the tale of a taffy puller.... or the candy claw

*caution: strong makeout content.....
this post could be considered pg-13 or at least after-school special worthy*

i was once pursued by a handsome, well-educated man (who we will call....Tom).
tom wouldn't take no for an answer when he found i was dating another interesting fellow... weekly, he'd call to see if my relationship had crumbled.

finally, the aforementioned relationship went on hiatus and tom flew to my next tour stop (from a foreign country) to take me on our first official date.

*first red flag: never embark on a sleep- away weekend first date

i assumed tom would have gotten his own room, natch.
nope. he claimed the hotel had sold out for the entire weekend... yikes. thankfully, i had a suite with 2 beds so i made it VERY clear that i'd be sleeping solo in my full-sized mattress glory. (note: if i didn't know his mormon family very well, i'd NEVER have let this happen... i figured he would be on best behavior..and it was only 3 nights, so.... big deal, right?!..)

i quickly decided that i wasn't feeling it and basically used every excuse to give him the heisman. one night, i begged exhaustion ("my show DRAINED me!!", i cried) and sat on the floor snarfing donatos pizza and watching snl while tom awkwardly sat on the couch.

after a strong 30 min, tom started in with the backrub (saw that one a mile away), almost immediately, he grabbed my head and wrenched it up to meet his face then laid the sloppiest kiss imaginable. naturally, i turned my body (for fear my head would pop off) and he slammed me onto the hard, thin, hotel couch. he pressed his sloppy, stubbly face onto mine with such force, i could swear my skin was rubbing off. to protect my tender face, i pressed my head into the couch to try to get distance. try it. if you push hard enough your hips naturally come up...... "GREAT!" he thought, "she's surrendering!!! "

i was so flabbergasted at his lack of finesse that i couldn't even stop what was happening... after all, it all happened so fast....
next thing i know, he reaches up for my left breast. GRABBING it like a candy claw in an arcade and pulling it like a taffy puller. (THEY DON'T COME OFF!!!) immediately, i gave him the windshield wiper arms. you know... swoop over the brest to dislodge the hand--the universal "that's not ok territory" signal-- he didn't get it-pulling with force, once again, on 'ole lefty.

"ENOUGH!" i cried, and used all my force to turn over.

my head screamed,

"what kind of a girl does he think i AM?!"
"do i look like the kind of girl that gives up a boob on the first kiss?? or EVER?!"
"and who candy claws then taffy pulls on ONE boob?!"

but, not wanting to humiliate him (considering he CLEARLY had no game) and feeling violated beyond words, i hoped my non-verbal cues had communicated my disdain and outright rage.

in hindsight, i wish i would have thrown him to the curb that very moment, but i think he got the message... the rest of the weekend was incredibly tense and touch-free, to say the least, and in the end he bought a beautiful bracelet and left it in my room when he left....very spitzer-like.

i guess you could say i was a one-time boob prostitute.

i never spoke to him again and

i've never worn the bracelet.