As you know, this site doesn’t do things the traditional way of most review sites and I’m somewhat unorthodox (is that laughter I hear?) 🙂 so when Ethan told me that he was doing a piece (sorry, this doesn’t mean what Ethan thinks) 🙂 about his journey for his latest masterpiece I asked for a copy. Of all the authors whose books I have read, I think Ethan is the most unusual because not only does he live in his own world which I’m sure is a very scary place, he’s also incredibly open about himself, a characteristic that’s most unusual for an author. If you read his ‘coming out’ story here you’ll understand why he hits all my bases.
I wanted to share his latest journey with you, which is another ‘coming out’ in a way, to give you a sense of why Ethan Day writes those complicated human stories that he does, and why his characters act the way they do (I think he recreates himself in his characters). Here then, is French Kisses. I hope you enjoy this post, and by the way, Ethan Day’s latest story At Piper’s Point will be reviewed by Aunt Lynn on Monday who swears that she’s going to be really tough …….. this time.
With the release of each book I write comes the moment when I sit back and think about the story itself, the journey I went on as author, and the themes which spring forth from the pages – whether intentional or accidental. I try putting it all into perspective; soaking up as much as possible so I may grow from the experience and mature as a writer…hopefully perfecting my craft a teensy bit more. Fortunately, for all of you, this blog post has nothing to do with that mess. 🙂
That’s not to say this post wasn’t inspired by my new book, At Piper’s Point. On the contrary — as the muse of today’s ramblings — much like Cassidy was forced to do upon returning to the ancestral home of his grandmother, I decided to take a turn at staring down my own past. More specifically…to revisit some of my firsts.
Personally, I find memories more satisfying than any photographic evidence which has managed to survive. Yes, I used the word survive — as in anything I haven’t gotten my hands on and destroyed. Really must try having another go at convincing my parents I need a key to their house. Right now you’re all thinking I must be attempting to hide something horrible from my past. Well, you’re not wrong. In my head, I’m able to change my wardrobe and hair styles in a flash. For anyone who grew up in the eighties, you know exactly how priceless a gift that can be.
Whether real or slightly altered by my imagination, the costumes may change but the plot lines of my own history are never altered. It’s not that I’m all brave or anything, merely delusional in the sense I can take my foibles and twist them all around in my head until I’ve convinced myself that those experiences didn’t suck so bad after all! Here’s an example to illustrate the way my mind works: That hot guy who used a little too much tooth-action when giving head wasn’t bad at the BJ’s, merely hungry. Had I been a better host, I’d have fed him a snack first — handed out a granola bar or a snack cake on the way up to my bedroom.
See how that works? (Just nod your head and pretend if you don’t)
Sweet! Onward and upward we may go, then.
So my first adult kiss (the kind with tongue) took place many moons ago and as it happens, was with someone of the female persuasion, so yes people — I too kissed a girl…and okay, I liked it. Though, for the record, I’m pretty sure I was the one wearing the Cherry Chap Stick. And while I’ve never regretted having had that gay-on-girl encounter (nor the Cherry Chap Stick for that matter), unlike my love and adoration for Ms. Jackson if you’re Nasty, the experience never stuck with me.
What sets the B.G. (before gay) kiss apart from my first man-on-man lip action? The only thing I truly remembered about that first French kiss was the fact that it was with a girl. In retrospect, everything about that kiss went the way it was supposed to, but it felt more like I was checking something off my to do list — no heat or angsty goodness. Despite the fact it wasn’t exactly the stuff of fire and music, I can still hear my teen doppelganger bragging about the fact that I wasn’t gay after all. But even then I knew I was full of shit. I’d have traded my parachute pants, Reebok high tops, and every last Swatch Watch to have had Charles in Charge of me. Obviously, as we all NOW know…there was no one to blame for this lack of chemistry. I just wasn’t ready to ask the same question made popular by the little old lady from the Wendy’s ad campaign back in the day, “Where’s the Beef?”
I do however, remember every detail of my first man-kiss with crystal clear clarity: the way he leaned through the passenger side window of my friend’s car with that crooked smile on his face…the softness of his lips as they pressed into mine…the heat from his mouth and the taste of alcohol on his breath…the stubble on his chin that scratched at mine…not to mention the instant arousal that followed once he’d slowly slipped his tongue into my mouth. I wanted to scream like a little girl and run down the street hi-fiving total strangers after that kiss, which is forever burned into my brain.
For those of you who are already romantically pondering the serious questions: Like how long did we go out? Did he ever tell me he loved me? Did he at least spit on it before sticking it in? I’m afraid I’m going to have to burst your bubble since I never saw him again. Its true folks, I started my career at a very young age. I was racking up missed opportunities and storing up enough “what-if’s” to last me a lifetime — saying cheesy-ass stuff like: “If it’s meant to be, I’ll see him again.”
I know…like, gag me with a spoon!
Believe me when I say, NO ONE can bullshit me, better than me. It’s not that I’ve lived my life with my head in the clouds so much as I likely have a head full of clouds. It’s seriously murky inside there. But sometimes being left with not enough is better than getting too much. Think about that the next time you run into that evil ex who tortured your emotions and left your insides feeling like Robert Downey Jr. in the nineties.
For Cassidy and friends in At Piper’s Point, looking back at the past also comes with its ups and downs. There’s that famous quote about how it’s not the destination, but the journey that counts. Hopefully, for those of you who decide to read the book, …like me…you’ll be happy with both.