living up to the title of kissing slut

another 10 minute quick write about you guessed it-kissing- enjoy!

Kissing. I was once a kissing slut. Yes I was. It probably had to do a lot with the fact I didn’t have sex, at least not much beyond the dry humping or sometimes the oral. But I felt safe with the kissing, kissing randoms, kissing boyfriends, kissing friends, kissing guys at bars -in front of bars-in bars -sometimes in bathrooms- in pizza lines without talking first.

Kissing oh how I love kissing. If you can’t kiss, you most definitely can’t do much more well. Be it dancing, talking, loving, holding, cooking, holding a job, whatever. A bad kisser who shoves his tongue down my throat looking for my stomach, or a darter in and out, I hate to touch snakes in or out of my mouth personally. Or the closed mouth, tight lipped kiss of family from the holidays. Passion absent from the equal sign. Oh kissing. If you do it right, it feels like I might faint a little, spinning, a lot, the kissing of each lip, both and once in a while a good suck. The rhythm of quick and slow and quick and slow again. That replicates what might come. I understand how the kissing mirrors other things, know I do. Because I did cross the line to the sex. I had to.

Now kissing, I am a kissing slut. Once my friend told me my ratio to kiss to sex was low. I mean I had only slept with a few guys and kissed well I had forgotten the number. Where she has only slept with a few guys but also only kissed a few as well. She looked at me in all honesty and said. See if you kiss you, you might just give a kiss but with me you most definitely will get laid. We all laughed around the circle of the coffeeshop brought together by the table and childhood melding us together.

Kissing. Once I had a Cuban teach me how to suck lips. I thought I couldn’t since I had smallish pinkish lips of the Caucasian make but no he taught me the way. Latino men do have some things figured out. But I hadn’t had lessons in years. Years when I was first kissed in my parent’s house while I was watching my brother. I tried following the man’s lead of a real French kiss. I don’t know if I followed well enough. Me about to turn 16 him 19. I didn’t know what I was doing but it felt good. So something was right. Until my younger brother walked in.

Kissing. It used to be my favorite pastime-the making out. I could do it for hours and truth be told probably still could do it. But something about crossing into the arena of sex speeds up the making out and sometimes erases it in ways I am not comfortable. I like kissing. Just making out. For the preview. For the fun. And the good part is it is okay if it anonymous, it is okay if I don’t get his number, it is okay because I won’t worry about being a slut. A kissing slut maybe but a real one not so much.