Bad Date, Good Story #1--Slug Kiss

I really wanted to like Arnold. He was, it was quite evident from the start, a nice guy. We bonded on the phone around our liberal politics and he brought an Obama ’08 button to our first date along with a set of pink roses. An auspicious start! On top of that, he was decidedly taller than me and I realized I could have actually worn heels, something I’d been avoiding since the time I towered over someone who insisted he was 6 feet tall in his profile but didn’t quite see eye to eye with me even though I am only 5 foot 3.

Arnold was a decent conversationalist when the topic was himself. I asked and learned about both of his failed marriages, his struggle to train his dog and his relationships with his mother and father (easily summarized as good with dad, bad with mom). The first time I went to the restroom, I thought this might actually someone I could connect with. I came back to the table ready to relay much of the same information about my own background.

As soon as I sat down Arnold said: “I was just thinking about this great youth group trip I took in high school.”

“Really, “ I replied, purposely not asking a follow up questions in the hope he’d get the message and ask me a question about myself to lead off our second hour together.

“Yeah, this funny thing happened where two of my friends missed the bus and jumped into a cab which chased the bus all the way back to our hotel. It cost like 200 dollars.”
“Wow,” I said flatly.

“I was also thinking I should tell you about the time I told my neighbor that this woodchuck in my yard wouldn’t bite. He went ahead and touched it and it bit clear through his hand. I still feel kind of badly about that.”
I began to consider that some people have just lived alone too long, without the benefit of enough adult company. I wondered how many childhood stories a 50 year old might remember in the space of one brunch. It will give you a good gauge of my other prospects when I tell you that I did go out with Arnold again. But, this time I was ready. My friend Ann had suggested a perfect question to ask him: “So, what would you like to know about me?” and I knew that if I could deliver that without an edge, things might go better.

Sure enough, I felt I had something like equal time that night and I started to think that Arnold was the kind of person who would grow on you. I kept trying to peel my eyes away from the solo hairs sprouting now and again on his otherwise bald head and wondered if he might come to notice how other men tend to shave those away. But, going in to date three, I started to hope that maybe his awkward appearance and composure masked someone of great sexual prowess like the dorky reporter that becomes Superman. That’s why I decided that if he tried to kiss me, I’d kiss him back.

At the fateful moment after walking me to my car, he leaned down to me and first kissed me somewhat shyly on the mouth. I responded with a slightly more open lipped kiss. And then, he thrust his tongue straight into my mouth full force like he was going for my tonsils and—left it there. Just left it sitting there, no movement. It was as if a big slug had landed in my mouth only I had no real say in removing it. And, then, mercifully it retreated, only to be thrust forth once again. I pictured a kid sticking out his tongue hard in kindergarten and tried to picture the relief I’d feel when it was over and I was telling Ann about it.

“Well, goodnight,” I managed pushing him firmly away with both hands on his shoulders and turning to open my door as quickly as I could. Apparently, Arnold was not going to be my Superman.