Kiss and Tell

So I've been sub-par at this whole blogging thing lately. Life predictably interfered - work, travel, friends, dating, and this horrible sprained ankle all contributed to my absence. Sorry. Our internet is on the fritz so I actually hobbled down to my friendly neighborhood Hooters to write this post, and since it's Halloween I'm being served by a waitress in heels and a bunny costume. I'm guessing this is what every 13-year-old boy's wet dream looks like. It's strange.

So now... *drumroll please* the long awaited "Kiss and Tell."

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I used to be frustrated when my mom asked me what kids meant by "hook up." We don't describe sexual relations through baseball analogies, instead mashing all the bases together onto one large continuum that covers everything from innocent kisses to kinky sex, or “smushing” as the Jersey Shore cast so eloquently named it.

I naively thought this confusion only lasted through college, where getting laid is about as difficult as shooting fish in a barrel. I’m coming to find the grey area persists in adult relationships as well. Friends with benefits, fuck buddies, hook ups, hooking up exclusively, casually dating... do you have any idea how many labels you can slap on a relationship? Here's a graphic to get you up to speed:

(You're going to want to click on that one to see all the details.)

I had this crazy idea about adult dating, particularly online dating, would somehow be different than college dating. Now it's not just a first date with a guy, it's also my first meeting with him. There's no vetting process. I have no mutual friends with these men and some of them are too old for facebook, so third-party investigations are a no-go. So far, the only real difference between college and adult dating that I've identified has been in apartment decor. Taped-up posters from allposters.com are swapped out for generic, yet pretty, framed pictures from IKEA. There may or may not be a creepy roommate, depending on how old he is, and the booze is a few steps above Bankers Club.

Still, men are men. I've kissed three different guys that I've met on match.com dates, and only one of those was strictly voluntary.

My first kiss was on my second date, with Derek from my "What the Fuck" post. After his infamous comments, I wanted to finish my food as fast as humanly possible and find a cab home. In case anyone was wondering, Indian food is not exactly something you can scarf down. As our meal finally ended, I put one hand up to hail a cab. He grabbed my other hand, did some kind of spin move I imagine he learned from watching "Dancing with the Stars" and stroking off at night, and planted a sloppy one right on my smacker. I nearly gagged.

Next, I kissed a senior citizen. Well, nearly. He was 43. Interestingly enough, this was Victor of "What the Fuck" fame. I'm not stupid. I tune into body language. When someone likes me, I can tell. He'll go out of his way to touch my arm while he's talking, maybe joke about our plans for date two, or give me lingering hugs for totally unnecessary reasons. Now during this date with Victor, I was aware that he might read into my body language. So, I carefully crafted my body language to say "fuck you." I sat on the opposite side of the table, kept my hands and feet to myself, and gave a non-committal laugh when he talked about our second, third, and fourth dates. "Let him dream," I thought.

Well, I thought wrong. Have you ever seen those nature shows, where the alligator is sliding silently below the water, then shoots up to grab some unsuspecting bird? Yeah. That happened. We got up from the table and I was looking for a cab when SCHOOM he grabbed my hand. This guy was not letting go either; it was a sweaty death grip. I finally spotted a cab and SCHOOM he swooped in again for a kiss. I pushed him away, actually said "ew", and then went home to take multiple showers.

I'm not against kissing on the first date, I'm just against kissing people involuntarily. Aside from these two instances, I've become the Muhammad Ali of dodging awkward first date kisses. A guy going for one can expect me to turn it into a quick hug or a peck on the cheek, but there are very few that can penetrate my defenses. I've become better with practice.

Then, there was the one I did kiss. His name was Jack. He was 31, a chemical engineer, very tall, mildly awkward, but definitely cute and a very good kisser to boot. We dated casually for around two months - he met some of my friends, I met some of his friends, and I thought things were going great.

... and then I got dumped for not putting out.

Putting out, smushing, sexing, bumpin' uglies... whatever you want to call it, I got dumped for not doing it. Fan-freaking-tastic. I did have a very good reason for not jumping in bed with him: we weren't exclusive. In this world of multiple sex partners and rampant STDs, you better believe I'm not sleeping with someone who's also having one night stands in clubs or getting ass from tranny prostitutes in New Jersey. Here's how our conversation went:

Me: Hm. I don't know how to bring this up. I'd really like to.. but... I mean, I like you, but I only sleep with guys I'm dating exclusively. Besides, I really don't know how you feel about me.

Him: .....

Me: ... and?

Him: ......

Me: Well if you have to think about it that long, I think I have my answer.

It might help to explain - we were both a little drunk and that conversation took place around 4:00am in his apartment. Also, I'm pretty sure I caught him completely off guard with it, as it's not something we had previously discussed. It was by no means my smartest moment. I'm sure he had certain expectations given the late hour and our level of intoxication, but that doesn't mean I'm going to drop my pants.

So that's the score. Three kisses, one real kiss, and countless awkward cheek-kisses. Good news: since the blog is now subscription only, I can be as specific as humanly possible moving forward. None of this "we hooked up" shit, expect overshare central... once it happens.

I might expand this post later but I really need to get out of here - I'm surrounded by fake boobs and I keep wondering if they float like life preservers in pools. If I stay here long enough, I might actually ask.

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