My boyfriend and I have been dating for a while and I'm ready to kiss him. I think. The thing is that I'm new at this. How do I keep from feeling totally dorky?

Pam, Las Ventanas, AZ

You are SO not alone, Pam! We went to a guy, whom we'll call Sam, for some inside advice on this tricky situation...

I would like to provide a glimpse into the often barren psyche of the male species. I'll sift through the sports statistics, pick-up lines and other variations on testosterone and focus on a situation where the man finds himself in a subordinate, awkward position: the first kiss.

I am the worst at it. I called a former girlfriend and asked her to comment on my first mouth-to-mouth come-on. "You took for freaking ever—I was about to fall asleep on you!" she laughed. How true: I waited until the end of the movie we rented to plant one on her lips. But it's not like I wasn't thinking about it. It was all I was thinking about—to the point that I didn't catch even the vaguest hint of that fateful movie's plot.

What happens is, I get caught in this vortex of fear and anxiety. I build up the importance of the moment and as a result come close to a heart attack before I force myself to move in.

Is it just me? Not according to my research. After prodding and poking the egos of a few friends, I came to the conclusion that every guy experiences some degree of anxiety during the first move. But it's such a schizo situation. On one hand, it's uncomfortable, but on the other, guys like to make the first move because we like to be in control (we're guys) and we like the chase (we're guys). To further complicate things, I asked the same bunch of guys if a woman were to make the first move, would they consider her a slut—and all of them replied in the negative, ultimately inviting the opportunity.

Anyhow, just a few months ago I was in a situation where I had to go for broke and try for a kiss. A couple I know invited me to a picnic in their wooded backyard. Among the guests was one stunning young lady whom I noticed immediately. I nudged the hostess to introduce me. Her name was Jessica. I saw that she was running a little low on cider so I offered to fill her up, but she smiled and said she'd go get us both some.

"OK!" I thought as I sat down at a lopsided picnic table. "This is going well...don't screw it up!" She sat down across from me and we started talking—banal chit-chat at first, then stuff about our families, our ambitions...everything. We were really enjoying each other's company and I was digging the hell out of her. In other words, we hit it off big time. Suddenly, I desperately wanted to kiss her—and the time was right. The sun had gone down and everyone else had adjourned to the house. Jessica and I were finally alone. I'd like to say I walked around the picnic table and swept her off her feet like a Superfly Mack, but no. I got up, fetched another round of cider and sat down next to her. Moment of silence. You could cut the air with a knife. I had taken a dive into severe self-consciousness. Weird, since I had spent the last three hours being totally relaxed with her—then wham! I felt like one of those kamikaze mosquitoes that fly straight into a 1000-watt bug zapper.

I started talking: "OK, Jess, look, I don't know how you feel, but I seem to find myself in the most awkward position right now. And, uh, I feel sort of criminal about it because I don't want to ruin a possible friendship and put you in an embarrassing situation, but I assume you're having as good a time as I am...not that your having a nice time gives me any rights or anything...but I was thinking of, well, maybe leaning over and, uh, kissing you...."

There was a seemingly enormous pause. As every half-second ticked by, I was sure she would flee into the house to get away from the presumptuous sex-fiend dork in the backyard. Instead, she turned to me and said, "You better kiss me." Today, Jessica is my girlfriend. She calls my first move "cute." I call it "hell."

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