Melodee Nashell Tells It Like No one Else.

The first time I kissed a boy I was 12. He was a much older white boy.  A bad boy.  I believed I was more than ready.  He gave me a necklace, I gave him a peck on the cheek, he gave me his tongue.  My life forever changed.  Those lips were so soft and his tongue in my mouth: foreign.  I wore than necklace for years.  That little heart locket.  As if the locket held the secret that I had been french kissed.  I could wear it around my parents and they had no idea!  It was as if my internal eye was squinting at them with evil intention.  It felt really good and I knew this was the right thing for me. I actually “stayed” going steady with that boy for two years much to my parents dismay.  They hated him.  As a kid I thought I had…

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