The Blog

First Kiss, Last Kiss

Preparation was key and like any teenage girl, I had been practising my necking skills for a good year in the lead up to this Valentines disco. I would regularly snog the bathroom mirror or clench my hand into a fist and pretend it was Jon Bon Jovi (or Gary Barlow).

I had my first kiss when I was 13 years old. My first real kiss that is....a necking, NOT a pecking.

(Back in 1993, a 'Necking' was what the teens of Wales referred to as a proper, sloppy, tongue-wrestling kiss. A kiss that would leave you soaked with an aching jaw. A 'Pecking' was just a peck, nothing impressive...nothing different to what you would get from your Gran)

My first necking was with a storming boy called Gary Cox.

( Back in 1993, the word 'Storming' was what the teens of Wales used to describe anyone who was of a superior level of FIT)

Gary Cox was tall and muscly with silver glasses and floppy blonde hair that he flicked away from his eyes in 5 second intervals. He was like a more robust version of the Milky Bar kid- strong and tough. Only the best was good enough. And he wanted me. I WAS good enough!!.

He asked me out to the Valentines disco in the local rugby club and I was beside myself with joy, but also terrified knowing that I was finally going to get to 'neck' someone. It was all about preparation. Here's what happened:


Preparation was key and like any teenage girl, I had been practising my necking skills for a good year in the lead up to this Valentines disco. I would regularly snog the bathroom mirror or clench my hand into a fist and pretend it was Jon Bon Jovi (or Gary Barlow). I also had a massive Bon Jovi poster in my room that was frequently attacked- so much so that the ink smudged and eventually a wet hole appeared in his face so you could see the floral wallpaper peeking through . My face would always be blue after a snog with my Bon Jovi. No good. That was when I switched to practising on my hand exclusively. Less messy so it was.


I arrived at the Valentine's disco, all ready to indulge in a good necking, but spent most of the night sat in the corner holding Gary's hand. I was anxious. The kiss had to happen...but when? Should I wait for him to pounce or should I make the first move?? What was the protocol of such situations?? It was already 9.30pm. It had to happen soon or I would go home and spend the rest of my life turning blue with my Bon Jovi poster. What would my friends say??

The perfect moment finally came when Whitney started belting out her finest tune 'I Will Always Love You,' which was to be the theme tune to my first necking. Up to the dancefloor we went and out of nowhere, Gary made his move. Mouth wide open, tongue unleashed and he went. Nice one Gary.

Before I knew it, I was engaged in a full blown, no holes barred necking whilst my friends stood over his shoulder applauding with delight. Fireworks exploded in the air. Angels danced across the ceiling. My heart pounded out of my flat chest. JOY!!!


The necking continued. It went on. And on and on. And on. Two more songs played. 'No, no...nuh, nuh .no, no, nuh nuh, no,no, nuh nuh, there's NO limit'.

Quite Gary.

There really were NO limits. It was the limitless kiss. My friends grew bored, stopped applauding and got themselves a carton of Um Bongo and a Curly Wurly each and decided to spectate from the comfort of the long bench at the side of the dancefloor. After a while, I realised from the wall clock that ten minutes had passed. I needed a wee. I had a stiff neck and the beginnings of lockjaw.

Why, do you ask, was it lasting SO long? The answer: Because I had NO IDEA how to stop this kiss. I was so worried about the starting the damn thing that it never occurred to me how to stop it. Did you just pull away? Just like that? Was it that simple? Or should I wait for him to stop first? I didn't know. So I did nothing. And hoped my neck wouldn't spasm resulting in me needing a neck brace and possible access to an oxygen tank.


Twenty five minutes had passed, enthusiasm was waning and I began to consider the prospect of dying of suffocation. At this point, my pal Sarah arrived on the scene. She was pissed off. She'd been sat on the bench for nearly half an hour and had pounded down a Curly Wurly, a bag of Rainbow Drops, a Chomp and a pack of pickled onion Space Raiders. She came to tell me that her Dad had arrived to pick us up and she gestured over Gary's shoulder that we HAD to go. It seemed that most Dads had already been to pick their kids up in fact. The dancefloor was empty. We had to leave. NOW!! She was losing was my jaw. So I did what I had to do...I withdrew from the almighty necking. Quick and ripping off a plaster.

And I gobbed ALL over his chin.

There stood my gorgeous Gary Cox, eyes wide open in disbelief, with a giant string of goo hanging off his chin like the dog from Turner and Hooch.


Time stood still. I froze in shock. The music had stopped. The lights had ceased flashing. I could hear each pounding thump of the second hand on the wall clock. And only after 8 long clunking ticks did Gary reach up and wipe the trail of gunge away with his tracksuit sleeve. He didn't say a word.

I left the dancefloor feeling a little humiliated and desperately in love. What a guy!

Sarah and I spoke about it all the way home in the car and for an hour and a half on the phone after I got home. Oh what a night!!


A week later, I returned from the half term holidays to find that Gary Cox had asked out three of my friends behind my back, Sarah included. Jack ass!!! Sadly, it turned out that Gary wasn't my Prince...he was just a frog....and a bit of a Cox if the truth told.


After 21 more years of fine- tuning my necking skills, I eventually attracted my Prince Charming who had of the very same surname as my first beau: His name is Mr Jay Cox. We met playing on a Charlotte Church gig, had a lengthy necking and got married three years later.

I became Mrs COX.

It didn't work out with Gary but I got my Cox in the end. It seems that I was destined to have a name that sounds like male genitalia. It was written in the stars! I sure am a lucky lady.

If all goes according to plan, this MR COX will be the last man that I ever kiss. No doubt, my last kiss will probably be a messy one too given that I will probably have no teeth by then...just a set of withered, dripping gums. My Mr Cox will likely get soaked, as did poor Gary.

So this Valentines Day, whether you're kissing a Prince or a frog, or a Cox, I hope you are all feeling well loved. And if you have none of these to kiss, then you could always kiss your own fist. Mine was the best kiss I ever had to be frank. Your fist is loyal, is always by your side, feeds you chocolates and wine and helps to load the dishwasher. A perfect companion!

Give him a kiss anyway- Prince or frog or whatever. There's nobody worth kissing more than your fine, beautiful self this Valentines Day. Pucker up.You deserve it! Mwah!!


"I'll be there for you, these five words i say to you, when you breathe I wanna be the air for you, I'll be theeeere for you'

This post originally appeared on Katy's Blog