Kiss and Tell
No matter what emotional complications have been rearing their thorny little heads about my attempts at promiscuity, the fact remains that making out remains one of my favorite activities, and is something I can do at the drop of a hat with a certain amount of panache. As well as a sense of the theatrical. Though I'm trying to be better about the latter.
I don't know if I'm succeeding....
Right now I would like to be making out with Cillian Murphy, but that's mostly because I just recently saw Batman Begins and now have a huge crush on him, not because he is in any way accessible right now. (Ah, would that he were...)
The movie, by the way, was fantastic. As a fan of the comic, and of Burton's imaginings, I went in hoping for something good, expecting something mediocre. Instead, WHOA! Full on thumbs up. I think, by far, the best written of all the examples, and what a brilliant, nuanced way to bring life back to the franchise. Well done.
But the issue at hand. Lip locks.
A few weeks ago I was climbing a staircase in a rather unreputable establishment, when the fellow in front of me looked back and said "I know you from Somewhere...". Now, as all the possible pick-up lines in the universe spin and eddy their way about the cosmos, sleet through the brains of sentient hustlers and desperate trollers, winsome starlets and anxious suitors, this is the the one that seems to come out of people's mouths directed at me most often. I don't know what it is, if I have that kind of face, or that I have such a terrible memory (thank you chemicals and poisons all) that I don't remember meeting these folks... which is possible... but I almost never get anything more imaginative. It also makes me suspicious when I hear anything to that effect. So I responded (rather coolly) "It's a possibility. I have been Somewhere before."
"Do you know [so and so]?"
"Can't say that I do."
"How about [unfamiliar]"
"Nope."
"Hmm. Do you hang out at [undesirable uber-gay venue]?"
"Not if I can help it."
I wasn't being very nice, I realize, but I wasn't in the mood.
"Wait! Do you know [very good friends of very good friends of mine]?"
"Oh. My. God."
It came back in a flash.
Said fellow, whom we will now refer to as the Initiate, was indeed someone I had run into before. At ChikiMonkey's birthday party about two years ago. Almost exactly two years ago, to make it a little weirder. On the night in question, I had just swallowed a pill that had defiantly not been proscribed by any doctor in North America, and was starting to feel quite happily altered, sitting on a bed in an upstairs room with a few other people. The Initiate was there. As was my beloved Kengee. Kengee and the Initiate were making out. Then, I started making out with Kengee, which seemed like a good idea at the time.
Making out with girls just counts as recreation anyway.
But then, Kengee's mischievous and somewhat opportunistic side started making plans of her own, and sort of suggested that the boys could make out too.
Again, feeling very pleasant thanks to party favours, I started to do so. The little voice in my head then started to narrate:
Wow. This is nice. He's a good kisser. He likes to touch your face. I like that. No, he's definitely skilled.... Much better than... my boyfriend. BOYFRIEND!
And the next thing I knew I was standing on the other side of room, speaking very quickly, apologizing and scampering, hurriedly, down the stairs.
"You were the first guy I ever kissed," the Initiate told me, there in the stairwell. A very different set of stairs from the ones I had hasted down two years previous. "You still have a boyfriend?"
"Oh, you remember that part, do you?"
"I think you said it about five times before you ran away."
"No, I don't have a boyfriend anymore. Not for a while, actually."
"You seemed a little rattled."
"Yes, well, that bad behavior kind of snuck up on me. It took me by surprise.... How about you? How you doin'?"
The Initiate, it turns out, has now been out for a full year. As we chatted for a little while after running into each other, he told his friends about five times himself that I was his "first".
"Oh my god, yes! We know. He was the first one."
"Well. It bears repeating."
"Does he know how many have come after?"
"Shut up."
Now, it's not like I made the Initiate gay, or even managed to sway his predilections by treating him to some mind-blowing, unrepeatable, torrid sexual romp; but really, a story like that is the next best thing.
I'm debating weather or not I should go out on a date with him.
I don't know if I'm succeeding....
Right now I would like to be making out with Cillian Murphy, but that's mostly because I just recently saw Batman Begins and now have a huge crush on him, not because he is in any way accessible right now. (Ah, would that he were...)
The movie, by the way, was fantastic. As a fan of the comic, and of Burton's imaginings, I went in hoping for something good, expecting something mediocre. Instead, WHOA! Full on thumbs up. I think, by far, the best written of all the examples, and what a brilliant, nuanced way to bring life back to the franchise. Well done.
But the issue at hand. Lip locks.
A few weeks ago I was climbing a staircase in a rather unreputable establishment, when the fellow in front of me looked back and said "I know you from Somewhere...". Now, as all the possible pick-up lines in the universe spin and eddy their way about the cosmos, sleet through the brains of sentient hustlers and desperate trollers, winsome starlets and anxious suitors, this is the the one that seems to come out of people's mouths directed at me most often. I don't know what it is, if I have that kind of face, or that I have such a terrible memory (thank you chemicals and poisons all) that I don't remember meeting these folks... which is possible... but I almost never get anything more imaginative. It also makes me suspicious when I hear anything to that effect. So I responded (rather coolly) "It's a possibility. I have been Somewhere before."
"Do you know [so and so]?"
"Can't say that I do."
"How about [unfamiliar]"
"Nope."
"Hmm. Do you hang out at [undesirable uber-gay venue]?"
"Not if I can help it."
I wasn't being very nice, I realize, but I wasn't in the mood.
"Wait! Do you know [very good friends of very good friends of mine]?"
"Oh. My. God."
It came back in a flash.
Said fellow, whom we will now refer to as the Initiate, was indeed someone I had run into before. At ChikiMonkey's birthday party about two years ago. Almost exactly two years ago, to make it a little weirder. On the night in question, I had just swallowed a pill that had defiantly not been proscribed by any doctor in North America, and was starting to feel quite happily altered, sitting on a bed in an upstairs room with a few other people. The Initiate was there. As was my beloved Kengee. Kengee and the Initiate were making out. Then, I started making out with Kengee, which seemed like a good idea at the time.
Making out with girls just counts as recreation anyway.
But then, Kengee's mischievous and somewhat opportunistic side started making plans of her own, and sort of suggested that the boys could make out too.
Again, feeling very pleasant thanks to party favours, I started to do so. The little voice in my head then started to narrate:
Wow. This is nice. He's a good kisser. He likes to touch your face. I like that. No, he's definitely skilled.... Much better than... my boyfriend. BOYFRIEND!
And the next thing I knew I was standing on the other side of room, speaking very quickly, apologizing and scampering, hurriedly, down the stairs.
"You were the first guy I ever kissed," the Initiate told me, there in the stairwell. A very different set of stairs from the ones I had hasted down two years previous. "You still have a boyfriend?"
"Oh, you remember that part, do you?"
"I think you said it about five times before you ran away."
"No, I don't have a boyfriend anymore. Not for a while, actually."
"You seemed a little rattled."
"Yes, well, that bad behavior kind of snuck up on me. It took me by surprise.... How about you? How you doin'?"
The Initiate, it turns out, has now been out for a full year. As we chatted for a little while after running into each other, he told his friends about five times himself that I was his "first".
"Oh my god, yes! We know. He was the first one."
"Well. It bears repeating."
"Does he know how many have come after?"
"Shut up."
Now, it's not like I made the Initiate gay, or even managed to sway his predilections by treating him to some mind-blowing, unrepeatable, torrid sexual romp; but really, a story like that is the next best thing.
I'm debating weather or not I should go out on a date with him.
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