Oh, so by first kiss you mean the one that meant something; like SC's post?

An extract from a novel I'm currently writing:

They were on their way over. I was hit with a sudden rush of final scene mayhem. I had to act, or risk yet another sleepless night, sleepless week.
“I want something to happen. Now. Today. If I go home without kissing you I’ll go insane.” I grabbed her waist and forced her to turn round, to face me. Our eyes locked. The silence spoke. A husband was on match point; a student was telling a joke. And the thump-thump of my heart was about to explode.
She looked down and away. And then back up.
We kissed.
It was the best kiss of my life, and still is. For what it meant. I can still taste it, feel it, when I close my eyes and imagine that sun. Whenever I’ve walked past that little slope of grass since; how immortalised it has become. It could have gone on forever. All of those games. Cunning texts. Playing with ashtrays. Sleepless nights. It had all come to this. A summer sparked to life, to immortality.