[One of the greatest aspects of college life is the morning-after recap with friends. You stumble out of bed, grab your liquid of choice, and gather around the living room to replay (and remind yourself of) the events of last night. You laugh, you cringe and you share the highest of highs...and the rock-bottom lowest of lows. We thought we'd bring the fun of the recap to CollegeCandy, so grab that coffee and take part in the deliciously awkward moments your CC friends have to share.]
I will admit it, I’m an awkward girl. I’ll say goodbye to someone and then walk in the same direction as them with a stupid grin on my face. I’ve messed up high fives more times than should be legally allowed. I’ve called my roommates good friend (whom I’ve known for months) “Tyler,” when his name is “Lucas”…HOW DO YOU MESS THAT UP? I’m able to take a perfectly normal moment and transform it into a typical scene in any Wes Anderson film (it’s a gift). The trouble is, I don’t realize how incredibly dorky I must look until looking back, and slapping my forehead accordingly.
So by the rules of physics (which I am unsurprisingly sucky at) it would only make sense that I would take this persona I’ve been cursed blessed with and apply to almost every sexual encounter I’ve experienced. Well, of course, the beginnings are more of learning experiences rather than “fun timez.” Now let’s time travel back 7 years when it all began…
Cue the hazy flashbacks and dream-like sound effects.
It’s 2002. I am 12 years old and in 6th grade. According to the more experienced middle-schoolers on the playground, I had a “boyfriend.” This boy would talk to me on AOL (yeah…old skool), but we wouldn’t dare even look at each other during school. I was so nervous to have a boy like me, I was completely unaware of how I should act around him. Even at school basketball games together I was so scared just to sit by him because maybe he’d put his arm around me! (OMGG!!) So one day I decided I needed to break out of my shell a bit. My good friend lived by his friend, and on weekends I naturally spent most of the weekend there trying to make plans to have us all meet up and hang out. For the 4 months we supposedly dated, this “weekend hang-out plan” worked literally 1 time.
That night my mom called me asking me our plans for the night, and I told her we were going to see a movie (lie). What I was really doing was sneaking out with my one friend to meet up with my “boyfriend” and his friend. This rush I got from lying to my mom for the first time sent me on this adrenaline high of “I’M SO EFFIN’ COOL I CAN DO ANYTHING! I’M A REBEL!” Later that night we eventually met up, and, as was naturally destined for me, it was awkward. I’m pretty sure there was an unspoken agreement between the group that me and my “boyfriend” should seal the deal and KISS!
I can definitely say that feeling “nervous” was an understatement. We stood there in the backyard in the dark for what seemed like hours in the middle of an mid-April night, as our friend sat on the curb of the street under the streetlight patiently waiting for the deed to be done. It was chilly and I didn’t have a sweater, so I decided I was sick of being cold and waiting for my first kiss, so I leaned in so he’d get the idea. He definitely got the idea, and as I was slowly ready for my first kiss to happen, even schizophrenically hearing the tune to “Dreams” by Cranberries in my head, that record scratch sound came into play at that very moment.
Instead of demonstrating a sweet (and normal) peck to be given, I felt something wet. Huh? WTF David Blane? He. Licked. My. Mouth.
He didn’t even start with a normal peck and move his tongue around, like an inexperienced 6th grader might. He straight up licked my mouth like a melting ice cream cone in August. Maybe he was expecting a sexified makeout session, or maybe he was expecting a normal kiss but started it off wrong? Was it wrong that I was expecting just a peck? So as a mature middle-schooler I was, I decided to stop… and start screaming. I walked out of there wiping my mouth and ran to my friend so she’d get the idea that we had to leave NOW.
I realize this story should be called “Seven Years After” instead of “The Morning After,” but I also know that first kisses tend to stick around in everyone’s memories. And this one just had to be shared. Anyone else have some first kiss horror stories?