Kiss me Bebby, one more time!

Motorcycle Man’s kiss was nothing like I had ever had before… at least for a first kiss.

I could taste the chewing gum he was having as his tongue plunged again and again into my mouth. It was irritating; I didn’t like that brand of chewing gum. Also, his entire mouth was like an open pit of saliva and him like a panting bulldog, slobbering over my cheeks, my neck and my entire face. I don’t mind kissing on the first date; but I do mind bad kissing on the first date.

Motorcycle Man was not just a bad kisser, he was also bad at multitasking…. As he continued slobbering over me, he kept trying to get to my left breast with his left hand while his right hand – which had now thankfully given up its stronghold on my jaw – was trying to get under my skirt. I was momentarily paralyzed, trying to keep his palm from grasping me, his fingers from fingering me and trying to keep my mouth shut as his tongue continued shoving.
“C’mon Bebby, why you being shy?” he kept saying, wheezing into my ear as he tried to climb onto his seat’s arm rest. I kept pushing him away, trying to turn my face in the most dignified manner. I didn’t want the people turning around to see me. After all, everyone knows: when a couple comes to see a really hot movie, they don’t come to ‘see’ the action, they come for some action of their own, ya? So while Karisma-Aamir kissed on screen, I battled Motorcycle Man.

“C’mon Bebby, why you being shy?” he said again amidst pants, “I won’t hurt you no?” Motorcycle Man was wheedling now.
“You are not hurting me, but you are irritating me,” I tried one final time to push him away… and scratched his cheek badly.
“Aaaaaaargh,” screamed Motorcycle Man.
“Shit,” said I.
“Arre, upar kya ho raha hai?” came a voice from the audience down below.
“Chooma, chaati, dhoom dhadaka,” yelled another and suddenly heads were turning towards the balcony…
“Arre bhai, picture is happening in the balcony, sex bhi hai, dekho dekho, give it to me Bebby,” screamed another. Now the Front Benchers were standing, craning their necks; some stood on their seats, some whistled. Other couples – married or bored or both – looked disgruntled.
Scared that someone might actually see us, I did not realize that Motorcycle Man had managed to reach under my skirt, or rather the juncture of my thighs.