French Kiss

Late one evening my sister, Christine, has her friend Sharon Cauflin over. They are dancing to a CREAM album in the cavernous living room. I am pissed at my sister for letting Sharon wear one of my favorite shirts without asking me. She has left really stinky armpit BO as a memento.

They smoke some pot together, start laughing, getting wild and loud. I hover in the archway, not quite in the room with them, watching, wanting to join in, but not sure what they are laughing so hard about. Sharon has a reputation for being a loose and horny slut at St. Andrew’s Catholic High. My sister doesn’t as of yet.

The music and excitement lure dad into the living room. He begins dancing with Christine and Sharon, then moves in close to Sharon and begins French kissing with her. Sharon shrieks with the delight of getting this unexpected taboo attention from an attractive 40 year old man who happens to be my father. Dad moves on to Christine, pulling her to him, trying to stick his tongue in her mouth, but she pushes him away, laughing and teasing him, as if he were a teenage boy.

This only fuels dad’s fire to dance giddily over to me and grab me. He aims for my mouth with his tongue sticking out. Our mouths make brief contact, enough for me to feel a disgusting slithering wetness enter between my lips. I push him away and he laughs tauntingly, “What’s the matter? I’m just trying to show you how to French kiss! You’re gonna need to know, now that you’re a teenager!”

This is the one time that I dare to tell my mother that my dad has done something that disgusts me. I blurt out, “Mom, dad tried to French kiss me and he did it with Sharon and Christine too.” 

In a sharp tone, my mother quickly puts an end to it. “Don’t be ridiculous! Your father would never do something like that!”

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