One Christmas Eve many, many years ago, I was accosted by a man in a bar wearing a Tarzan outfit. Because it was Christmas Eve and he was in fancy dress, he thought it was alright to grab me and snog me. Yuk!
The sweat monster in faux fur lunged like an ape and slopped his beak upon me. One hand pressed the back of my head, so our lips were held like suction. I was a slight young woman; he was a big hairy man. His breath stunk of beer and onion and every other horrible, imaginable molar-coating stench known to man.
His lips, I still shudder, were wet and beery. His jowls were sharp and stubbly. But all of this went unnoticed by the ape-man as he forced his lurid purple tongue in between my grimacing lips.