Lots of reasons not to write about my love life or lack thereof. But for now, I will tell you stories of stuff that already happened. They are mellowed with perspective.
It was summer camp in California. One of those Jewish camps with a zionist bent where you learned Israeli dancing, why intermarriage was evil, and how to shave your legs at eleven.
We would have singsong after meals. The most popular song involved straddling the bench and pretending to be a train going to Zion. 'eretz yisrael sheli--choo-choo!--kol kach yafaaaa...'
Maybe it was the hot climate, but the kids were advanced. I remember this bunk-mate of mine screaming at her "boyfriend" who was also 11 years old: "I frenched your fucking face off!"
But my first kiss was chaste. It was the summer I was twelve. A game of spin the bottle. We both had braces. His name was Jonathan. We had to kiss for 10 seconds or 'french' for 5. I chose the former. The girls ooooed, and the boys clapped. Suddenly I felt his tongue whipping around my mouth. Brushing my inner cheek, wrestling my tongue, bumping my teeth. Hey, this wasn't the rule we agreed on, was it? There was a good deal of saliva.
I felt dizzy afterwards, but cherished the memory for months.