So, my madre recently ran across a copy of this essay I wrote several years ago for one of my English classes. She got a kick out of it. I got a kick out of it. Maybe you will too!
Am I a Player?
A Journey of self discovery through the realms of love.
I have, on occasion, been called many different names of varying insult. The most common of these are “player,” “man whore,” and as my ex stated, more than a few times, “hussy.”
Personally, I have always remained adamant about the truthless nature of such comments, when applied to me. While I may have, in the past, done or acted in ways to merit such titles, I would have to say these instances were more of an exception than a general rule.
After a recent trip to The Cheesecake Factory, and a return drive home in a car full of girls chanting “Man whore!” I took it upon myself to examine my life and to determine if there might be some truth to the allegations which I brush aside as an absurdity.
Along with my trip to the land of wonderful food stuffs, I had experienced (though some months ago) two freakish nights in a row, during which, I had conversations with my mother of a nature which I detest. The first occasion resulted when she pulled me aside after a night of thorough cuddling during a movie (I cannot remember which movie, but I do remember the girl). Once aside, her brow furrowed and she got a the tone in her voice she uses when she is upset with me, it sounds a little like, “Forget for a minute that you are a foot taller than me and weigh 80 pounds more!” She looked me square in the eyes and said, “Brandon, don't be a player.” This struck me like a hammer on an anvil. The names had extended beyond friends and acquaintances and into the realm of parental units. Oh no.
The following evening I was having a splendid time with a female who was visiting from the mainland when my mother called me up to say nothing more than, “You're not having one of those “make out sessions” are you?” To which I answered no. I was, of course, lying.
The combination of these three events probably had the greatest impact on my decision to write my personal essay on this topic. In addition, many conversations with dearly loved friends have led me to believe it might be worth examining my life.
So, let's start out by examining my life from the first girl I kissed, then move on from there.
I was fifteen years old and laying on a dank and mutilated futon, watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail, when a young temptress with black hair, almond eyes, and beautifully freckled skin turned and, without any forewarning, kissed me, right on the lips.
This was to be my first of many kissing experiences. Most of which would be with the aforementioned minx.
Over the next six months, spurred by a new excitement discovered, I had the pleasure of kissing six different girls. The sad truth, which I cannot ignore, is that while most of these kisses did take place on separate days, one fateful day resulted in the occurrence of kisses from four of these females!
The day was like most any other I experienced during Christmas break. Upon waking I received phone calls from no less than three females, this particular day it led to me hanging out with five of them. In the morning I was kissed by one of the females when she asked me to come see something. This separated us from the group. I was shocked by her actions, but the result was rather pleasant. I did not complain.
The next female to kiss me on this extraordinary day found the opportunity after a group water fight. Myself, these five females and three others with whom I was barely acquainted had a marvelous water fight (which I won). After this was over one of the females, who I admit I knew little about, somehow got a hold of the last water balloon and chased me to the back yard while the rest of the group recuperated up front. Her aim with the water balloon was terrible, of course this may be in part because I grabbed her wrist while she was throwing it. Apparently this was a splendid time to make a move, seeing as how we were so close, she used my grip against me, pulled herself up close and planted an incredible kiss right on my lips. She continued to do so until we remembered there were friends up front waiting for us who would undoubtedly come searching sooner or later.
The third female took her chance in a darkened room during a movie. The moment was not spectacular and I cut the event short, mostly due to a lack of desire to have such activities be seen by those in the group.
Finally, around eleven o' clock in the evening, one of my great female friends, one with which I was very partial, tromped out of the room distraught and crying, I don't remember the reasoning why, though I can promise it was not my fault. I followed her out of the room and spent the next half and hour consoling her. Somewhere in the middle of lifting her spirits I found myself locked to her lips. Her lips tasted of salty tears and strawberry lip gloss. This was the longest and most passionate of the kisses; I enjoyed every second of it.
There you have it, four females in one day. Now, let's forget to mention that this day also happened to be new years eve and I ended up kissing another five females, but those were just new years kisses, not worth considering!
This day of feverish kissing did, as you may expect, come back to “bite me in the butt,”. Upon realization of the freely handed out kisses, by all those who participated, I received at least five slaps, one of which left a scar on my nose which can still be seen upon close inspection.
Did I deserve this? Every female I have talked to agrees the punishment was probably not harsh enough for the crime. The males on the other hand... Well, they usually just smile, some even offer a high five. Personally, given the circumstances, I think I did nothing wrong, except perhaps allow them to kiss me. But at the time I did not understand the concept of guarding myself, I was new to this wonderful sport.
As I said, I had not initiated any of these kisses, and the reality is, even years later, having kissed more than a few girls, the number of kisses which I actually started, is less than the number of girls I kissed on that fateful day when I was fifteen.
Perhaps this tinkle of knowledge offers me some redemption? In my own eyes, yes. To others? Well, I guess you will have to decide for yourself.
The night of many kisses spawned something I had not planned on. While two of the girls I kissed that day had of little impact in my mind, I gave two others much consideration as to the matter of dating.
With both girls, showing impressively aggressive characteristics, and both proving themselves more than adequate in the field of lip locking love, I was having a very difficult time deciding which to choose.
Now, since I am of the male persuasion, I did what any reasonable man would do. I looked at both girls (while they were not looking of course) and my finger jumped back and forth between them in a small game of “eany, meany, miny, moe.”
My finger landed upon the dark haired temptress, who also happened to be my first kiss. We dated for three and a half years, during which time I can honestly say, I remained faithful with my kisses, and the number of girls kissed did not rise a freckle or a hair.
I have always been quite proud of this fact, seeing as how I had, on more than one occasion, had to duck, weave, jive, and dodge to avoid kisses from a few females. You know, the last second twist where instead of being kissed on the lips, the kiss ends up on your cheek instead, and usually ends with an awkward glance of disappointment and dismay on behalf of the would be kisser. Yeah, I had a few of those moments, so I imagine, I must gain some points toward the “not a hussy” category.
As I stated, the relationship did tragically come to an end with much weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth, and I emerged from my cocoon of depression three months later, with six girls added to the tally.
Roughly two years passed before I had anyone I would call a girlfriend. In that period of time the count kept rising, to such a point as where it now stands, that I do not know the exact number of females kissed, but sure I could figure it out with a little time to count on my hands, if only I had four or five more of them.
Now, I think it would stand to reason that I have struck a definitive point, or perhaps ten, against myself, but continue on, perchance I will sway your opinion on the matter.
My next attempt at female companionship was farce, to put it mildly. We shared nothing in common, except perhaps a general location. She had been, I must admit, an experiment at giving a girl a chance who I would normally have ruled out in an instant. The experiment failed, and my methodology of picking female companionship remains, as it had before the disaster.
This failure took place roughly a year ago.
There followed after this test, a vacuum of love. I did not, for an entire six months, kiss a single female. This period still stands as the longest time I have gone without a kiss since that night on the dingy moth eaten couch seven years ago.
Six months have now passed since my emergence from my lip-lust hiatus. During such period, I have been kissed by no fewer than three girls, and no more than ten. Only one of which did I initiate, and more than a few, which involved the previously mentioned game of duck and weave.
I have, of late, been very proud of my ability to avoid kissing everything, which happens to have a set of boobs, that crosses my path.
While I realize I may have, at times, acted in ways to merit the names of “player,” “man whore,” and yes, even “hussy,” I can say with sincerity, I have tried, in recent months, to only kiss females when it actually means something to me.
This decision has left my lips lonely, and my heart aching, but it has earned me a standing ovation from many people, female and male alike.
So what conclusion have I come to? Am I deserving of the names which I have been called, so many times? Or do I maintain my position of innocence?
I could tell you. But where would the fun be in that? Okay, I shall humor whoever happens to be the one reading this sad tale of my love life. I started writing this essay roughly fourteen minutes ago, and in the time that has passed since then, I have... turned over a new leaf! My paradigm has shifted beyond recognition! I cannot even recognize who I am anymore, for surely I would never admit I was wrong (not only on this matter, but ever). Yes, there have been many periods of time in my life where I fully and truly deserved the names I have been called. But the time for that is past. I hereby decree, that I, Brandon Todd Orgill, vow to never again (this is going to come back to haunt me. I know it...) kiss, or be kissed by (if it is reasonable for me to avoid the kiss) any female to whom I do not feel at least some level of attachment and commitment.
As result of this, I realize I am following a path I had previously outlined for myself, specifically in an attempt to avoid the calling of names of such a hurtful nature.
I cannot say what the future will hold, but I can state, in entire honesty, my love for the unattached make out has long since left me feeling hollow, to such a point that the very suggestion actually causes my stomach to gurgle and twist, bringing a most unpleasant sensation of sickness rising to my head instantaneously.
To those out there who might imagine the life of the eternal, unattached bachelor (or bachelorette) to be something you seek, I say to you, you are insane. You shall find no solace in such companionship. While life, as a result, may be at moments highly interesting and entertaining, and, while the never ending excitement and rush of the moment may stimulate an unspoken desire inside of you, I can promise, in some period of time, be it years from now or only days, you will realize the time you have wasted away. You will turn your life around to seek out something truly worth having, and you will find it more difficult to obtain than mere kisses, by far.
Thank you for joining me on my adventure. For the sake of my ever expansive ego, I hope this is our sole journey together. I do not believe I could take another and come out standing on the other end.
You destroy my eloquence.