By Maureen Quinlan, News Staff

I guess a girl should never kiss and tell, but I’m breaking that rule for this column. One time, and one time only — to tell the epic tale that is “My First Kiss.”

Now most people can name the first person they kissed, and maybe even the street they lived on and the age they were when they first crossed that line between innocence and maturity.

But me, well, my story is not anything like the “I was 11 when Tommy, my next door neighbor, and I locked lips.” No, it involves a foreign country, a new experience and alcohol. (Let’s not pretend that it didn’t.)

Before I tell you the story, you have to understand that I am trying to be brave by sharing this. My first kiss didn’t happen until I was 21. It’s odd; it’s strange, and perhaps it’s unheard of. Anyway, this is my story.

I spent January through May 2013 in Dublin, Ireland, studying abroad. It’s one of those great pleasures Northeastern encourages us to experience. And it was everything that I was hoping it would be and then some. With a name like Maureen Quinlan and long red hair, Ireland was the only natural selection for my semester abroad.

Ireland is as fun as you might imagine; it’s a lot more too, but that’s a story that cannot be told in a single newspaper column. The first few weeks I was there, I, and the quick friends I had made, went out almost every night. It wasn’t the smartest decision, as we slowly learned two weeks into the semester when our immune systems and livers begged us to stop. We had heard about a nightclub (the biggest form of entertainment in Dublin nightlife) called Copper Face Jack’s, or Copper’s for short. Everything we heard was nothing compared to the reality. But it was fun; I will give it that.

It’s a huge venue with an upstairs where a live band plays and a downstairs where the DJ plays American music and everyone dances. Well, maybe a little more than just dancing. If you want to make out, or “shift” as the Irish call it, there is no shortage of willing partners at Copper’s.

The first time we went was like a social observation. I just watched intently the way the Irish kids interacted and partied. It was fascinating. I learned the art of having fun at Copper’s.

The second time we went was a blast. I was having fun dancing when some Irish guy started dancing with me. He had red hair, not as dark or bright as mine, as you can probably not tell by my black and white headshot, but still definitely a ginger (a term only redheads are allowed to use).

Another confession: I’ve always been attracted to gingers. Maybe it’s my Darwinian instincts stepping in, telling me I need to populate the world with more redheads.

This particular boy was a good candidate for my first kiss, and he didn’t disappoint. It was fine at first, but his beard was so scratchy. A few songs in, I decided I was not leaving without learning a little about him. “I can’t not know my first kiss’s name,” I thought.

His name: Conor. His school: Trinity College. His major: Engineering. At least I think that’s what he said. It was loud and we were both drinking.

And that was that. I left and got incredibly sick the next day, the worst sore throat I’ve ever had.

But all in all, it was a successful night in which “I got the shift.”

Ireland was successful in a lot of other ways too, but I will never forget that night, no matter how shameful, embarrassing or epic it was. No matter what, it’s my story.

As for my second kiss… well that’s a story for another time. But like I said before, a girl shouldn’t kiss and tell.