Last weekend I had Meetup Matt (MM) over for dinner. I cooked dinner, he brought wine, we cuddled on the couch and held hands…there was only one thing missing…makeout action. I thought it was kind of cute that we hung out all night and he didn’t make a move (even though it clearly would have been welcome). However, over the following week I found myself more and more anxious about the impending first kiss. What if it was bad? What if there was no chemistry? How long was it going to take for him to gather the courage to kiss me?
After several days of turmoil, I hung out with MM again. Once again it was the perfect atmosphere for him to make a move. We watched some TV, cuddled on the couch, and he finally made his move. Hoorah! The make out session was excellent until…
His mom walked in the house. MM’s mom was in town and said that she would call before she stopped by the house. Unfortunately for us she did not follow through on this. We quickly separated and moved to opposite ends of the couch like guilty teenagers. Knowing that I probably looked disheveled, I frantically tried to fix my hair…I’m not sure how successful I was in this desperate attempt to tidy myself up. Luckily we were fully clothed. I’m still not sure how much MM’s mom suspected as she didn’t comment on the situation. While the situation definitely could have been worse, I would have preferred to have been, umm, more prepared to meet his mother.
Anyway, MM did walk me to my car and kissed me goodbye. Next weekend MM invited me to a party with some of his non-meetup friends. v. good progress!
Showing posts with label make-out disasters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label make-out disasters. Show all posts
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Monday, October 20, 2008
Three words you don’t want to hear before the first date…
I had been unofficially dating this guy for a week or two when IT happened.
Perhaps I should provide the background story. I was in grad school and had known this guy for a few months. We were friends but I could tell that it was turning into something more. Once after studying at the grad office we had gone out for dinner and he paid. (Previously we had mostly hung out together with friends.) He asked me to dinner on another occasion for what I would have called the first date but it didn’t work out. (I think he forgot or something equally irritating.)
So we both went to a grad party to celebrate the end of a semester. He had a little to drink and gathered the courage necessary to hold my hand. (Yeah I know this sounds very junior high…I’m getting there.) Anyway after a while we went back to my place. We watched TV and there was some awkward conversation before he started kissing me. It wasn’t bad...we were just innocently making out (although I could tell he wouldn’t have minded something less innocent).
Then he said it…those three little words that every girl wants to hear…but not before the first date…you guessed it, he said “I love you”!! Thoughts wildly raced through my mind as I searched for the most appropriate response. (Seriously how do you respond to such a bold declaration of love before you have even officially been on a date? The only time I had heard of this happening was in a chick flick…sadly chick flicks don’t translate well in the real world.)
Ultimately I took the non-decision route. I choose not to acknowledge his declaration of love and I continued to kiss him. After a while I told him that it was time for him to go…after which I, of course, proceeded to freak out! Sadly, the premature “I love you” marked the turning point in this “relationship”…the beginning of the end.
Hereafter, he will be referred to as the Premature “I love you” guy.
Perhaps I should provide the background story. I was in grad school and had known this guy for a few months. We were friends but I could tell that it was turning into something more. Once after studying at the grad office we had gone out for dinner and he paid. (Previously we had mostly hung out together with friends.) He asked me to dinner on another occasion for what I would have called the first date but it didn’t work out. (I think he forgot or something equally irritating.)
So we both went to a grad party to celebrate the end of a semester. He had a little to drink and gathered the courage necessary to hold my hand. (Yeah I know this sounds very junior high…I’m getting there.) Anyway after a while we went back to my place. We watched TV and there was some awkward conversation before he started kissing me. It wasn’t bad...we were just innocently making out (although I could tell he wouldn’t have minded something less innocent).
Then he said it…those three little words that every girl wants to hear…but not before the first date…you guessed it, he said “I love you”!! Thoughts wildly raced through my mind as I searched for the most appropriate response. (Seriously how do you respond to such a bold declaration of love before you have even officially been on a date? The only time I had heard of this happening was in a chick flick…sadly chick flicks don’t translate well in the real world.)
Ultimately I took the non-decision route. I choose not to acknowledge his declaration of love and I continued to kiss him. After a while I told him that it was time for him to go…after which I, of course, proceeded to freak out! Sadly, the premature “I love you” marked the turning point in this “relationship”…the beginning of the end.
Hereafter, he will be referred to as the Premature “I love you” guy.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Introducing The Heavy Breather
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.
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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