In a perfect world, the first kiss happens in slow motion. The man that you had been pining after for months realizes his overwhelming love for you in a flash of a moment, and runs straight into your arms. The sunlight tickles your face—or could it be the single tear that’s running down your cheek? Two pairs of lips meet, and instantly you flash forward to the wedding day where you’re standing before hundreds of friends and family, showing off to the world your perfect love story that started with that perfect first kiss.

I’ve seen too many movies, right?

I actually did believe in that. A tiny, tiny part of me did. Even growing up with Ninja Turtles and fist fights on the rooftop of our ghetto ass apartment, I believed in that fluffy I’m-going-to-shit-in-my-pants-from-pure-joy type of love.

And then my first kiss happened.

There was no sunlight. There was the flickering of a halogen lamp that was obviously fitted with the wrong bulb because it caused a disgusting yellow blanket over everything in that room. The boy I faced licked his lips and I stared blankly at his cracked brown lips. They reminded me of brown lunch bags that had been sitting in the heat for too long.

I had to pee really badly and recess wasn’t for another twenty minutes. We were hidden behind a screen that separated the classroom and the art supplies. I could hear the kids on the other side working hard on their assignments while Jose and I were pretending to sharpen our colored pencils.

Like any successful couple, we had communicated our feelings about this days ago. He said he wanted to kiss me, I said whatever ew gross, and then he said that it would be like being on clouds. Now here we were.

I started to hesitate about what was about to happen, and then he just lunged at me. His mouth was suddenly around mine, and he hugged my head tightly. I felt like I was being squeezed to death by this short Mexican boy with the giant mole on his face, and started to squirm violently.

I was 9 years old and I wasn’t on clouds. I was screaming into the slimy mouth of a kid who had clearly eaten a bowl of Cheetos for breakfast. I would surely drown in his saliva or suffocate to my end.

And thus my journey with boys began.