Brain Memory 4./ Kissed My Two Cousins

In third grade, on my father's Ranch in Hayward Hills, I had my first kiss. Me and this second-grade boy threw-no, launched ourselves down a muddy mountain slope, pretending it was a slide. He asked me and we did it. His baby lips tried sucking mine. I was far too young to understand the tongue and its sexy language. I did get his name, but I never saw him again.

In middle school, I wanted more. So I kissed my two “cousins” S and L for experience. During a family Sunday football game, we locked ourselves in another cousin's room and pretended to play Lemonade. As S sang and clapped lemonade, crunchy ice, beat it once, beat it twice, L and I would hold a peck kiss. Then we'd switch in unison like disciplined niñas. On the other side of the closed door, our tias assumed our flushed faces were desires for our cheeks to be squeezed.

During spring break in high school, I kissed a boy who took my virginity and afterward went to work at Taco Bell. I only knew about Taco Bell because he came in his work uniform, twice. I put Breaking Bad on the loudest volume I could in hopes that I could break into my bad, slutty teenage character, I'd invented. But also because my older brother was sleeping in the next room. After, I called my friend and told her every detail while I washed the dishes. Then I took a long shower to cleanse myself.

Sidenote: Before he came over, I had sent him a picture of a sex swing I found under my parent’s bed and offered (as a joke) to use it. Maybe actually using it would’ve raised things up.