I’ve slacked off on the writing challenge, and I didn’t want to even think about doing today’s prompt because, well, it’s a memory that makes me squirm, and not in a good way. However, I looked at my calendar and see that I have a free half an hour here at work, right now, and I realized that if I’m going to do this writing challenge thing, I need to do it when I can. Which is now. So here it is, in its unedited glory.
My First Kiss
I was that girl in high school who seemed to sit on the sidelines watching everyone else have fantastic experiences while my life just ticked on by. My best friends all had boyfriends before me. At the time, I thought it was because they were prettier than I, but no. We were all pretty. My friends were simply in possession of a self-confidence that bloomed much later in me.
He was a senior and I was a sophomore when we started dating. I must have been attracted to him back then, but the thought of him makes me shudder today. It’s likely that my memory of our first kiss is tainted because he turned out to be Emperor of Psycholand. But even if he would have turned out to be a normal, non-crazy person, I have to believe that the memory of kissing him would still make me cringe.
It was that bad.
He was a sloppy, slobbery kisser, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that my entire face was wet and faintly sticky after a make-out session. My sixteen-month-old baby who comes at me with an open mouth and her tongue sticking out has a more refined kissing technique. Hell, my DOG is a better kisser.
I can’t go into more detail without losing my lunch. It was just that gross. I never liked kissing him, and it certainly didn’t make me want to do other things with him, much to his dismay. And there it is, the silver lining in that frothy, dripping cloud: he was such a bad kisser that I was never tempted to go "all the way" with him. Thank God for that, because I don't believe I could handle THAT kind of memory.
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