Sunday, July 24, 2016

Cavern Kisser

High school doesn’t offer classes in kissing; we’re all supposed to learn on our own and decide the perfect kiss for ourselves . I had a good teacher in Soldier Boy when I was sixteen, so I spent my lifetime searching for men who kissed the way he did.

 
Here’s the thing; Soldier Boy lightly pressed his lips to mine and then gradually increased the pressure as our mutual interest rose. If there was any tongue action, it was lightly done, mostly on my lips. Everything was tender, soft, and inviting. Few men after him had the same technique, though. Cavern Kisser, or CK, comes to mind. I met him when I was eighteen and a freshman in college.

 
My dorm mate fixed me up with her friend CK, and we were going to double date. Since we were all Jewish, it seemed like the situation could be promising. The family mantra kept repeating in the back of my mind, “Marry a nice Jewish boy, and you’ll always be happy.”  

 
When I first met CK, though, I did not think of him as nice. I found him to be abrupt and demanding, but hey, he was Jewish, and he invited me to Charleston for New Year’s Eve. I would stay with my dorm mate’s family for the weekend.

 
I was already committed, already in Charleston, the first time CK kissed me. He came at me like a 200-pound grouper, mouth open wide, and planted his cavernous mouth over what felt like half my face. All I could do was wait until he eventually withdrew like a ship pulling away from its dock.

 
We could find no common ground to talk about, since he wanted to talk about himself exclusively. At least he took me out to a fine restaurant, and we ate a good meal. For dessert I ordered something I’d never tasted—cherries jubilee. It arrived in flames, and when it cooled down, I took one mouthful of the absolute best dessert I had ever tasted. As soon as I swallowed, CK stood, grabbed my elbow, and said, “You’ve eaten enough; let’s go.” I reluctantly abandoned my delicious dessert and dutifully followed. He was, after all, my date, and girls complied with men, back then. While walking away, my mouth still watering for more cherries jubilee, I thought things could not get worse.

 
I was wrong.

 
I don’t recall how we got separated from my roommate and her date, but CK took me back to my roommate’s house, and the door was unlocked, even though her parents were asleep. I wanted him to leave, but midnight had not struck yet, so we turned on the TV and waited for my dorm mate and her date to arrive. When I sat down beside CK, he leaned over with his huge mouth open as wide as possible and sucked my face. As soon as I could peel him off me, I did. Rejected, he put his head in my lap while we watched everyone else having raucous New Year’s celebrations. I could not figure out how to get him to leave. I was only eighteen years old and had not yet gained the courage to speak my mind.

 
Sometime after one o’clock, he grabbed my hand and said, “I need cigarettes. Come with me.”

 
I did something I never did before and have never done again. I left without my purse, which meant I left without any contact phone numbers, ID, or money. We were simply going a mile or so to get cigarettes, anyway. We drove a few blocks before he saw flashing lights ahead. “Ooh, an accident. Maybe we can see some blood,” he said, his body jerking with joy.

 
“Let’s not go there,” I said, but he swerved the steering wheel and drove in the direction of the smashed cars and flashing blue lights.

 
“We’ve gotta see. Somebody could be dead,” he said, filled with excitement.

 
As we drew closer, indeed we could see a lifeless body flat out on the road face down. He pulled up as close as he could, rolled down his window, and peered over. “Shit!” he said. “I know who that is.” He jerked the car to the curb and leaped out.

 
I sat in the car alone, not knowing what to do. I needed to get back to my friend’s house and go to sleep, but I was stuck. I was in an unfamiliar city. I had no money to call anyone from a pay phone and no pay phone in sight. In 1963 no one had even heard of cell phones. While I worried about what my roommate and her parents might think about my absence, the hours dragged on. After sitting in the car alone for more than an hour, I had to ride with CK to the hospital. There I sat alone for many more hours while CK hovered over his friend who, it turned out, was not dead but was severely injured.

 
Frankly I don’t recall when I finally got back to my friend’s house and got some rest, but my entire weekend was a bust, punctuated by several cavernous, unenthusiastic, and barely tolerable kisses. Thankfully I never saw or heard from CK again.