Last night I was picked up in a sauna in a 4* hotel by a well built, Spanish, man called Fernando. A travelling Christmas lights designer. He asked me to join him for a drink in the hotel bar. Being that I needed the company and had a nice new dress, I agreed. Conversation was stilted, I pretended to laugh at his jokes but as I don’t know Spanish and his English wasn’t great, it was hard work but he was easy on the eye.
However, he did know how to ask if he could come up to my hotel room and later on, asked me and I said ‘no way.’ On the way to our separate rooms he tried to plant one of the most heinous kisses on my face I think I’ve ever had. It was like how I’d imagine the creatures in Aliens would kiss you. I aggressively pushed him off, clutching my poor lips in agony and said:
‘What the HELL was that?’
‘A kiss for you.’
‘Have you kissed before?’
‘Yes many times.’
‘And not a single woman you’ve planted one on has ever told you that isn’t how you are meant to do it?’
Not wanting to try and communicate anymore with him, feeling like I hated my face, still holding on to my lips I said an abrupt goodnight, and pissed off to my room.
My thought was: how has a good looking man of 35, with a good job managed to go through his whole life kissing women like he’s trying to find something in their lungs? I don’t know who is to blame.
How often are people honest after bad kisses?
I’m only beginning to like my face again now.