That Time He Stole A Kiss From Me

I’ve never understood what it meant to “steal a kiss.” People kiss because they want to, right? So, how does a person steal something that’s willingly given?

My junior year of college, I had a whopping crush on this gorgeous creature in one of my general education lectures. I spent half of every class staring at him. He sat right behind me, in all his blue-eyed, befreckled, dark-haired, engineering major glory… Mmm mmmmm. He was also a freshman, but inexperience rarely deters me from a conquest.

Although I had only talked with him in the context of mostly school-related happenings and group projects (I was our team’s leader), I finally worked up the nerve to take it to the next level during the last lecture of the semester. I struck up a conversation as we were exiting the classroom, then kept the coy chatter going until an opportune moment arose to ask him on a date. A curious yet delighted grin crept across his face as he gave me his phone number. Score, I thought, he doesn’t know he’s gorgeous!

I was over the moon.

Later that day, he suggested via text message that we get lunch together on his birthday the following Monday, which happened to fall on the first day of finals. I happy danced my way straight out of my chair.

The morning of our lunch, he texted me to say that he’d been in a snowboarding accident over the weekend and had “fucked up” his face. I laughed that he felt the need to give an I-might-be-ugly disclaimer. Excellent, I thought. He’s more scared of me than I am of him. We’re off to a great start.

I tried my darnedest to be charming at lunch. He and I spent most of our two hours discussing noble pursuits — namely partying, drinking, and smoking pot — about which I knew (and cared) very little. Reality started to set in that Mr. Engineering Major might not be the brilliant geek whom I’d sought to date. That was a bummer.

Every time he began to speak, a could feel my clitoris start to invert. I made a mental note to dismiss the goal of pursuing him as a boyfriend. I still wanted to get naked with him, but hey, the kind of talking that springs from those activities is more like coaching than small talk, anyway.

After lunch, we walked outside, towards his dormitory. He invited me up to his room, but I declined. I knew full well that I’d lose all motivation to study for final exams after an afternoon of awkward flirtation, and I had little desire to socialize with his troglodyte suitemates.

He respected my decision, and initiated a goodbye hug instead. It felt good.

Then, he caught me off guard.

As I loosened the grip of my arms from his back, I was surprised that his grip did not budge. Before I realized what was happening, his open mouth came darting my way and landed roughly against mine. Uhhhhhhh, I guess we’re kissing now? I thought.

He said something afterwards, which I no longer can recall. I just remember walking away puzzled. I was happy I’d gotten to kiss him, yet I felt oddly violated, since I hadn’t wanted the kiss right then and there. It felt forced because, well, it was. I mean, he technically assaulted me… right? I didn’t know how to feel about the incident.

He stole it. He stole a kiss from me.

Had we been sitting side by side, I probably would have ducked out of the way when he initiated the gesture. Instead, he’d kept me in a grip where I didn’t have time to express non-consent.

By the time I had walked back to my apartment, a coquettish text from him had popped up on my phone. Forever a fan of directness, I let him know that I was extremely attracted to him, but that the kiss had been too sudden, and that I’d rather slow things down a bit.

No reply.

He nervously avoided my gaze before the final exam, though I did volunteer some friendly chatter to set a better tone between us. Then, the exam was distributed, and we were shushed. I never heard from him again.

Moral of the story: Next time, ask first. Consent is sexy.

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