A bucket list is solely made so you can cross off the things you’ve done. So naturally while studying abroad at Leeds University, my friends and I made a bucket list of things we needed to do. On the top of the list was “kiss a British boy”. Challenge accepted. I got this, everyone. I’m a big fan of kissing random guys. (Especially if they have accents.)
The first weekend out, me and three other girls went into town with no intentions what so ever other than to get completely trashed. By the end of the night we were a little drunk and a little too excited for two in the morning but after we found a hot dog truck, we called it a night. It might have been how loud and American we sounded or it might have been the deflated blow up doll that was slung across one of my friend’s shoulders, either way we were stopped by three guys. (I’m still waiting for you to accept the friend request you sent yourself from my phone, Barney.) We found out after we kissed them in the middle of the street that they were only 18. We try not to talk too much about that.
The next weekend was a night out with all of the international students. It’s a tradition in Leeds to do a costume themed pub-crawl– 26 bars in one night. Fun, right? The theme was animals. Even more fun! I was a cat and he was in a monkey onesie. I told him I had called dibs on him the first week there, he laughed like I was kidding. My friends hated how douchey he was but they don’t know what it feels like to have his teeth tugging on your lower lip.
The Monday of our last week a guy found me sitting down fanning myself in the hottest bar I’d ever been in. (I’m pretty sure it was at least 97 degrees in there.) He commented on the table dancing another girl and I had done a couple minutes before. He had glasses and talked about a sci-fi bar I should check out. (I never did.) Everyone was leaving and he kissed my cheek then my mouth. I said exactly three times: “I have to go, or they’ll leave me.” And he said: “You don’t seem like you really want to leave.” Touché, glasses man, touché. I wish I remembered his name. I wish I would have stayed longer. And I kind of wish I had gone to that geeky sci-fi bar.
One other thing that I needed to cross off the list was “kiss a bartender”. And I did. I leaned over the bar and explained: “I’m American and I need to kiss a bartender, whattya think?” He smiled, said his name, and then led me back to the garden outside because apparently kissing a costumer inside is unprofessional. He tasted like mint and tangled his hands in my hair. When I left, I gave him a hug and he gave me a peck on the lips. “Don’t have too much fun without me, yeah?” Still my favorite bartender.
He had a tongue ring. He kept trying to get me to go back to his hotel. He wasn’t even a good kisser. I’ve decided I’m going to act like no one saw it so it doesn’t even count.
I don’t even know how I met him but all I know was that I was holding a fabric pen out to him in the middle of the street asking him to sign his name on my shirt. He happily did, all the while making fun of my accent. I think I had told him about the competition I had going with one of the other girls and he decided he wanted to help me win. I thanked him, took my marker and kindly said “see ya never!”
It’s pathetic how I can kiss three guys in one night and still say: “Is he coming? Are we going to meet up with him?” He wasn’t wearing a monkey onesie like last time but he was just as drunk. We bought shots, took them, danced, bought more shots. Vicious cycle just to get each other more drunk. His bed was comfortable that night. I didn’t feel awkward and gross with his hands all over me like I should have; maybe it was all the alcohol in my body or maybe it was the “fuck it” attitude. I’m glad my last few hours were spent laying next to him.