16 March, 2010

The Bad Kisser

I really don't know why I let him kiss me. I guess it was the twenty champagnes and an inflated sense of manners that made me think I should. But lets go back to the beginning, shall we? Take my hand and let's run through the fields of mediocrity that is my sorry dating life.

Candidate No. 2 is a 42 year old photographer. A good looking bloke around 5'10". Well travelled and articulate, I met him on an internet dating site.

He arrived a half hour late, sat down and ordered a beer. It was the first of several thousand he'd drink that night. Is it nerves? Or is there something about me that drives men to drink themselves into a stupor?

After the first ten or so we got to talking about creationism vs evolution, which developed into a discussion about agnosticism vs atheism (are you still awake? Stay with me). This is where it all started to go pear-shaped.

You see, men love arguing with me. I'm assuming it's just me, because most of my single girlfriends don't have the same experience. It seems to happen to me a lot.

So he starts arguing with me, but without a point. Great, complex trains of thought disappearing into the night without a destination. Frustrated and bored, I tried to change the topic. To be something about him. Three times. But Candidate No. 2 doggedly changed it back, verbally meandering here and there, eyes rolling around his head like a shark in a feeding frenzy, as he ordered beer no. 428.

After an hour or two of this I figured it was home time. And that's when I let him kiss me. I really shouldn't have, and frankly, I wish I hadn't. For our hapless candidate was a Very Bad Kisser. His tongue had a life of its own and, like a dental Indiana Jones, explored the deeper recesses of my root canal, and the folds of my epiglottis.

I pulled away, slightly horrified and feeling oddly violated. He said "what's wrong?" then, eyes narrowed, "I really wanna fuck you." So I told him.

"Whoa, dude. WAY too much!"
"Too much tongue. Really way too much." He looked hurt, and I felt bad.

We sat silently for a minute or two.

"Well, I guess it's home time for me." I said weakly.

He paid the bill, which was kind. Nevertheless, I had to let him go.

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