De-Koi: A fish called Bob
Should I remember my first kiss? I don’t. I do remember my first traumatic kiss. I forgot all about it until last night when it was surpassed by my new worst kiss ever.
In high school, I went on a double date with a girlfriend. She was off somewhere making out with her guy and I got stuck talking to her cousin. He wasn’t attractive, but he was nice. When he made his move, I was stabbed multiple times by his three-day shadow. The experience left me with a red-faced beard-burn lesson.
With age comes experience, right? Bob had promise. He’s a 45 year-old east coast native who just accepted a position with a new law firm. We had a great dinner and a fun evening until the goodbyes.
He came at me like a wide-mouth bass with rigor mortis. Mouth was locked in an open position and the stiff lips did not move. He dragged his lower lip across my chin, over my lower lip and across to my cheek. He repeated this mating ritual several times before I broke away with a now-classic signature sign off/cock block.
“Oh god, we have to stop, this is getting too intense,” I said without laughing.
A kiss may be a kiss, but my decades of empirical research has proven, at least for me, a good kisser is rarely a bad lover. Bob the fish may have seized the day, but for me, his trout mouth left me cold. Carp-mahi diem.