Remember how I said I'd never been kissed? Well, that was not 100% true. What I meant to say is that I have never willingly been kissed by someone I found attractive.
Allow me to explain:
In order to further abolish my fears of speaking in front of large groups/ people in general, I signed up for an intro level acting class (ok, so I was really just looking for an easy A while I was working of my thesis).
Anyway, the class basically consisted of students partnering up and performing scenes and then discussing them afterward. Piece of cake, right? No, you are so wrong.
When the time came to choose partners, my professor insisted that we leave it up to chance and had us draw names from a hat. Fine, I thought, now I don't have to go through the uncomfortable experience of trying to choose a scene partner, which usually left me as that lone person who couldn't find one.
Because my school had some sort of strange aversion to the male species there were a million (15) women in my class and no (3) men. Because of this inequality, the professor insisted that the men would always have to partner up with a babe. Ok, still fine, I thought. One dude was studying to join the seminary, one was rather normal and one (oh-sweet-mercy-how-did-I-overlook-him-before??) was the Wife Hunter.
You see, there are some men who have the guts to actually go out and pursue a babe. You know, as in striking up a casual conversation, establishing a friendship and then (gasp) actually asking said babe on a casual date.
The Wife Hunter, however, was a different species entirely. He did all of the above, but with no awareness of whether or not a lady was interested. His one goal, it would seem, was to find a female Catholic to marry so she could bear his offspring as soon as possible. He did not pursue, he hunted.
As fate would have it, when it came my turn to choose a partner, I, of course drew the Wife Hunter. And of course our scene was about a married couple having a dramatic fight.
At first it wasn't so bad.
As the day of our scene drew closer, however, the Wife Hunter was becoming more and more enthusiastic about the scene by doing things like trying to make me pray a chastity prayer for engaged couples (oh, he must be a method actor), insisting that his character enter the scene shirtless because it was "more realistic" that way (ok, grab the audience's attention) and repeatedly asking if out characters should kiss even though the scene didn't call for it (great, he's being inventive with his character). Good, I thought, maybe I can get a good grade an pad my GPA a little.
I was so blind.
So the day of our scene arrives and I am just so happy to have this whole experience over with. I mean, I've really enjoyed our time in rehearsal (especially when you insisted that your character should unzip his pants onstage to tuck his shirt in "because that's what its like in real life") or when you kept asking me if I wanted to eat with you (even though I kept telling you I was not hungry. ever.), but all good things must come to an end. Thankfully.
Our scene begins, and I am very convincing as the wife who hates her husband and is mad at him for a reason he can't understand. He, unfortunately, is also quite convincing as the husband who is trying desperately to win back his wife with lots of longing gazes and soft caresses of my hands.
So, the scene comes to the part where my husband, the Wife Hunter, in a last ditch effort for reconciliation, stands behind me while I'm seated at the kitchen table and consolingly places his hand on my shoulder to which I respond by shrugging off and running out the door to go to work. Or at least that's how we rehearsed it for three weeks.
Instead, as I'm seated at the table trying to read my book, the Wife Hunter comes up behind me and caresses my upper rib cage with one hand and the side of my face with the other.
My immediate reaction is to shoot out of my seat (which causes half my props to fly off the stage-- unfortunately, none of the audience was knocked unconscious) and scream, rather than say, my remaining lines about how he's an idiot or something. Well, at least I was convincing.
After the scene we took our seats in the auditorium and he very slyly turned around and asked me, "Did you like how I kissed you at the end?"
Turns out, that was not his hand caressing the side of my head, it was his face, more specifically, his lips. On my face.
I think at this point in his scheme to find a spouse, his Wife Hunting Senses must have told him that I would fall into his arms and beg him to never part his lips from the side of my face again, so long as we both shall live.
However, I must have thrown a wrench into his plan by frowning and simply replying, "No, I did not."