No faith meant no restrictions. At 18, I could do and say whatever I wanted.

I remember daring my friends to dare me to say fuck. Yes, my first curse word was fuck and as a Jamaican with a large vocabulary of curse words to choose from, that is saying something. Then came the rap music and the heavy metal, I was ready to explore the world beyond my sheltered Christian upbringing.

I started to go to parties with my girlfriends and if you have ever been to a Jamaican Party, you know what I mean when I say that I danced. Dancing at a Jamaican party entitles a lot of ‘wining’ and gyrating of bodies parts; typically, male crotch grinding against female behind or crotch against crotch.

So it was that I had my first arousing kiss, at one such party as I was gyrating with some guy I had barely met.

At some point during our hot and sweaty dancing, he kissed me, tongue and all – and I got wet. It was a pleasant if unexpected event. The young man in question proceeded to drag me off the dance floor for more kissing. Fortunately, my curfew and ride back home had arrived and I was rescued by my friends, so the young man and I quickly exchanged telephone numbers.

The next day, I was racked with guilt. I was actually still involved with my second ever boyfriend at the time and I had cheated on him by letting myself be kissed silly. I also had every intention of repeating the experience; there was only one thing to do. I promptly visited my boyfriend and broke up with him.

Spewing the old, “It’s not you, it’s me” line. I was truthful at least, it was me, and I wanted to kiss another guy.

Coming soon – “A Coming-of-age Story: Part 4 – Breast Obsessed”.