Kiss from a Stranger

It was a Friday in mid August 2011 and little did I know that evening would turn out to be the most fun I'd have that year.
My friend and I decided to start our night off at a cool Kentish Town Pub, as we did most Friday evenings during the summer of 2011.
Marlboro Lights were smoked and double gin and tonics were sunk in the bustling beer garden, and after a few drunken shapes were thrown on the small dancefloor, we set off in pursuit of more space and better music.
We made our way to a Salsa Club in Camden and having persuaded the doorman to let us queue jump, we were debuting our Salsa moves in no time.
Another cigarette break in the outdoor area and we got talking to a few guys. We spent the rest of the night hanging out with them (on a platonic level) and dancing in that free, careless wild way you do when no one is watching you.
Before we knew it, the lights were on, it was time to leave, and despite the suggestion from a guy we met (who we affectionately christened 'Miguel back to mine') of a party back at his place which would consist of just us three, we left.
As we set off to find yet more cigarettes, there was no suggestion of retiring to bed.

Walking through the warm summer night air (made warmer by the alcohol content in our blood), I stumbled upon a guy who was walking in the same direction with his friends. There was something that instantly drew us towards each other, and we were dragging along slowly behind our friends. His name was Donald, which I instantly took the piss out off (apologies to any Donalds that may be reading!), and thus he was known as Donald Duck from that moment on.

A mere three minutes later we had lost our friends so decided instinctively to cross the street. When it became clear that we had no idea where we were going, we stopped walking and he kissed me.

The world stopped for a minute and we were frozen in time. He cupped my face in his hands and as his soft lips gently brushed against mine, I melted inside.
If ever I had had a 'movie-like' moment, this was it.

We were alerted by my friend loudly calling my name from the opposite side of the street, as though she feared I was gone forever, and slowly we made our way back to our parties.
His friends were waiting for him in a taxi and I declined his invitation of continuing my night with him. After a final goodbye kiss, we looked at each other in a way that was electric and indescribable, and with that he was gone.

I have kissed a fair few frogs in my time, but this kiss still remains as the best. Even now as I write this, I have butterflies.

All that, and it was a kiss from a stranger.

(Fun fact: The photo above was taken minutes before I would meet the kisser)

Way Back When

It was the end of April 2011 and I was dating a blonde haired, slightly strange looking man who I had met at a friends party. After having a drunken smooch he asked for my number. Ever the cynic, I doubted he'd get in touch , but lo and behold, having strictly followed the three day rule, I received a very well written text asking me out for a drink.
I was reluctant because I didn't find him conventionally attractive, but he seemed nice, and so I accepted. We went for a drink at a trendy bar that he chose and the date went well. So well, that we ended up dating for around 3 months until one night.
He offered to come over to my place and cook dinner for me, however the night before (a Thursday), I received a drunken phone call at 2am from him. He'd gone out to a strip club with work, was hammered into oblivion and asked if he could crash at mine. Although I was mad at the late night call (not so much at the fact he'd gone to a strip club...I'm not exactly prudish), the prospect of some good lovin' made me feel better. But no. Oh no. He arrived and promptly passed out on my bed fully clothed.
I contemplated dragging him out of my apartment by his ankles, but before I knew it, I had fallen asleep.

The next morning, as he left for work, he told me he'd see me that evening and off he went.

I had just finished cleaning my apartment and was wondering where he was when I received a text from him telling me that he "had thrown up 3 times today, and was feeling awful, so he'd call me tomorrow". I responded telling him that it would have been nice if he'd let me know earlier, considering it was 8.30pm, I was starving and it was now too late to make other plans. He simply responded with "soz".
Later that evening, I found out that he ended up going out with friends, and ended things (albeit, only in my head).

The following day, I hit Camden with a friend, and while feeling quite shitty, I tried not to let it bother me.
After a couple of hours shopping, we settled in at bar where I met the hottest man I would sleep with.

5 days later, I finally received a text from Mr 'Soz' asking when he would be cooking for me. I nipped that idea in the bud immediately, and suggested he took me out to dinner to make it up to me instead. I was already over it, but thought I may at least get a free meal, and intended to make it as expensive as possible.
We met at the restaurant where I ordered fillet steak and an expensive bottle of red. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. His eyes said it all.
And when the dinner was done, so was the fling. After all, I had already embarked on my passionate romance with the bartender...