2004-12-15 - 12:07 p.m.
Last week while sitting around with my siblings and host mother, my host father came home more than a bit intoxicated from a sadaka (a party celebrating a young man's safe return from the army). However, because I'm a big fat idiot, I didn't realize he was drunk. So, trying to be the friendly little fuck I'm forced to be around people here, I stand up, greeted my father, shook his hand, and asked him about his day.
My father, drunk as all, was warmly responding to my questions, and shaking my hand heartily. However, in the middle of the handshaking, he pulled himself close to me and kissed my neck. And by "neck", I don't mean, "the side of the neck that you sometimes end up accidentally touching when hugging because one of the people is shorter than the other." I definitely mean "hug" as in "that part of the body where the body meets the neck that you kiss when you're unbuttoning someone's pants to go to town."
Oh, you heard it. My host father drunkenly kissed one of E! Entertainment's Top 10 Erotic hot spots on my body.
My host mother pulled him away into the living room to go to sleep, one my host sister began giggling unstoppably, and my host brother began fuming. Ever since then, I've been more than fearful of being in the same room with him, especially as he constantly inviting me to "sit down and drink tea with me." Thanks but no thanks, Papa Bear. We got to first base last time and I'm not ready to round second for a triple tonight. Let's save it for the lonely summer nights when the pictures of Michael Phelps that Katie Meyer sent me have faded I can no longer make out sloppily with the construction paper he was glued onto.
