Moodle
Most Traumatizing First Kiss Ever
It was a first kiss from the movies, I tell you.
And I’m talking more of the National Lampoon’s variety. Not a Nicholas Spark film.
It happened exactly one year ago. And by exactly, I mean anywhere from 9 months to 15 months ago. I have no idea. I just know that I’ve been waiting to write about it until enough time had passed that this girl has to have long stopped caring about me or my blog because I don’t want her to think it was a, ummm… I don’t know… bad experience for me?
And it wasn’t a bad experience. At all. It was a fantastic experience because it has given me a funny story to tell for life, even if in the moment I nearly cried from trying not to choke on the awkwardness of it.
She was a cute little thang. Picture a cross between Demi Moore and Miley Cyrus. Weird cross, I know, but that’s what she was. Of course, my only comparison is that Moore and Cyrus are both women, one of whom terrifies me, one of whom doesn’t as much. Other than that, I suppose there was very little to compare. In fact, she probably looked nothing like either one of them.
Anyway.
We were on a second date. I invited her over for dinner at my place, which you single people know is code for, I invited her over to make-out.
I mean… I invited her over to my place for dinner. Period. There was absolutely nothing else on my mind that night. Innocent as can be here.
Dinner was great. I whipped up some amazing shrimp scampi. We dined. We laughed. We got along fantastically. We cleaned up. We moved to the couch to… umm… talk…
And then it happened.
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But first, before I tell you about our epic “first kiss,” let me tell you what I saw sitting in front of me both before and after.
BEFORE: I saw an incredibly beautiful woman. I saw soft skin and beautiful curves. I saw a mind that was so engaging and fascinating to get lost in. I saw eyes that could easily draw you into their eternally satisfying gaze. I saw lips that I wanted to feel pressed against mine. I saw hair that I wanted to run my fingers through to feel its silky magnificence. I saw a person that I had become so enthralled with and knew that I would most likely want to see again, and again, and again.
AFTER: I saw the devil. Mixed with a feral cat. Mixed with the deep and unmistakable desire to run away as fast as my fear could push me.
But where were we? Ah, yes. We moved to the couch to… umm… talk…
We edged slightly closer to one another as we talked.
And closer.
Soon our legs were touching.And our hands.
We were staring at each other’s mouths.
That’s the sign, you know. The sign that you’re both done talking.
I went in for the kiss because society says that’s the man’s job.
And before I got there…
And this is true.
She reached out and grabbed my face fiercely and violently with both hands. The speed with which she did this was chilling at best.
Then she whipped and cranked my head to one side as if she was giving me a chiropractic adjustment.
At this point I was so confused. It was all happening so fast. I had no idea how to even begin to process this. And I wouldn’t need to because what came next would take all the mental processing power I had.
She stuck her tongue out as far as she could push it.
And she began violently licking the side of my face.
What’s happening right now?! What’s happening right now?! I was paralyzed. I didn’t know what was going on enough to figure out how to get out of it. I only knew it was icky.
She wasn’t just licking little licks. She was straight up starting down in my beard, and taking long sweeping swipes up toward my eye.
What?! Huh?! I…. What the… Help meeee!
And would you believe me if I told you that her sudden ferocity, or her act of licking, or the shock of it all wasn’t the worst part?
The worst part was her tongue.I am telling you. There was no saliva on that thing. It was as dry as a cat’s tongue, and six times as rough. It was like she had attached a piece of sandpaper to it and was trying to grate through to my cheek bones.
Ugh.
It was awful, my friends. Worst first kiss ever.
And I didn’t even kiss her. I just received that wild cat kiss up the side of my face.
Again.
And again.
And again.
I finally pushed her off playfully and tried to not immediately start wiping her weirdness off my face.
“I just want to take it slow,” I told her, calm as a cucumber.
And I never saw her again after that night.
The next day I received more than 70 texts from her, though. And more than 110 the day after that. But luckily only about 60 the day after that. All of them proceeding a single text I sent her that said, “I think you’re amazing. I’m just not feeling it. Thanks for the fantastic dates.”
But that’s another story for another day.