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Most people are all about first kisses. Maybe it's the excitement of kissing somebody new, or maybe it's the novelty, or maybe it's just because it's the "done thing" nowadays. Amy Pond disagrees. But then again, she's never been one to stick to what is the "done thing". After all, is it the "done thing" to run away with the supposedly imaginary friend of your childhood to explore the infinite realms of time and space the night before your wedding? Exactly.
Admittedly, some things she does do simply out of perversity. After her aunt insisted that her raggedy Doctor wasn't real, she started rebelling against a lot of things that her aunt considered to be the "done thing". But some things she really did believe in, and one of those was this: second kisses are better than firsts.
Take Rory, for example. She kissed him for the first time about two weeks after the Doctor had abandoned them both on the roof of a hospital and vanished without a word. She'd spent two weeks waiting for him. Just waiting. And then Rory came round to see her and one thing led to another and before she knew it, they were standing in her bedroom, leaning up against the wall – the wall that used to have that crack – and he was trying to suck her face off. It was both good and not so good, the result of nerves and stress and the fact that they'd gone from yelling about the Doctor to making out in less than a minute. It was their first.
Their second kiss, on the other hand, was a more sedate affair. Rory was a very talented kisser when he wasn't under stress, when he wasn't desperately trying to convince her that she didn't need some fairy tale raggedy Doctor to sweep her away when he was right here with her. His lips were soft; his tongue was gentle. It was very... nice. Comfortable. Safe.
There. Proof that second kisses are better than firsts.
Or take the Doctor himself. She kissed him for the first time after both of them had nearly been killed countless times by psychotic alien angel statues on a far off planet. The circumstances were about as dissimilar from kissing Rory as they possibly could be, but she didn't care. It was the night before her wedding, but that didn't matter. It was her raggedy Doctor. The man she'd longed for since childhood. The man she'd waited fourteen years to see again and she wasn't going to give him up. She loved Rory, but it just wasn't the same.
The kiss itself, though, was a complete mess. With hindsight, she could see that she came on far too strong. Probably terrified the life out of him. Men – even nine-hundred-year-old alien men from beyond the stars – can get freaked out when a girl is coming onto them like that. She freaked him out and he backed off. It made sense, even if it ruined the damn kiss.
Their second kiss, though. Oh, their second kiss. Having just survived the latest dangerous alien encounter – nothing too interesting, just a war between a race of armadillo-people and their parasitic eel-like foes, the latter of whom nearly managed to kill Amy herself – she awoke on her sick bed to the sound of his voice and the sight of his smile. She couldn't quite remember how it happened: something about his hand in her hair and kiss on her forehead, then her drawing him down into that second kiss, but it seemed somehow confused.
But that second kiss. Oh, that second kiss. Amy had never really described anything as perfect before, but if there was such a thing as a perfect kiss, than that was it.
First kisses. Who needed them? For Amy Pond, second kisses would always be the best.