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May 17, 2009

I’m sure it’s been said many times. Actually, I think it might be a song. The way you know a guy is for you is by the way they kiss you.

My first high school boyfriend (the one who’s mom asked me if I would like to speak to Jr. or Sr.) was sloppy. He would come in for a kiss and leave the outside of my mouth so soggy that I would give him a hug afterwards and secretly wipe my mouth on his sleeve.

Second boyfriend (or maybe third, I can’t remember) liked to bob his head. It was like he was a bobble head but instead of going up and down he went forwards and backwards. He would push into my lips and away from my lips, into my lips, away from my lips. By the end of a makeout session I had a stiff neck. I should have just grabbed his head and taken control.

Last boyfriend in high school would come at me with an open mouth. I would go crossed eyed trying to watch him go in for the kiss. I was terrified he would end up eating my lips instead of kissing them.

And then there was the one that topped them all… my first kiss. Now this does not include the kiss that Mark C. stole from me on the playground in 2nd grade. This was my first big girl kiss.

I had just turned 14 that month and he was 16. I was the late bloomer of the bunch. No boyfriend, no kiss… yet. Then on a team trip that all changed.

We were at a competition where there were tons of different sports competing and my team of all girls ended up hanging out with a baseball team. On that team was Guy. We instantly took a liking to each other and when we weren’t competing, spent most of our time with each other and our friends. He also snuck into my dorm room a time or two while my roommate shook her head disapprovingly at me. Nothing happened, just a little hand holding and lots of butterflies. Until the day I left.

As my team was packing up, I said goodbye and he took me into the side hallway. Then, he kissed me. And being the first kiss it was ok. Actually, I don’t really remember it. What I do remember was what happened after that. He kissed me, then hugged me, then kissed my cheek, and then BIT my cheek. Yes, I said bit. HE FUCKING BIT ME!

I pulled away in shock. Is this what guys do? They bite you? I sheepishly said good bye, and walked away to find a mirror. Luckily there wasn’t a huge amount of evidence that he had bitten me. My rosy cheeks of embarrassment covered it up pretty well. But to say that it scared me to ever kiss a guy again would be an understatement. This guy had ruined it. Why would he do that? What compels someone to bite?

Thank god the man I ended up marrying came along and remedied all of the bad kisses that I had to endure. I do wonder what happened to that guy. He’s probably off at some fetish convention. Adios Biter, hope you found a bitch who likes to bite.

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