I think I’m a good kisser. I learned with my first long-time lover. We spent hours on the couch, in bed, in clubs, at parties, standing up, sitting down, me on top, him on top, exploring, feeling, touching, fucking.
Kissing is so good. Tongue on tongue, slow, soft, hard, deep, fast, touching, not touching, biting, nibbling, sucking and always, sexy.
Kissing is a turn on. It can be weak-at-the-knees kissing or really hard fuck-me-now kissing.
It can be in the rain, it can be with your legs wrapped around him, either way it’s fabulous and delicious and we should all kiss a whole lot more.
Which I do. I love kissing after a dinner, I love kissing when pushed up against a wall and I love kissing before during and after sex.
And I have to admit this but I’ve had some great kisses with strangers. We all know those kind of kisses, in a bar, the music is great, the whisky is good, the guy is good looking, of course you just have to kiss!
But I cannot bear the other kissing. The kind of kissing when you meet someone for the first time and they lean in to kiss you hello. I don’t know why, it makes me uncomfortable and prickly.
I like to have a little distance between myself and a more formal stranger.
So today when leaving a restaurant the Maître’ d leant in to kiss me and it felt inappropriate and unnecessary and I turned my head but I didn’t turn it quickly enough and it got really awkward and he moved forward and I moved away and then I moved forward and he moved away and neither of us knew what to do but anyway, my mouth somehow got his ear and I bit him.
I bit him.
It was a mistake and I’m sorry and I’m sorry also for hissing but you know, I’m not really sorry at all.
Unless you’re French, or drunk with me in a bar and it’s sexy and the lighting is perfect and our body language is kissing language, do not kiss me.
Shake my hand.
If things go well, we can kiss.
But later. Much later.