Karma

"This is the most disgusting thing I've ever done," I thought.

It was exactly as I imagined back in fifth grade.  I was mystified then and mystified now as to why such behavior would or could ever be considered pleasant, although my friends assured me it was so.  My current experience certainly demonstrated my friends' woeful lack of taste and ladylike conduct.

My left eyeball throbbed.  My glasses had been thrown askew in the melee and my lens was smashed against my delicate orb.  My right earpiece sprung erect from my temple.  Yet even pain and fear of discovery did nothing to dissade my stunned acceptance.  My spine pressed against the cool bronze brick of my high school building, just outside Mr. Godfrey's biology class.  American Bandstand and movies dictated that I should place my arms around Todd's neck, but at this point, I considered my usually reliable sources bogus.  As a result, my arms flailed dubiously over my head yet well below Todd's shoulders.  His gargantuan hands braced the brick wall at either side of my head.  Although I found the entire experience intimidating, I was relieved Todd's hands weren't under my Pat Benatar t-shirt.

Todd's nose flattened mine like a kid making pig faces against a storefront window.  I wheezed through a hole the size of a mote of dust.  Saliva pooled in the well of my bottom lip, as my mouth retained a startled and naive capital "O."  Todd's freakishly large tongue lashed at the back of my throat with alarming vigor.

Everything about Todd was freakish and large.  Well, I didn't know about everything, but the rest of him was certainly noticeable.  At 15 years of age, he stood a good 6' 4" and played varsity football and basketball.  He was handsome in a kind of heavy boned way.  He was almost popular; one of those guys who hung out with the truly cool and bitchin' guys.  And although I wasn't an invisible girl, merely faint around the edges, I knew this, but had been flattered to receive Todd's attentions just the same.  And here it was.  My first French kiss.  This adolescent landmark had turned into a landmine and a wet one at that.

Todd sadly confused my will to live with ardor.  He continued the assault, wagged his slimy, alien tongue over and around my teeth, licked the insides of my miniscule mouth and gave on last frothy lap at my lips as he withdrew.  I just stood there, fighting the urge to wipe my mouth with my sleeve.

Todd stepped back, cocked his jaw, tossed his head and uttered the words that kicked what little ego I had to the curb.  He purred, "I like a little more action in my women."  With that, he flicked the corner of his mouth with his thumb and walked back into the school.

I gasped out loud.  It's not easy just popping back into your body after a near death experience.  I was stunned and embarrassed.  Hurt.  Indignant.  Rejected and righteously pissed.  I finally found my voice and muttered, "Well, if you hadn't jumped me, you pompous jerk, I might have gotten into the game!" 

Todd and I never spoke again after those 30 interminable seconds.  I caught him looking at me out of the corner of his eye in Miss Hogan's English class once, but I was suitably aloof and offended.  I chose to believe he was looking at me with regret instead of the more likely emotion -- pity.  I quietly bore him a grudge the rest of my high school years.

Several years later, I pulled into a fast food drive thru window and handed my money to the cashier.  Something about the cashier's mouth caught my eye and I did a double take.  And Todd, the boy who had stolen my innocent kiss from someone more worthy, handed me my french fries.  A flicker of recognition darted across his brow.  I said, "Hi."  He said, "Hi."  Other than that, we didn't acknowledge our association.  Todd handed me my 67 cents in change which I took with a polite smile.

As I drove away, I cocked my jaw, tossed my head and said, "God, I love karma."

Word Count: 704