follows: 

My two goals for this round of dating are

1.    Be asked out by someone who is not on a dating app. 

2.    Have my very first make out session. 

That’s right. My first really, real kiss. 

But who would be my first real kiss? 

I half wanted it to be a random bloke. I was pretty convinced it was going to be awful, so I decided I’d rather have my first kiss with someone I’d never see again. 

Here’s what actually happened.

We were on a date at one of my favorite date places. We had a great time. Had a couple drinks. Gabbed with the bartender about random things. He walked me back to my car with his arm around me and it was—nice. 

He lingered. He chatted. I knew he wanted to kiss me. 

My brain started spiraling. Do I initiate? Do I let him initiate? How do I make this thing happen? Here’s your chance, girl, you wanted to kiss someone. He’s standing right in front of you and most definitely wants to kiss you. 

He’s cute. 

Not unattractive at all. 

I’m not exactly attracted to him. But that’s okay, right? 

It’s just a kiss. 

No big deal. 

If it’s a disaster, I never have to see him again. 

Leaning in for the goodbye hug. This is it. Now or never. 

I kissed him. 

He kissed me. 

And then it was just over. 

I offered to drive him to the top of the parking garage. 

We kissed again in the car. 

Then…it just ended. 

No make out session. 

Just a kiss. 

How did it not turn into a make out session? 

I wanted it (I think?). He definitely wanted it. 

Was that it? Just a kiss? 


Yep. That was it. Just a kiss. Nothing special. Can’t say I’m disappointed because, as I analyzed it later—I really think I kept it from becoming a make out session. Something in me kind of—just—stopped. 

I was fine with just a little kiss. 

Upon further investigation and after a compilation of experiences from other women, I have concluded there are two types of kissers: 

1.    Those who find it easy to kiss just about anyone. Random make out sessions with total strangers are super easy. They like kissing for the sake of kissing and that’s that. 

2.    Those who need something more. They need a spark, a bit of attraction. They kiss fewer—if any—people. Often the only people they kiss are their boyfriends, and even sometimes, their first and last kiss is with the person who becomes their husband. 

I have concluded I am of the latter category. I am a Type 2 Kisser. Therefore, I cannot only blame my all-but-Amish upbringing for my low kiss-count. I think, had I not been raised in the straightjacket culture of anything date-related, I might still have less kissing experience. I might have still only kissed a few—if any—people. 

This Frog Hunting thing is very enlightening.