My annual embarrassing high school Valentine’s Day short story by Jina Bacarr
February 11, 2025 by Jina Bacarr in category Jina’s Book Chat, Writing tagged as audio books, kissing, short story, Valentine's, Valentine's Day
Writers write what we know… even when it’s embarrassing.
Take my first kiss. High school. Drama class. Me, the shy new kid. And a snarky guy with a big ego.
Keep reading….it gets worse.
Valentine’s Day is a time for kissing.
But what if your first kiss was just plain awful?
Meet Riley Murphy. She’s a kissing virgin, waiting for the right guy to come along. Until she joins the Drama Club at Holywell High and has to kiss the class dweeb on stage in front of the whole school on Valentine’s Day.
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VIRGIN KISS
Jina Bacarr
Introduction
What’s in a kiss? A kiss by any other name is—
—sweet, romantic, intimate, passionate, wet, sloppy, disgusting, probing, awful, nasty, sexy, tingly, and sometimes just plain wonderful.
But what if it’s your first kiss? And you have to pucker up in front of a live audience at your high school? What then?
Pass the Altoids, please.
The kiss-from-hell happened to me, Riley Murphy.
This is my story.
* * *
A few weeks before Valentine’s Day…
I’m the new kid at Holywell High School, a shy, skinny freshman with cinnamon-colored freckles sprinkled across my nose. Flat-chested. I’ll never be Miss Popularity with the bouncy boobs and flirty lashes.
I’m more like an olive stuck on the end of a toothpick.
Even with that dossier, I’m not a total dork. I’ve gotten pecks on the cheek and quick brushes on the lips, but I’ve yet to experience the soul-melting kisses you see in the flicks. The passionate lip-lock I’ve dreamed about, wrote about in my diary.
I’ve pined for that kiss, but it’s yet to happen to me. God knows, I’ll be in graduate school facing lifelong debt before the right pair of lips meet mine.
To overcome my shyness, my mom convinces me to try out for the Drama Club. Somehow I land the leading role in a one-act Chekhov play.Yes, Chekhov.
I play this mad, beautiful countess with passion and heart. I love it. I come alive on stage. I can do anything, be anybody, say anything, I can—
—kiss the male lead?
A gangly sophomore named Harold Brimwell with long, greasy hair and an upper lip curled in a perpetual snarl. He’s going to anoint my virgin lips with my first kiss?
Forget the Altoids. I need a stress pill.
I quit the play. They can find another dupe. Not me. I’m not going to let him use my lips for kissing practice.
Then I hear this little voice in my head telling me this is acting. Going through the motions at rehearsals and on stage don’t count on the kissing scale. I can pucker up with Harold on stage and still be a kissing virgin.
Right?
After my pep talk to myself, I sail through rehearsals, knowing my lines and ‘connecting to my character’ according to the director. He says I’m a natural, my emotions raw but real. This is amazing. Me, Riley Murphy, the kid who’s always the ‘new girl’ at school because we move around so much because of my dad’s job, found something she’s good at.
Then the trouble starts.
The director insists on method acting.We don’t rehearse the kiss. He wants a real kiss on stage, not a phony smooch.
Worse yet, we open on Valentine’s Day with a preview performance at the afternoon school assembly. Not only do I have to kiss this guy, I have to do it on the most romantic day of the year in front of the entire student body.
I dump the Altoids… along with my confidence down the toilet.
* * *
Valentine’s Day dawns rainy and cold. Perfect weather for a Russian play.
I arrive at the gym early, put on my makeup in the girls’ bathroom then, with my hands shaking, I hook up my long Victorian black lace dress borrowed from the costume department, the silk petticoats rustling around my feet. I’m way nervous, but something cool happens as I run my lines over and over, my fear slowly dissolving into a shaky confidence as I slip into my character’s skin. Humming ‘I will survive’, I check my props, my fingertips tingling as I pull on my snug dueling gloves, then twirl the dainty parasol over my head like a spinning top.
I grab the small pistol for my big dueling scene, then heave out a big breath, praying I don’t drop it and everybody laughs at me.
I save putting on my lipstick for last.
First, I gargle mint-flavored mouthwash until my lips turn green and my mouth goes numb. Next, I line my lips with Chekhovian, dark red lipstick and smack them together. Perfect. I’m ready for my lip close-up.
It’s showtime.
I’m so nervous when the lights come up, I garble my opening lines. Then I trip over my own feet and nearly crash into the backdrop. Hot tears form in my eyes, but I want this too bad to give up now. All my life, I’ve stayed in the shadows. If I fail now, I may never get the courage to try again. I ignore the smirks and catcalls and swish my long skirts around like a real countess to boost my confidence.
I can do this.
Somehow, I get my groove on and my theatre training takes over. I sail across the stage, chin up, shoulders back, my voice clear, my lines down to a T. I’m ‘in the moment’. Much to my relief, the dueling scene goes off without the pistols misfiring.
Then it’s time for…
… the kiss.
I’ll never forget the expression on Harold’s face when he takes two long strides toward me. A mixture of sadistic pleasure and baddass ‘tude comes over his face, as shiny and sweaty as his palms, freaking me out. Lower lip snarling, my co-star gives me that ‘I’ve got you now’ look all fired up in his eyes, pinning me to the wall.
My teeth chatter. My mouthwash stops working.
It’s so quiet in the high school gym you can hear the director chewing on the end of his pencil.
My heart pounds so hard I can’t get my breath on when Harold pulls me into his arms, yanking me around like I’m a dollar store rag doll and then—
—he slams his mouth onto mine.
Bile rises in my throat as he pushes my lips apart and thrusts his mushy, saliva-coated gum into my mouth, making me nauseous. I swear if my dress wasn’t hooked up so tight, I would have ralphed all over him. Before I can push him off me, he shoves his tongue down my throat, way down, nearly gagging me.
I start choking.
I can’t breathe. Oh, my God, I’m going to pass out.
No, I can’t, I won’t. I’m determined not to faint. I have to get him off me. No gum-chewing, phony-macho sophomore is going to get the best of me.
I’m an actress, I tell myself, so act!
With stars circling around in my pounding head, I pull up my strength and kick him in the shin. There.
Startled, he jerks backward, but not before he bites my lower lip.
What the—
I taste coppery blood. Fresh, oozing, smearing my perfectly-applied lipstick. I’m in shock, disbelieving. It can’t get any worse.
Can it?
It can.
Dabbing my bleeding lip with my silk sleeve, I struggle in his arms, but he holds me tight, slobbering all over me, licking my face, my throat, coating my skin with stringy gum. My ears won’t stop ringing. The audience is going crazy, yelling and shouting like they’re at a basketball game and I’m the bouncing ball.
No, no, he’s not going to take advantage of me. I worked hard to get this part, learn my lines. Practiced how to walk, how to find the core of my character. Gosh darn, this is the first time in my whole life I’ve come out of my shell and done something really special.
He’s not going to ruin it for me.
I have to do something. Fast.
The pistol.
Where is it? After the mock dueling scene, I threw the prop gun down on the round table. It has to be there, but where?
I reach out behind me, my nails catching on the lace doily… I twist my head just a little… yes, I see it. I edge the gun toward me, an inch at a time. Sweat oozes down my too-tight collar and my knees buckle, but I don’t give up.
Almost got it… there. My fingers wrap around the pearl-inlayed handle. I suck in a breath then, without losing my nerve, I jam the prop into his ribs. Hard. I yank my body with such fury, I rip the black silk sleeve right out of the armpit. It slides down my shoulder, but it doesn’t stop me.
‘Get your hands off me, you sloppy-kissing, gum-chewer!’ I yell, ignoring the script and re-writing Chekhov. ‘Or you’re getting an “F” in drama class.’
The director gasps. Loudly. But he doesn’t refute what I said.
‘Yeah, sure,’ Harold stutters, letting me go, raising up his hands and backing away. ‘Anything you say, Riley.’
‘That’s telling him!’ a girl yells from the audience.
Amy Zanderbar. His ex-girlfriend.
She’s not the only one. All the girls stand up and start chanting, ‘Go, Riley, go!’
Wow. I hit a nerve with the females sitting in the bleachers who had their share of bad kissers.
They love it.
The audience starts clapping wildly and stomping their feet and continue chanting my name. I break the fourth wall and give them a ‘V’ for Victory high sign until the chanting dies down, then my thespian instincts kick in and I get back into character, giving Chekhov his due and ending the play as he wrote it.
I’ll always remember this night when a shy freshman girl in a borrowed Victorian dress took on a snarky sophomore and became empowered to stand up for herself in front of the whole student body.
It changed my life.
* * *
Epilogue
We performed the one-act play for the next few nights without further incident, faking the kiss each time. Harold is cool, not attempting any more way-out kissing. For me, it’s strictly acting.
I’m still a virgin in lip-land.
But I’ll never forget V-Day and my experience with the gum-toting, kissing bandit. Not a bad guy, just a rotten kisser.
And in case you’re curious, next semester I do find the right pair of lips to land that first kiss.
A hottie junior. Jack Dwayne.
When Jack takes me in his arms and lowers his face to mine, I quiver with anticipation and soon discover a kiss isn’t just a kiss, it’s…
… magic.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
——————–
PS — yes, Riley is me, a shy freshman back in the day.
The Princess and the Stilettos video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ELRFw_B720&ab_channel=JinaBacarr
Love Audio Books? My Boldwood Books are on sale at CHIRP!!
Once upon a story… never gets easier and why I’d rather be cleaning the bathroom by Jina Bacarr
January 11, 2025 by Jina Bacarr in category Jina’s Book Chat, Writing tagged as Jina's book chat, romance', writing, writing historicals, writing tips
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We live in a world of instant communication. Instant oatmeal… instant noodle cups and instant coffee. Pods, anyone? (God help me, I refuse to succumb to the latter.)
But there’s no such thing as instant book writing. Instant brilliant idea, yes. A wonderful story can come to you in a flash, but writing the dang thing can be pure terror.
It never, I repeat, never goes according to plan and it’s times like that I’d rather clean the bathroom. Your characters complain about everything. Their age, weight, hair color (blond, anyone?). And if you write historicals, you can’t change dates because your heroine wants you to, new characters pop up and you can’t get rid of them, and oh, getting everyone’s names, you feel like the old woman in the shoe naming her brood. Characters complain about that, too.
So, why do we do it? I’m on a merry go round with my latest Paris WW2 novel. Finding the focus, etc. I’ve wanted to get off several times but something keeps me hanging on.
What is it? Not sticky glue.
No, because this is a story that must be told. A brave circus queen who rescued children from the Nazis while flying fifty feet up on the trapeze in Occupied Europe. I know where I’m going, finally, but getting there is hell. That’s where craft comes in.
So here are my 6 Helpful Tips for Historical Writers:
1 — Take a break. Read a book that’s NOT for research. Your brain will love you.
2 — Call a friend. Writer-friendly. Someone who ‘gets it’ when you lament your hero ‘won’t open up and tell you his secrets.’
3 — Butt in chair and write ANYTHING that comes into your head related to your story. Some of mty best stuff comes from that. Don’t be afriad it will sound dumb. It’s called ‘editing’ to get the best stuff out of it.
5 — Meditate with your heroine — go into deep pov with her, who she is, what she wants more than anything, what she swears she’ll never do and then make her do it.
6 — Be flexible. Are you writing in the right time for your story? Are you trying to cover too much time in your story? History is fascinating but figure out the core of your story. You may have to adjust the year or era. Yes, it’s a pain, but you’ll be happier without the pressure of trying to make the shoe ‘fit’ when it never will.
It’s taken me a while, but yes, I feel good about my story. I shall leave cleaning the bathroom to next week… the week after maybe? Back to writing… with a smile on my face and the toilet brush back in its proper holder.
And oh, I bought fresh coffee for tonight’s writing session. Real coffee. Gelson’s Columbian brew I got on sale. Now that’s what I call ‘heavenly’ inspiration.
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My latest 2 book series about PARIS WW2:
2 sisters at war with the Nazis… and each other https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/sisters-at-war-2
from BoldwoodBooks
In my story Justine is the victim of sexual assault by the SS. ‘Sisters at War’ explores wartime sexual assault and how it affects the lives of Justine and Eve Beaufort in Wartime Paris.
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I drew on my own experiences when I started a series of historical novels set in Wartime Paris about the brave women who fought in the French Resistance.
Who are the Beaufort Sisters?
They’re beautiful
They’re smart
They’re dangerous
They’re at war with the Nazis… and each other.
How I turned Scrooge into a Sexy Hunk in ‘A Naughty Christmas Carol’ by Jina Bacarr
December 11, 2024 by Jina Bacarr in category Jina’s Book Chat, Writing tagged as Christmas, Christmas eve, holiday, novella, Scrooge
I’ve always loved the Dickens’ holiday classic about Scrooge and his scratchy quill pen. But what if Scrooge worked on Wall Street and used a smartphone?
Sounds good. I set my fingers to tapping on my keyboard. I know the story by heart, including Scrooge complaining about giving his clerk the day off on Christmas and sending the poor to workhouses.
But we live in a social media world with Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok. I had to update the story. And I wanted my Scrooge to be a sexy hunk. So I let my imagination run wild.
Imagine you’re rushing around doing last minute Christmas shopping and you run smack into the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. Tall, broad shoulders, muscular chest filling out a well-cut $5,000 suit. Silky pin-striped tie, platinum cuff links. His deep blue eyes casting bold glances your way your mama would never approve of. But you do.
Oh, my.
‘Do you work around here?’ you ask casually, loving the way he smells just like in the commercial when he leans over to see if you’re okay. You nearly faint when you get a whiff of his aristocratic masculine scent. Sweet tobacco, musk. Cinnamon. He smells divine.
‘I work on Wall street,’ he says, smiling.
A banker, nice.
‘It’s hard to get an Uber this time of day,’ he says, so he sends you home in his limo.
You can’t believe your luck. Is he one of those sexy billionaires you’ve been reading about? You bet. You’re hooked. A Christmas present in your silk stocking and it’s only Christmas Eve. He gives you his business card and invites you to have holiday brunch with him in his penthouse.
You’re beside yourself with glee, humming a jingly tune.
Then you read his card.
Ebenezer Scrooge.
No, no, no…
I hit the Delete button.
It ain’t gonna work.
No matter how handsome, how sexy, how rich, who’s going to fall in love with a guy named Ebenezer? It’s obvious Dickens’ curmudgeon with his ill-fitting suit and stovepipe hat isn’t cover model material. No way would you want him catching you under the mistletoe.
Therein lies the rub: How to make my Scrooge sexy? And stay true to the Dickens’ classic? A timeless story of the hero seeing the error of his ways. That’s what we love about the story, watching him change. I wanted to take that idea a step further and write about an alpha male gone wrong who finds his way home through the love of a beautiful woman.
First, Scrooge needed a new name.
Nick Radnor.
Then I had to make the other characters sexy as well. What if his faithful clerk, Mr. Cratchit, was a gorgeous blonde secretary named Jinger?
I decided my modern Scrooge would also have a beautiful fiancée named Monique:
Nick frequents Mamie’s, a gentleman’s club in the financial district and Marley the Ghost became Nick’s business partner, Charlie Harris, who died in the arms of a beautiful woman at Mamie’s.
And we can’t forget the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future: three sexy female spirits with great bods and killer wardrobes. Not to mention magical powers.
Once I had my cast of characters (I have a Tiny Tim character, too), now what?
I wanted to stay true to the Dickens’ classic, so I opened the story on Christmas Eve in Nick’s office. It’s late and Nick is working overtime when Jinger asks him about a promotion. Not this year, Nick says.
Nick is a heartless one-percenter. Just like Scrooge. I had to find out why Nick is so cold-hearted. It goes back to Christmas Eve when he was a kid and his corporate raider father gave him coal in his stocking every year. That’s why Nick hates Christmas. He’s turned cold and heartless but he’s about to find out where that path is taking him when he convinces Mamie to open up her club for him late on Christmas Eve.
The old gal adores Nick, and not just his generous tips. Mamie sees something in him no one else does: he’s a lost little boy. She also knows Nick is still grieving over the sudden death of his business partner Charlie last Christmas Eve.
When Charlie’s ghost shows up after a night of wild drinking and womanizing, we’re off and running. The three ghosts make their appearance just like in the classic story and we discover Nick wasn’t always a greedy businessman. These three sexy babes take Nick on a whirlwind tour of his past, present, and future with each episode tied to his beautiful fiancée, Monique.
Monique is the anchor in my story. She never stops believing in her man, no matter what. It’s through her eyes that we fall in love with Nick, hoping he wakes up before it’s too late and he loses everything.
Including her.
A Naughty Christmas Carol is the story of a modern day Scrooge with three sexy female ghosts trying to save the soul of a Wall Street trader on Christmas Eve.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
~Jina
A Christmas Novella for 99 cents:
Amazon Kindle https://a.co/d/inSjIhf
Smashwords https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/99354
Kobo https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/a-naughty-christmas-carol
Apple Books https://books.apple.com/us/book/a-naughty-christmas-carol/id480420054
‘Sisters at War’ chosen for Sunday Remembrance Fiction at KOBO by Jina Bacarr
November 11, 2024 by Jina Bacarr in category Jina’s Book Chat, Writing tagged as Army, RemembranceDay, RemembranceSunday, Soughnut Dolly, Veterans Day
I love this fabulous painting outside the Salvation Army Building in Tulare, CA re: the photographer © Karinoza – Dreamstime.com
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Sunday in the UK was #RemembranceSunday.
According to Merriam-Webster, Remembrance Day is the Sunday closest to November 11 and in Great Britain is ‘set aside in commemoration of the end of hostilities in 1918 and 1945’.
I’m honored Sisters at War was chosen for #Remembrance Sunday Fiction on KOBO.
2 sisters at war with the Nazis… and each other https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/sisters-at-war-2
from BoldwoodBooks
In my story Justine is the victim of sexual assault by the SS. ‘Sisters at War’ explores wartime sexual assault and how it affects the lives of Justine and Eve Beaufort in Wartime Paris.
——————–
Back in the day, I served with the U.S. Army Special Services in Livorno, Italy. My job was to make coffee and play pool with the troops, set up entertainment and gourmet restaurant tours.
And make cookies.
I whipped up hundreds and hundreds of cookies. Chocolate chip.
And doughnuts, too. I got help from the mess hall sergeant, a bespectacled guy from the Midwest who let me commandeer his big pots and huge ovens. Along with my Italian liaison, Maria, we’d cook up hot doughnuts and top them with powdered sugar we got from the PX, a sweet favorite with the boys.
Those were the days.
So on this Veterans Day here in the US, I think about all the Doughnut Dollies who help bring our servicemen and women a touch of home.
Over the years, I’ve come to realize the amazing effect my time with the service affected me. I had some difficult times, like being assaulted on the street by a thug and my pants ripped, also in an elevator (story for another time), but I had some heartbreaking and soulful times, too.
Like the sisterly bond I developed with another American girl on base that lasted far beyound my time there, the wonderful Italians I worked with who took me in like I was family and taught me about music and photography and how to properly eat pizza.
I drew on these experiences when I started a series of historical novels set in Wartime Paris about the brave women who fought in the French Resistance.
I want thank the brave servicemen and women who have served our country. If you were stationed in Livorno and dropped by the service club once upon a time and saw a girl with long hair from California handing you a cup of coffee, it was me.
PS — For fun, I put on my old uniform with U.S. Army Service Clubs patch.
I lost the hat years ago somewhere in Italy.
Who are the Beaufort Sisters?
They’re beautiful
They’re smart
They’re dangerous
They’re at war with the Nazis… and each other.
Jina Bacarr October Featured Author
October 29, 2024 by Jina Bacarr in category Apples & Oranges by Marianne H. Donley, Featured Author, Featured Author of the Month tagged as Boldwood Books, Featured Author of the Month, historical romance, Jina Bacarr, New relaase, Sisters of the Resistance
About Jina Bacarr
I discovered early on that I inherited the gift of the gab from my large Irish family when I penned a story about a princess who ran away to Paris with her pet turtle Lulu. I was twelve.
I grew up listening to their wild, outlandish tales and it was those early years of storytelling that led to my love of history and traveling.
I enjoy writing to classical music with a hot cup of java by my side. I adore dark chocolate truffles, vintage anything, the smell of bread baking and rainy days in museums. I’ve always loved walking through history—from Pompeii to Verdun to Old Paris. The voices of the past speak to me through carriages with cracked leather seats, stiff ivory-colored crinolines, and worn satin slippers. I’ve always wondered what it was like to walk in those slippers when they were new.
You can follow Jina on social media:
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Jina also has a column here on the 11th of every month: Jina’s Book Chat.
Jina’s newest novel, Sisters of the Resistance, is available now.
Paris, 1942: Two sisters in Paris had their lives torn apart. Now they must choose – save themselves, or fight the Nazis to the very end…
I’d given up everything to fight for the Resistance. But nothing prepared me for discovering my sister was a traitor. Kept by a Nazi SS officer, outwardly she barely resembles my beloved Justine anymore.
But I guessed her secret. About her beautiful, fragile little child. The baby she’ll do anything to protect. And I believe that deep down she still knows what is right.
As the Nazis threaten everything we ever held dear, I know I have one chance. I must convince her to betray the evil she seems to have chosen. I need her to find her true self once more.
Because I need her to join the fight…
Could you choose your country – and what is right – over the person you once loved more than anyone in the world?
Unmissable, heartbreaking, gripping WW2 fiction, perfect for fans of Soraya M. Lane, Ellie Midwood and Jean Grainger.
A Few of Jina’s Other Books
Featured Books
THE REDEMPTION OF HEATHCLIFF
✧༺♥༻∞Retelling of a classic with a Happily Ever After! ∞༺♥༻✧
More info →
ONCE UPON ANOTHER WORLD: A Twisted Fairy Tale Box Set
Not all fairy tales are as they appear.
More info →
