My first kiss must have been singularly unspectacular, neither up or down, because I cannot remember it, nor who. Instead I will tell of something that came before:
I was 8 or 9 years old. One day in a flash of overwhelming affection for my dog, I planted a kiss at the top of his head. Whereupon I realised that everything k-i-s-s-i-n-g was horribly embarrassing, blushed furiously, and glanced furtively around to make sure noone had seen the lapse. As I was out in the half wilderness we called a garden I was, luckily, safe. Else I would probably have been traumatised for life.