At least he was hot? Let's just pretend that makes this better.

     Rae and I entered the bar, looking around trying to spot E + company.  We walked all the way around the room, squeezing by groups of people and through crowds.  We stopped by a bench to try and text E to find out if she was upstairs.
     "Ladies, come with me and drink beers!" a guy said, coming up to us and gesturing wildly.  Rae and I were confused, because he'd said it in Italian.  How did he know we both spoke Italian?  Who was this guy?
     "What?" I (so very smartly) asked.
     "Nevermind, just come with me! You must come with me!" he said (in English), grabbing Rae's wrist and pulling her to follow him.  I grabbed her other hand so as not to lose her, and we were propelled through the crowd.  Italian man finally stopped in front of a table that had 7 or 8 other men around it.  "Sit down! Drink beers with us!"
     Rae and I glanced at each other - any other time we probably would have been charmed by this man and considered stopping to have a few beers with them, but we were already late to meet E and neither of us had had a drop to drink.  "No, thank you," Rachel said politely.  "We're actually here to meet friends, we need to find them."
     "No, but you can't!" the Italian protested. "Have drinks with us!"
     "Sorry, we're sorry," we repeated, shaking our heads.
     "But you're too beautiful not too!" he protested.  I hated to admit that I was considering it - I'd always had a weak spot for foreigners, and especially Italians.
     "No, we really can't--" I started.
     "Picture!  We want a picture with you beautiful women!" exclaimed one of his friends.
     "I...what?" I was so confused.  Too many people, too many random requests, so many accents!  It took a few seconds to process, but the friend who was now pushing himself into me to squish me between his and the Italians' arms for the photo was Australian.
     The Italian leaned over and kissed my cheek, then turned to kiss Rae's cheek.  The Australian leaned far into me, a camera was put up, Rae and I looked at each other in confusion -- but we smiled to the shutter anyway.  After the camera flashed, Rae said, "Ok, well..."
     "Where should we go next?" the Australian interrupted.  He went on to explain that it was their first night out, and he, the Italian (who was still leaning heavily into Rae), and their friends were looking for suggestions where to go.  We named off a few bars and continued trying to leave.
     "Hey," the Australian said to me, catching my wrist in his hand.  "Do you have a boyfriend?"
     "I...what?  No..." I said, caught off guard.  People don't ask me those things.
     "Really?  You don't?"  I shook my head.  "Can I kiss you?"
     I was stunned.  Who the fuck was this dude?! I hadn't even been inside the bar for 2 minutes, much less talking to him.  "Um...no?  Thank you?"
     "But I really want to kiss you!" he said, smiling at me.
     I smiled back, a bit lost. "Well...thanks, but no, you really don't have to."
     He continued to pull on my wrist. "Please?  C'mon, I want to kiss you!"
     I shook my head, slowly trying to yank my arm away.  "No, I'm good, it's fine, thanks but...no..."
     "I'm going to kiss you," he said, still smiling.
     Before I could say anything else, he pulled me into him, grabbed my face between both his hands, and leaned in to kiss me.  I was trying to struggle back, but he had a firm grip on me...and honestly, my head could not wrap itself around the idea that some guy was trying to kiss me.  This. Does. Not. Happen. To. ME.
     And then his lips were on mine. And he was kissing me.
     And I was slowly catching up to what was happening. And I was halfway between, "Holy shit he's kissing me and I said no this isn't right" and "Holy shit he's kissing me and if I was at all drunk or near drunk I would super be into this."
     And then I felt his tongue.  Licking at my lips.
     And that's when everything caught up to me and I thought, "WHAT IN THE HELL" and finally pushed myself away.  I barely remember anything of it, aside from it being wet, and surprisingly not aggressive in comparison to how fast he'd clutched at my face, and his face smiling down at me and him looking at my lips and leaning in like he wanted more.
     And that's when Rae and I grabbed hands, said, "Thanks ok bye!" and sprinted off towards the other end of the bar to find E.

***********

So here's the thing about that story.  Which is all true, by the way, and the story of my Saturday night.   The thing about this is...
1) This is the first time I've had someone kiss me. (NOT to be misconstrued as 'this was my first kiss.')
2) This is the first time I've ever had a guy make a move on me.
3) This is the first time I've ever had a guy make a move on me over one of my friends.
4) This is the first time I've ever had someone kiss me with tongue.
5) This will probably be the only time in history I'll turn down a foreigner (/sluttiness).
6) This is the first time I've kissed someone since 2006.

Yeah...awkward.

I think that's why I didn't have a stronger reaction. Normally I'm all about saying no and fending off asshole dudes from hitting on my friends...but to me?  It just doesn't happen.  And I don't mean this in some pity party type of way where I'm boo-hooing about how I'm fat and unlovable and no one will ever want me and etc. etc. etc.  It's just a fact of the matter: my friends get hit on, and I do not. There's been a few, every once in a blue moon, sure...but generally, I'm the girl the wing man is for.  Last month, not even the friend's wingman would go for me (seriously. I heard him protesting and saying no. It stung, I'll admit it).

So when this incredibly hot Australian guy asked to kiss me, it simply didn't process.  And then when it started to, all I could do is think I was in some weird alternate world or that someone was playing a joke on me.  I'm still not convinced the entire situation wasn't some dare, but I guess I'll never know.

Onto more serious matters, it kind of stings that some sorta drunk stranger gets a lot of my first moments.  That ain't never comin' back to me, and I feel a bit robbed, to be honest.  I'm not even angry over the fact of him basically harassing me--truth is, I thought he was charming and attractive and had I had something to drink, I wouldn't have said no. Only because I was stone cold sober and not understand what was going on did a "no" happen, and I take responsibility for that.

It's just weird to think that this minor, 1.5-minute exchange gets to turn into A Moment of My Life. It's sort of upsetting, but...at least there's a story to tell, I guess.