Kiss me.

Now I know what you’re thinking, with that title, and the song by the same name on the playlist, this must be a warm and fluffy post.  Alas, you would be wrong.  I’m talking about that hot, lip sucking, tongue duelling, ass grabbing, crotch grinding, a one step away from getting naked kiss.  That kiss that says, ‘I want nothing more than to join your body with mine, fuse them together in that eternal dance of lust…’  When’s the last time you were kissed and your groin gave a swift kick in response?  I’m sorry, was that too blunt?  Let me rephrase.  When was the last time you kissed someone and it felt like your insides were melting, groaning with desire, every single inch of you craving more, more touch, more feel, more…  That’s the kiss I’m talking about, desire distilled into one moment, one simple act of pressing yourself against someone else, feeling their desire, feeding off it.  God, I miss that kiss.  

Screw this, I can’t do this straight.  Apologies, my lovelies, I need to get filthy.

I’ve been out of the sewer for way too long, I’m starting to feel almost…clean.  How now?  What’s the point of having a blog in the deep dark recesses of the interwebs if I don’t get to wallow in the filth every once in a while?  I’m doing an Al Pacino-esque ‘Hoohaa!’ right now, in case you were wondering, and I’m guessing you weren’t (nkt!).  Ladies and gentlemen, disrobe accordingly and put on your protective gear (fun fact, this spying on each other business means we get to watch each other strip.  Say it with me…Hoohaa!  No?  Not feeling it?  Let’s move along then…).  I’m not entirely sure where this tale is going, but I’m pretty sure rude and crude will make an appearance, and with any luck there may even be a little steamy to boot. 

Now we can do this one of two ways.  I can get pseudo scientific on your ass, such as I tend to, taking you through the how and why we kiss, but who has time for that bollocks?  Frankly, if you’re thinking about the mechanics of kissing then you simply aren’t doing it right, or with the right person.  That’s what they never tell you, that it’s about whom as much as it is about how.  Not all kissers are equal, some people do you better than others.  Note, I said do you, not it.  It’s a bit like dancing isn’t it?  Some people dance well together, some don’t.  Same thing with kissing, one fella knows your rhythm, and the next fella has no clue.  Problem with us impatient types, we'll write someone off with malice, dismissing them as too tongue-y or too nibble-y (I don’t know, sounds like it could be a thing), but then you meet their next lover and the idiot is waxing lyrical.  Why?  Chemistry, baby, is all it is.  

The second way to do this then would be a handy how to list.  How to kiss.  Because I am the foremost expert, me with my sporadic encounters with men.  ‘Ha!’ she scoffs, ‘You’d have better luck looking for tips from a priest.’  Bad example.  All I’m saying is, kissing is truly a case of one man’s steak being another man’s burger.  The only help I can give any gentlemen reading is to follow her lead.  If she starts slow, go slow, and if she starts hard, go hard, but only if it’s what you want, or like.  Hold her face, though, women love that, and her waist, and then her ass.  Don’t ask me how I know this one fact, I’m not telling.  Ladies, from what I’ve experienced, men aren’t too different from us, save for their obsession with tongue.  Why is that, by the way?  Hang on, just realised it might be only me who’s tongue averse.  Oh my…  Remember how I said I’m not an expert?  Like I said before, it’s a dance, so, you know, dance.

If I’m not here to bludgeon you with dodgy science, and I don’t have a list for you, then what’s this all about?  Hell, I simply wanted to talk about kissing.  Stop laughing at me, I’m not that desperate, I’m just a bit deprived is all.  You know I live alone, I get laid at most once a month, on a spectacularly good month, and even then kissing is not guaranteed, because apparently these days people don’t kiss before, during or after they fuck.  What the fuck, man?  What, in the name of everything that is good and right in this world, is going on?  Do men not like to kiss any more?  When you meet the man he’s all, ‘I love kissing you, baibee…’, but then a few months down the road it’s a quick smooch, then down to business and nothing thereafter, until the next business.  Eh?  Is there a law that says kissing, real kissing, is only for newbie lovers?  If that’s the case, I need to start dumping any man I date every two months, just to keep the kisses flowing.  Bloody negroes withholding their goodness from me, useless…  Ah!

I may have digressed…

I was saying, I miss that groin-kick kiss.  It’s the kiss of someone who truly excites you, and who is truly excited by you.  It’s a combination of pent up desire and anticipation, the heady rush of…  I like to think of it as pure, unfiltered sexual attraction.  It doesn’t happen each time you kiss someone, it’s more of a ‘your planets are aligned’ kinda thing, one of those hopefully not too rare moments when you’re in sync.  A strange unspoken connection, almost like a creepy shorthand.  It’s a secret code, is what it is.  I used to think it was more mental connection than physical, until I had that exact moment with a man whose mind I barely knew, and let me tell you, it was anything but mental.  Hoohaa!  And just so you know, that night pretty much destroyed any illusions I had about soul mates.  On the up side, I have since come to the conclusion that there is such a thing as sexual soul mates, people we are born to shag.  I know, not one of my brighter theories, but you need to understand, that man played me like I was his fucking violin and he was my maestro.  What!!!  Folks, time and space disappeared.  You know those scenes in the movies when the couple is standing still and the rest of the world is whizzing past, the sun racing across the sky and shadows lengthening, fireworks going off?  That’s exactly what happened.  Well, not exactly, the sun was down, so none of that shadow stuff, but the whizzing bit must have happened because suddenly everyone around us was gone, and I know for a fact I heard, and felt, fireworks in my head, and other.  Hoohaa!

Slight detour, I’ve used hoohaa before, haven’t I?  I think I have, but I was referring to vaginas in that post.  No, wait…yup, we’re good.  I’m referring to vaginas here too.  She checks the crude box, and laughs an evil laugh. 

For the inquisitive ones amongst us (evil bastards, all of you, if I don't tell you the whole story you grill me for days in the comments...), that man was but a blissful hour or two from the tail end of my 20’s, and no, he has never featured here.  We never dated, thanks to my useless cock-blocking pal who ensured that I never got a chance to spend any meaningful time with the man (yaani, I didn’t get a chance to shag his beautiful ass, and it was a most beautiful ass).  Crying shame.  I do not speak in jest.  On the up side, I have since had similarly brilliant kisses with other men, kisses I got to enjoy because I finally had the good sense to know when to let go and enjoy the moment for what it was, a kiss.  Not the wonderful beginning of a life long love affair, a kiss.  It’s chemistry, baby, that’s all it is.  See, that's the one time I don’t have to struggle to explain what I want or how I’m feeling, I just do.  I may get a bit, or a lot, fucked up soon thereafter, but at that particular moment, life is simple.  It’s clear desire.  I want clear right now.  I want to kiss a man until my head spins from lack of oxygen (it happens).  I want a man to kiss me until I can’t walk for wetness (that happens too).  I want to kiss so long the sex, if any, is dessert, not the main meal (hasn’t happened yet, but it seems like a good thing to aim for, all tantric like, no?  No?  Ah well…).  I want to kiss someone who gets this. 

I also want a stainless steel wok.  What?  I’m not being random, this is part of the plan.  I figure if I’m asking the universe for shit, I might as well ask for something attainable, no?  Laugh now, but when the gods send me a set of fancy steel ware, most probably in the arms of a lovely man who doesn’t like to kiss, at least I’ll have a pot to store their piss in, evil bastards.