A slight flashback to get us started...
I was on the rebound, and dating a guy that was more into me than I was into him. He was nice, definitely my type, but sadly, not as much my type as the commitment-phobe/fuckwit that had just crushed me, so I really wasn't that into him. We had gone out on a date, but still hadn't had any real mouth-to-mouth action when he invited me over for dinner. He actually cooked me dinner. Chicken, salad, wine, the works. So obviously we had to hit the couch for a post you've-just-cooked-dinner-for-me make-out session. And it was good. Except for one not-so-little thing.
His heavy breathing.
This may sound like an innocent make-out faux pas, but I assure you, it was not. It was a fairly innocent make-out session; there wasn't even groping involved for crying out loud, and here he was, panting like a porn star. I mean, the guy turned out to be an above average kisser, but I couldn't enjoy it because I was so completely freaked out. I just kept thinking un-sexy thoughts like "is there something going on for him that's not happening for me?" and "maybe he should hit the gym for a little extra cardio?" and "seriously, it's not like it's his first time, is it?" (it wasn't, he's a serial monogomist of the worst kind. More about that and his corresponding fuckwittage later.).
Because of the screaming awkwardness of the situation, I ended the lip-lock much sooner than I would have liked. I just couldn't enjoy it. But I believe in second chances, so later that evening, I gave him a second chance. And it happened AGAIN!
So I did what any sensible girl would do. I avoided any and all potential make-out sessions for two weeks. Harder than you think. This story has a happy ending, though. He must have taken up running in those two weeks, because after that, the unnecessary heavy breathing was replaced by the appropriate kind.
However, he will hereby be referred to as The Heavy Breather.
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