First of all, I cannot believe the majority of my hookups have been procured through different levels of my intoxication. I’d like to say that my first kiss was with my high school crush and we kissed under the moonlight or some other disgustingly romantic situation. I’d like to be able to tell my future children anything other than the fact that my first kiss was with a birthday boy at his 21st party (despite the fact that it was the hottest make out session of my life) and I passed out soon after because my 19 year old body had been drinking hours before the party started.
This little introduction to drunken make-outs was exciting. Drunk me has always been more flirtatious and adventurous than sober me. This didn’t necessarily lead to random make outs with people I didn’t know, (that came later, after said sober boy) the guys I would drunkenly make out with were all guys that I knew or had known for a while. Part of me feels slutty for talking about this but I was in college and slut naming is a whole different conversation.
Sober boy was the 5th boy I’ve kissed. We had some mutual friends and our personalities connected right off the bat. We hung out a few times at some college parties before we realized our feelings were mutual. He invited me over to his place to watch some movies. Into the 2nd movie, we just started making out, for a good while. He wanted to take things a step further but I told him to take things slow. He was respectful, but became nervous and got off the couch and moved to his bed. I would like to say that I left and went home, but if I recall correctly, I slept on his couch and then left for work the next morning.
We tried hanging out after that, but timing or circumstances always prevented it from happening. We texted on and off over the summer. When I got back from summer break, he had a new girlfriend. It was lame.
After our initial make out, it hit me that it was the only kiss that I was not drunk or even tipsy for. Part of me hates that I was sober that night. Part of me wishes it didn’t even happen or that I can forget that it did. When I went over to his place that night, I had butterflies in my tummy, the kind you have when you know another person might have the same feelings. I had the same feelings when I woke up that next morning and when we texted over the summer. Those little butterflies were crushed when he came around with his new girlfriend.
I’m happy for him now. His girlfriend will make a wonderful wife one day. What I am left with is the fact that the one time I put myself out there I was left with nothing. Maybe this experience has been in the back of my head preventing me from putting myself out there again. I thought I was over him. I am over him. I guess I am just not over myself.