Una belleza puertoriqueña, but not the apple of my nine-year-old eye - there was another in this neighborhood (in
the projects, where I was visiting some relatives over
summer vacation) far more lovely, but she despised me. Despised me. So Señorita Plan B was my first kiss. My
hormones were not yet old enough to appreciate it. The older kids on the playground (our cousins) were fervently gratifying their respective hormone sets with their respective
SOs, so our ad hoc incompetent amorositude was just a bit of marking time until it was time to go home for the night. This arrangement lasted for about a week - school started, and I returned to my genteel burb.
Years later, she comes up in conversation, and I get an update from the Old Neighborhood - she spent her adolescence setting records in promiscuity (quite an achievement in the hellhole that is this part of the Bronx). I feel like I may have contributed to her delinquence. But then again, I suppose I wasn't her first kiss.