Skid Roche

From my Blowfish column:

I vividly remember my first kiss. I was in the clutches of a vastly more experienced girl my age, quite willingly I should add. It had been made pretty clear for at least a few days that we were going to “make out” the next time she got me alone. I was so nervous I was shaking.

When she kissed me, it wasn’t at all what I expected. I remember thinking “whoa, that’s her tongue,” which I expected in the abstract — but in real life it felt all wet, weird, and wriggly. Her mouth tasted ever so slightly sour, not like the oft-described “salty” kisses I’d read about.

To use a popular BDSM term, it kinda squicked me, as surely as if my partner had stuck a bunch of needles through her body and suspended herself by fleshhooks right there in her bedroom (which certainly would have been a novel first date, and far from unlikely for me in the years since then).

Read more at Blowfish.