kisses

Two different kinds of kissing experiences…

My first kiss was anything but pleasant. It was invasive, slobbery, and most definitely exciting. He was nineteen, building a house for a family member, and visiting Alaska for the summer. I was seventeen, newly graduated, and curious. My experience consisted of a serious of crushes that never panned out, from tall, muscled basketball players to lanky, nerd-types. Instead of acting on all my newly-fletched feelings, I found it much safer to fantasize and build a perfect story with a perfect boyfriend.

Needless to say, this first kiss had never featured in any of my perfect fantasies.

For one, the boy playing the major role was too short, only a couple inches taller than me. For two, it didn’t make me burn.
For three…well, I’m sure I could make quite a long list of all the imperfections. But the interesting point in all this reminisces is the exciting part. Even though it didn’t stir a furling of passion in my young, inexperienced body, I was quite taken with this new act. So taken that I wanted to practice ALL the time. And haven’t stopped practicing since that first one…

The first time I almost kissed a girl. That’s right. I never actually went though with it. It all started New Year’s Eve. Unfortunately I had just been dumped in a rather let-down sort of way, and decided I might as well join the crowd and get completely shit-faced. Isn’t that what people do when you almost get your heart broken, or at least your pride bruised? I was in Alaska, (which just so happens to be a cheap place to get drunk if you happen to be a girl, under age 60) and ready to down all the free liquor any man wanted to pour down my throat. I hit the dive bars with my best friend. We looked smoking hot. It might have been the fake eyelashes or maybe just that vibe. You know, we’re young and we wanna do whatever we wanna do. It worked whatever it was. Guys were on us in every bar we hit, and when we arrived at the last bar, the one with the dance floor, we were sufficiently lubricated with alcohol to make total asses of ourselves. Not that any of the crowd, mostly men, minded.

After using one guy as my personal pole, and having finger-print bruises over my hips to prove it, a few guys were barking up my tree if you know what I mean. In order to avoid being forced into something I most definitely didn’t want, I dragged my friend over to the most muscley man in the place. (Turned out he had 18in biceps…I think, the details are foggy.) Then it was New Year’s and everyone was kissing every one. At this point in my young life I had been fairly discerning about who I kissed. Well, that night I threw discretion to the wind. Working my way around our little gathering I frenched a couple guys and turned to my friend who was standing directly next to me and went for her lips. At the last second I realized who she was, and quickly diverted my lips away from hers to her ear, whispering frantically, “I almost kissed you!” And while I was slightly embarrassed, she never mentioned it again, leaving me to think two things: 1) she was so relieved she escaped that fate, or 2) she was wretchedly disappointed.