Gimme a Kiss
In my bartending days, I had a lady ask me to escort her to her car after closing. She was older, and while I’d seen her drink, she seemed sober. The place was a dive with a sketchy parking lot, but still, I offered to call her a cab instead. “No,” she said, “My car won’t start unless I’m sober. I have one of those things.”
And it was true. She had a breathalyzer attached to her ignition, state-mandated style. So, I figured that if it started, then I could go home. So, I walked her to her car, and on the way, she got kind of touchy.
Her next move was shocking—she grabbed my arm, turned me around to say something to me, then she tried to launch herself on me. I was so grossed out.
We got to the car, and she opened the door. Before she got in, she burped, covered her mouth, blew her breath out, leaned up, and said, “GIMME KISSIE.” She then planted her smooth, wet, sponge right on my mouth. She got in, started the car miraculously, said “Thanks for the luck,” and drove off. It was the worst. Story credit: Reddit / Living_Sky1957