Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Place Card
Okay, I know I suck, all you throngs of teeming masses of readers are probably foaming at the mouth for a new post as it has been ever so long. I promise that by Friday I will have something new up, I'm in the middle of three different essays and I'm not sure which one to post, maybe if I had some feed back...
Thursday, May 3, 2012
My First Kiss
His name was Ted. That was basically all I knew about the boy who I would share my first kiss with. Let’s rewind a few years, back to the spring of 2006. I was merely a freshman, naïve to the ways of the world. For the first time in my incredibly sheltered life I was living on my own. Well, on my own in the sense that I had a roomy dorm room and parents who would begrudgingly pay my credit card bill each month.
Regardless of the circumstances I was finally free of my overbearing parents. For the first time ever I could do exactly what I wanted to when I wanted to and if that included kissing strange boys so be it.
I had noticed Ted around campus a few weeks prior. The first thing that caught my attention was his mouth. No it wasn’t because he had a sexy pout and a pair of DS lips. Rather it was his under bite. Ted had (and probably still does for all I know) the most ridiculous under bite I had ever seen. It pushed his bottom jaw out and gave him slight resemblance to Popeye. To be honest though that exaggerated defect just made him cuter in my opinion.
I’ve never gone after the pretty boys. Well, I did once but that's neither here nor there. I generally go for guys with average looks and above average personality. If I wanted to fuck a guy with a perfect body but without a brain in his head I’d just buy a blow up sex doll. I’d rather be able to hold a conversation with someone than have to reapply oil to his glistening abs all night. Besides, dating average looking guys made it easier to like myself.
Ted was a sophomore and though only one year separated us it might as well have been ten for all I cared. Ted seemed mature and sophisticated, totally comfortable in his own skin. I was shy and insecure, desperately seeking a group that would accept me as one of their own. I some how easily blended into a small group of hardcore, scene, goth, and club kids. I spent my nights traipsing through the French Quarter and drinking as much as my meager savings would allow.
The best part about living in New Orleans was that there was never a dull moment. We went out almost every night because there was something to do almost every night. The craziest and most out of control nights were always Tuesday. Tuesday night was Dyke night at the Pub on Bourbon Street. Around 10 we would all meet up on campus, dressed in our finest post adolescent, quasi-rebellious attire. I was pretty tame compared to others in my group. Several of the more experienced kids favored platforms boots, PVC corsets, and ridiculous eye makeup which only served to emphasize their numerous and fashionable facial piercings. Skinny jeans procured from Wal-Mart and borrowed eyeliner was as far as I was willing to go at that point.
It was a Tuesday night like many before it in early March when I would stumble into my very first kiss. I had actually kissed multiple people before this night but they had all been girls. I had a pretty good idea that I favored the company of gentleman but I wasn’t ready to announce it to the world yet. Instead I clung to my facade of youthful experimentation that belied my inner fear of revealing my sexuality. But I digress. That night we all met in front of Beaver Hall, which was the freshman dorm on campus. As we all stood out front smoking cigarettes and doing our best to look moody and stylish my friend Shep took me aside. She told me that this guy was coming out with us tonight for the first time, his name was Ted and I should try and get to know him.
Now back then I stridently refused to accept or admit that I was a textbook homosexual. I told Shep that I would be more than happy to make a new friend but that was it. As the final stragglers arrived I finally laid my eyes on him. I’m not sure why exactly but I knew that something was going to happen that night. I could feel it in the air as if there was a shift in the atmosphere.
We piled into two cars and made our way downtown towards the French Quarter. I remember having a giddy feeling of anticipation in my stomach the entire ride, which could only be partly attributed to the vodka and Red Bull in my water bottle. We arrived in the Quarter and proceeded to park on Esplanade as per usual. Our motley gang fell out of Shep’s SUV and started walking towards Decatur Street.
If you’ve never been to New Orleans you really should find some time to. The Quarter alone is worth a visit. The French Quarter can be divided into four main streets: Decatur, Chartres, Royal, and Bourbon. At opposite ends of the spectrum were Decatur and Bourbon. Decatur is dark, and a little dangerous (in a completely safe kind of way, the danger is more of an aesthetic) where as Bourbon was loud and garish, lit up 24 hours a day.
We first stepped into the Whirling Dervish, a favorite hangout spot on Decatur Street. I distinctly remember being upset because instead of a vodka and cranberry I was served a vodka and grape fruit juice. I detest grape fruit. I loathe grape fruit with every fiber of my body. We got our drinks to go and I spent the entire walk over to Bourbon complaining about my drink. Honestly though why would anyone want grape fruit juice? It’s somehow both salty and sour in the worst way possible.
We made our way towards the Pub, showed our underage ID’s at the door and were granted admission. The first time I ever went to the Pub I really thought that it was a glamorous place. However, upon repeated visits the sleaziness of the place came to the surface. The velvet coaches with velvet curtains that I had initially thought were so cool quickly revealed themselves to be disgusting cesspools of what I’m sure you don’t even want to know.
For some reason that particular night I had a surplus of cash with me and there was no way that I was going to leave with any of it. I know that I spent a good chunk of the night ingesting multiple watermelon drops which is a sickly sweet and viscous shot. I lost count after the 5th one. I was also nursing Absolut Peach and sours all night as well. Luckily I only got a hangover and not diabetes.
I’d like to sugarcoat this next part; I mean honestly whose going to correct me if I lie? However honesty is the best policy so here goes nothing. The rest of the night is a bit of a blur but several key events stand out. I remember dancing to some forgettable house music. My version of dancing at the time mostly consisted of me swaying back and forth while alternately flipping my bangs and halfheartedly dropping it as if it were hot. Let me tell you something, there is nothing more unattractive than a full grown, incredibly intoxicated man dropping his ass to the ground and then back up again. Fellows, it doesn’t look cute so don’t do it.
As I was breaking it down on the dance floor, it being the remaining shred of my dignity, Ted approached me. Lo and behold he was just as bad, if not worse, of a dancer than me. He was also just as drunk as me…we were not on our A game that night. Anyway, Ted dances up to me and gets close, really close. His hand immediately went to my crotch and began to grope me through my jeans. He leaned in to kiss me and for some reason, even though he was practically jerking me off on the dance floor, I couldn’t commit to a kiss. No means no.
“I don’t kiss boys,” I told him, proud of my ability to stick to my morals and self-loathing. What followed immediately after this interaction is a murky haze. The next thing I remember is sitting on one of those disgusting DNA encrusted coaches next to Ted. I don’t know if we were talking or just speaking in tongues to each other. The next thing I know I’m taking part in the most passionate kiss I’ve ever had up until that point. This may have something to do with the fact this was my first real kiss, with a boy, ever.
What can I say, it was pretty fucking good. I remember feeling electricity passing through us, which was a first. Unfortunately my only memory following that monumental kiss was throwing up on this beautiful black girls shoe. Her name was Foxy and I knew her from school so she wasn’t too upset. I think I bought her a flower on the street to make up for it.
Suffice to say things between Ted and myself didn’t work out. We eventually spent a real night together and I, in an example of tragic foreshadowing, became completely obsessed with him. That, however, is a story for another day. I’ll say this though, you only get one first kiss and at the very least my first kiss got rid of any lingering doubts that I was straight. So thanks for that Ted, you weren’t a gentleman but you gave me the push I needed to embrace a fundamental part of my life and for that I will forever be grateful. Also a little pissed off because you never called me back but I'm sure I'll get over that eventually.
Regardless of the circumstances I was finally free of my overbearing parents. For the first time ever I could do exactly what I wanted to when I wanted to and if that included kissing strange boys so be it.
I had noticed Ted around campus a few weeks prior. The first thing that caught my attention was his mouth. No it wasn’t because he had a sexy pout and a pair of DS lips. Rather it was his under bite. Ted had (and probably still does for all I know) the most ridiculous under bite I had ever seen. It pushed his bottom jaw out and gave him slight resemblance to Popeye. To be honest though that exaggerated defect just made him cuter in my opinion.
I’ve never gone after the pretty boys. Well, I did once but that's neither here nor there. I generally go for guys with average looks and above average personality. If I wanted to fuck a guy with a perfect body but without a brain in his head I’d just buy a blow up sex doll. I’d rather be able to hold a conversation with someone than have to reapply oil to his glistening abs all night. Besides, dating average looking guys made it easier to like myself.
Ted was a sophomore and though only one year separated us it might as well have been ten for all I cared. Ted seemed mature and sophisticated, totally comfortable in his own skin. I was shy and insecure, desperately seeking a group that would accept me as one of their own. I some how easily blended into a small group of hardcore, scene, goth, and club kids. I spent my nights traipsing through the French Quarter and drinking as much as my meager savings would allow.
The best part about living in New Orleans was that there was never a dull moment. We went out almost every night because there was something to do almost every night. The craziest and most out of control nights were always Tuesday. Tuesday night was Dyke night at the Pub on Bourbon Street. Around 10 we would all meet up on campus, dressed in our finest post adolescent, quasi-rebellious attire. I was pretty tame compared to others in my group. Several of the more experienced kids favored platforms boots, PVC corsets, and ridiculous eye makeup which only served to emphasize their numerous and fashionable facial piercings. Skinny jeans procured from Wal-Mart and borrowed eyeliner was as far as I was willing to go at that point.
It was a Tuesday night like many before it in early March when I would stumble into my very first kiss. I had actually kissed multiple people before this night but they had all been girls. I had a pretty good idea that I favored the company of gentleman but I wasn’t ready to announce it to the world yet. Instead I clung to my facade of youthful experimentation that belied my inner fear of revealing my sexuality. But I digress. That night we all met in front of Beaver Hall, which was the freshman dorm on campus. As we all stood out front smoking cigarettes and doing our best to look moody and stylish my friend Shep took me aside. She told me that this guy was coming out with us tonight for the first time, his name was Ted and I should try and get to know him.
Now back then I stridently refused to accept or admit that I was a textbook homosexual. I told Shep that I would be more than happy to make a new friend but that was it. As the final stragglers arrived I finally laid my eyes on him. I’m not sure why exactly but I knew that something was going to happen that night. I could feel it in the air as if there was a shift in the atmosphere.
We piled into two cars and made our way downtown towards the French Quarter. I remember having a giddy feeling of anticipation in my stomach the entire ride, which could only be partly attributed to the vodka and Red Bull in my water bottle. We arrived in the Quarter and proceeded to park on Esplanade as per usual. Our motley gang fell out of Shep’s SUV and started walking towards Decatur Street.
If you’ve never been to New Orleans you really should find some time to. The Quarter alone is worth a visit. The French Quarter can be divided into four main streets: Decatur, Chartres, Royal, and Bourbon. At opposite ends of the spectrum were Decatur and Bourbon. Decatur is dark, and a little dangerous (in a completely safe kind of way, the danger is more of an aesthetic) where as Bourbon was loud and garish, lit up 24 hours a day.
We first stepped into the Whirling Dervish, a favorite hangout spot on Decatur Street. I distinctly remember being upset because instead of a vodka and cranberry I was served a vodka and grape fruit juice. I detest grape fruit. I loathe grape fruit with every fiber of my body. We got our drinks to go and I spent the entire walk over to Bourbon complaining about my drink. Honestly though why would anyone want grape fruit juice? It’s somehow both salty and sour in the worst way possible.
We made our way towards the Pub, showed our underage ID’s at the door and were granted admission. The first time I ever went to the Pub I really thought that it was a glamorous place. However, upon repeated visits the sleaziness of the place came to the surface. The velvet coaches with velvet curtains that I had initially thought were so cool quickly revealed themselves to be disgusting cesspools of what I’m sure you don’t even want to know.
For some reason that particular night I had a surplus of cash with me and there was no way that I was going to leave with any of it. I know that I spent a good chunk of the night ingesting multiple watermelon drops which is a sickly sweet and viscous shot. I lost count after the 5th one. I was also nursing Absolut Peach and sours all night as well. Luckily I only got a hangover and not diabetes.
I’d like to sugarcoat this next part; I mean honestly whose going to correct me if I lie? However honesty is the best policy so here goes nothing. The rest of the night is a bit of a blur but several key events stand out. I remember dancing to some forgettable house music. My version of dancing at the time mostly consisted of me swaying back and forth while alternately flipping my bangs and halfheartedly dropping it as if it were hot. Let me tell you something, there is nothing more unattractive than a full grown, incredibly intoxicated man dropping his ass to the ground and then back up again. Fellows, it doesn’t look cute so don’t do it.
As I was breaking it down on the dance floor, it being the remaining shred of my dignity, Ted approached me. Lo and behold he was just as bad, if not worse, of a dancer than me. He was also just as drunk as me…we were not on our A game that night. Anyway, Ted dances up to me and gets close, really close. His hand immediately went to my crotch and began to grope me through my jeans. He leaned in to kiss me and for some reason, even though he was practically jerking me off on the dance floor, I couldn’t commit to a kiss. No means no.
“I don’t kiss boys,” I told him, proud of my ability to stick to my morals and self-loathing. What followed immediately after this interaction is a murky haze. The next thing I remember is sitting on one of those disgusting DNA encrusted coaches next to Ted. I don’t know if we were talking or just speaking in tongues to each other. The next thing I know I’m taking part in the most passionate kiss I’ve ever had up until that point. This may have something to do with the fact this was my first real kiss, with a boy, ever.
What can I say, it was pretty fucking good. I remember feeling electricity passing through us, which was a first. Unfortunately my only memory following that monumental kiss was throwing up on this beautiful black girls shoe. Her name was Foxy and I knew her from school so she wasn’t too upset. I think I bought her a flower on the street to make up for it.
Suffice to say things between Ted and myself didn’t work out. We eventually spent a real night together and I, in an example of tragic foreshadowing, became completely obsessed with him. That, however, is a story for another day. I’ll say this though, you only get one first kiss and at the very least my first kiss got rid of any lingering doubts that I was straight. So thanks for that Ted, you weren’t a gentleman but you gave me the push I needed to embrace a fundamental part of my life and for that I will forever be grateful. Also a little pissed off because you never called me back but I'm sure I'll get over that eventually.
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