The kiss that almost made me bald

Some nights you never quite recover from: a true story of teenage humiliation

Kissing B felt like being kissed by a hyperactive puppy. In the attic-turned-teen boy’s bedroom, all I could see was tongue and teeth. The smell of Orbit Sweet Mint gum mixed with Coors Light permeated his breath.

It wasn’t my first kiss. I started doing that way too young. But anyone I’d kissed previously had been a friend or classmate, often during a game of spin the bottle.

But this night was different. It was the first time a stranger, a boy one year older from another school, wanted to kiss ME.

B was tall, Irish American, and a little goofy. He was shy, almost mute, until he had a few beers. We’d nervously spent the night catching one another staring until we finally crossed paths outside the bathroom. He barely said two words to me before pulling me by the hand and dragging me up the attic stairs.

He playfully pushed me onto the bed, and we were off to the races. Or should I say he was off to the races, since he was doing all the kissing. In the pitch-black room, all I could hear was the sound of his teeth clacking against mine. I tried to slow down my kissing, hoping he would follow. I desperately tried to take control, but my limbs were pinned down by his giant body. I needed to have my Bring It On teen movie makeout session, if it was the last thing I did. But I only lasted another five minutes before suggesting we head back downstairs. There’s nothing quite like a teenage boy slurring “you’re ssso hot” while licking your face to kill the mood.

It wasn’t a great kiss, but surely he could be taught? I was just happy to have been chosen. Out of all of the pretty girls I was with that night, he wanted to kiss me, and that’s all that mattered.

With cheeks flushed and burning red, I bolted down the steps, hoping no one would notice how long I was up there. Boys played beer pong in the living room while some of the girls were in an intense flip cup battle at an old wooden dining room table. Lil Wayne was blasting through the boombox, and Jackass: The Movie played on a nearby TV. My eyes were still adjusting to the bright living room lights, and before I could head to the keg, three of my girlfriends surrounded me and promptly rushed me into the kitchen.

Backed up against the sink, one friend picked at my hair while the others started rummaging through the cabinets.

“Ooouuuuchh!!!” I yelped. “Why are you pulling my hair?”

“Because you have gum in it,” my other friend slurred as cheap beer sloshed out of her red Solo cup.

A few minutes later, I had the contents of the entire pantry in my hair, and things were getting worse. The gum was breaking apart and ending up all over my head. The smell of peanut butter, olive oil, and Vaseline was enough to sober me up.

For hours, my friends picked at strands of my hair, only stopping to take shots or for cigarette breaks. B, on the other hand, was clueless about the entire ordeal. He continued winning drinking games and winked at me every time he came into the kitchen for more beer.

After what was, and still is, the worst kiss I ever had, I still hoped he would call me after. I saw our future flash before my eyes. I started thinking about what I could wear to his prom and dreamt of what it would be like to visit him at college in the fall. But after that night, I never heard from him.

It was the summer after my senior year before I saw him again, and I should be ashamed to tell you that this time we didn’t just kiss. We went All The Way™. And would you believe me if I told you it was sooo much worse?

hollister, vs pink, and beer pong.

Thanks for reading! Just a few notes:

1- I’m currently writing the next installment of Hot Girl Protocol! I’m hoping to drop it next week. It’ll be free to read, but bonus content will be reserved for paying subscribers!

2- lmk if you like these stories. This one was tame, but I have some way more embarrassing ones (if you could believe it) and some nsfw ones that I’d love to share, but not with everyone.

Love you, bye!