Monday, January 09, 2006
To Be Kissed
Okay, so everyone said that the pain of getting a tattoo is not so bad, which I agree with. It was not even half as painful as I expected. What everyone failed to tell me is that there is residual pain that takes a few days to go away. Every time I lift my right arm, I feel it acutely. Yeow!
Now, I want to talk about kissing.
Mmmmmm. I LOVE kissing. It's probably my most favorite activity in the whole world. I can kiss for hours and hours and never get tired of it, if it's good.
There's all different kinds of kissing. Greeting/goodbye kisses. Long, slow, melty I-think-you're-swell kisses. Can't-get-our-clothes-off-fast-enough-kissing. Perfunctory foreplay kissing (no real effort into this kissing- these guys just want to get to the main event). etc, etc.
Friday night, Mr. Wrong kissed me with those slow-melty kisses. I felt them everywhere- the good places (my heart) and the naughty places (you know what I'm talking about). He was kissing me for everything he was worth and even did my most favorite move ever the bottom-lip suck. Oh how that gets me every single time. And it just went on and on and on.
Kissing like that is a double-edged sword. It's certifiably earth-shaking. It fills those spaces in your soul and serves as a reminder of what passion is really about. But when it's over, and you're still alone, it makes the loneliness even more unbearable. Knowing what you've had and don't have anymore hurts like a bitch. At night, you just lay in bed, remembering what it felt like to have your souls joined together like that no matter how brief it may have been, knowing that while it lasted you were his and he was yours and the rest of the world crumbled away in irrelevance.
That's what kissing is all about.
Now, I want to talk about kissing.
Mmmmmm. I LOVE kissing. It's probably my most favorite activity in the whole world. I can kiss for hours and hours and never get tired of it, if it's good.
There's all different kinds of kissing. Greeting/goodbye kisses. Long, slow, melty I-think-you're-swell kisses. Can't-get-our-clothes-off-fast-enough-kissing. Perfunctory foreplay kissing (no real effort into this kissing- these guys just want to get to the main event). etc, etc.
Friday night, Mr. Wrong kissed me with those slow-melty kisses. I felt them everywhere- the good places (my heart) and the naughty places (you know what I'm talking about). He was kissing me for everything he was worth and even did my most favorite move ever the bottom-lip suck. Oh how that gets me every single time. And it just went on and on and on.
Kissing like that is a double-edged sword. It's certifiably earth-shaking. It fills those spaces in your soul and serves as a reminder of what passion is really about. But when it's over, and you're still alone, it makes the loneliness even more unbearable. Knowing what you've had and don't have anymore hurts like a bitch. At night, you just lay in bed, remembering what it felt like to have your souls joined together like that no matter how brief it may have been, knowing that while it lasted you were his and he was yours and the rest of the world crumbled away in irrelevance.
That's what kissing is all about.
Labels: Mr. Wrong
