I can remember my 12th birthday, my first coed party. Everyone decided it would be fun to play “Spin the Bottle.” There I was, in the grass in the corner of my backyard, praying the bottle didn’t spin in my direction. I was completely grossed-out watching my girlfriends swap spit with a bunch of scrawny little boys. After all, I was always told not to share my beverages, saliva carries germs, I could get sick.
The kiss, an unspoken word; our first impression that determines passion or the lack thereof. An uneventful kiss ends a courtship before it even begins. A heart-pounding exchange of our souls makes us go back for more, over and over again, like our favorite meal; perhaps it is our favorite meal. Kissing, however, is an acquired taste.
It’s amazing what a difference time can make. How our perspectives change — our likes, our desires. I was 13 when I shared my first kiss with a very cute boy named Richie. He romantically pulled me behind the gym locker room and shoved his tongue down my throat. There we were, the smell of old sweat socks lingering in the air, and only 30 seconds left to get to our next class. I couldn’t believe it … my first kiss. I thought it was great. I couldn’t wait to go back for more.
Today, I can’t even remember Richie’s last name, but I’ll always remember the kiss. As the years have passed, I’ve discovered how joyous or disgusting a kiss can be.
I once went on a date with a really terrific-looking guy. I had so much fun, he was great. At the end of our date, he kissed me goodnight. I can still taste his breath, a mixture of decay and day-old broccoli left in the hot sun. It was so horrible, it made me hate him. How dare he subject me to his mouth funk!
The rotted-vegetable experience made me a bit more cautious in the kissing game. I learned to get close when my date is talking, to test for nasty oral odor before it is literally thrust down my throat. It definitely works for weeding out potential nausea that has no future.
I often wonder how people with such terrible breath have relationships. I have met lots of people where you have to take two steps back during conversation to avoid passing out from the stench. Do their spouses lack olfactory senses? Do their spouses also suffer from breath funk? After all, it is said that misery loves company.
When I meet a victim of bad breath, I always want to suggest a dentist, a gastroenterologist, or at the very least, a good dousing of Listerine, but never have the courage. I mean, is it really my business if someone else wants to be a walking advertisement promoting toxic waste? It’s like telling someone they have a piece of chive stuck in their tooth. I’ll admit, I don’t even have the nerve to alert someone of that, I just pretend I don’t see it and figure eventually it will dislodge itself or the person will find it on their own.
Once we learn to stay away from bad breath, we discover there are other obstacles along our journey to finding a great kissing partner. For instance, Austin Power’s fangs circa 1969, or worse, braces. Do you really want to risk being bit or scraped by a piece of jagged tooth or metal?
On the more positive side, once you know what you don’t like, it’s easier to figure out what works for you. If someone passes the “breathalizer” test, then they could have great kissing potential.
I think my first really great kiss was when I was about 16. I went out on a date with some guy I thought was just kind of OK. I wasn’t overly excited, it was more a feeling of just wanting to go out and he happened to ask me. He was in the “slow” classes in school — not that he was stupid, he was just lazy, the kind of person you just assumed would go nowhere in life. I figured, what the hell, it’s only one night, at least it was something to do. Well, he turned out to be really sexy in a rough sort of way. It was the first time a guy ever held my hand while walking, or played with my hair. But guess what? He didn’t try to kiss me. I kept wondering why, which made me want to keep seeing this person I basically considered a Saturday Night Fever reject. After several dates, finally, I kissed him. I figured someone had to do it.
Well, it was amazing. He was so passionate. It was my first spontaneous kiss.
That passionate kiss caused me to think I was “in love.” I spent the next six months dating a guy whose sole ambition in life was polishing his motorcycle. Thank heaven the novelty of kissing eventually wears off when it is the only glue binding a relationship.
