A girls that crawls in bed next to me, says “aw baby that sucks,” after a bad day, then kisses me on the cheek while pulling the blanket over our heads to do things that would make the neighbours blush.
We talked about random things. We talked about silly things and got to know each other. He was nice and kind and inquisitive but not creepy. He was equally interested in knowing things about me than he was talking about himself. He wasn’t secretive or evasive. It was a great first conversation and I left it smiling.
Then we talked about what we were doing. What we like to do and where we’ve been. We talked about the past and things we’d love to do in the future. Some of the things he’s done that I’d love to do. We joked about doing the same thing but at different times in the same place. We reminisced and fantasized along the same plane of existence.
After that we talked about our actions. Things we do and ways we act. Various likes and dislikes and how we can’t understand how other people don’t share our likes or dislikes. We came up with cutesy nicknames for each other based on these and teased each other based on others. The words adorable and cute were bandied about in my direction and I told him to stop making me smile so much because my cheeks are starting to hurt.
Eventually the conversations led to something slightly more risque. It was hot and I was hot and he seemed hot. I was more empirically hot in the sense that I was sweating from the heat, while I found him more and more appealing with every conversation we had. I looked forward to them. When he would text me and say hello I would light up. I had to contain myself slightly because I didn’t want to seem too eager and come off as desperate.
He asked what I was doing and I told him, purposefully, that I was folding laundry in slightly more than no clothing. His attention was always readily available but his tone changed. His words went from fun and flirty to flirty and suggestive. I suggested just as much and we suggested each other doing very suggestive things.
We slipped back, comfortably, into our usual conversation of silly and fun to goodnight and in bed. A smile permanently plastered on my face as I drifted off to sleep.
Soon after we decided to get together to test the chemistry and physics, to see if the pull was just as strong and the reactions at the same intensity. We met and we shared a drink. We smiled and laughed. The laughs were genuine and held in reserve for fear of looking too comfortable. I don’t know why.
The drinks turned into more drinks which turned into a bit of food. I can eat in front of him? Wow.
Hours might have gone by, or just a single one I’m not really sure. It was a great time, just as good as our texting and then better on top of it. Better because I could see his blue eyes behind his glasses. I could watch his smile when I did something dumb that he said was adorable. There was even that moment I got to feel his hand along mine while his fingers dragged over my palm to see if he could make me shiver. It was amazing and I didn’t want it to end, but it had to.
We got to my car, because he walked me to my car. We smiled our goodbyes and hugged our regrets behind them. We stood under the streetlight which, itself, was under the stars. The busy, warm night was all around us and even though it couldn’t have gone any better I wish it wouldn’t have stopped and was a little sad that it was ending. Would this be the best night we had together and it only just began? I’m always so negative.
And then he kissed me.
There are plenty of bad things in the world. Horrible things that dwarf any kind of silly, minuscule problem that most people deal with on a daily basis, but sometimes that doesn’t matter. Sometimes there is only the problem in front of you and the feelings inside of you that you’re experiencing. So, right now, deep inside of me, the worst thing in the world I can think of is living the rest of my life and never knowing what it feels like to kiss your lips.
In one of my future failed relationships I hope to remember to count how many times we’ve kissed. Whoever it is, whenever it is and for however long it lasts I want to keep track of the number of times our lips touched and to the varying degrees.
- How often their tongue slid along mine.
- How many pecks on the cheek turned into pecks on the lips.
- The different ways their tongue pressed into mine.
- The number of times they pushed back,
- and the number of times they gave in.
I think it would be a nice thing to look back on and reminisce. Kisses mean so much in the moment but there aren’t a lot that are remembered, yet when they’re gone and you can’t get them back you miss them sorely.
Of course I’m talking about you again. When am I not?
You’re my never ending anthology. You make the words flow like a river out to the sea.
I’ve written about the times we kissed and the times our lips were busy doing other, less respectable actions. Now I’m writing about how I miss them and how I miss you. But above all else are your lips. I miss the way you kissed me back when I give my life against your mouth.
I hope you’re well. I hope someone is kissing those lips until it hurts the way you liked it.
It’s ten minutes to midnight and you just went to bed, but I’m left lingering in my chair for a short while after. Your scent is holding just under my nose and on my fingers and absolutely on my lips. Along with your taste.
I could have went to bed with you. Your arm was stretched out and holding mine as you tugged lightly and let my hand slip through your fingers. Instead I shook my head and waved you off.
“In a minute,” I said.
You shrugged with a smile and headed on without me. Your body swayed and your hips shook until you faded into the darkness and left me with my thoughts.
Those thoughts were part of why I couldn’t go with you. Not yet. I wanted to savor the feeling. The experience of you. Those thoughts were going to be scorched into my memory while my body was too weak to move.
I don’t know how you got up so steadily. Maybe you collapsed on the bed in a heap once you made it, but I couldn’t even fake it for that long. You know how to take me apart and leave me in pieces. My hands are too shaky to put myself back together right away, I need a minute. You’re masterful at making me need to recover.
I’ll be in there soon. I’ll be in there with you. I may even find a surge and try to do further damage to your skin with my teeth and nails. Knock your bones off of their joints and make you walk funny just for me. You’ve already done it my way plenty of times.
It’s now three minutes to midnight. I’ve sat long enough. I want to turn today into tomorrow against you.
Good mornings were meant for pleasant people with pleasant things to say to each other on their way to their normal lives and their standard living arrangements. You’re more than a good morning. You’re more than pleasant. You’re a dirty deed not yet acted on.
Something creeping in the back of my mind not yet fully developed but far enough along that I know I want to do something to you. But what?
You’ve got your sly smile from behind your honey-kissed hair. You’re so fucking sweet too, that nectar that’s coating your lips is addictive. Sting me with them and cause my skin to welt from your nails dug in tight. Leave marks I’ll have to explain away much further in the future than I’ve ever thought about.
I’ve thought about waking you up with your hands pinned to the bed in a jolt. Your legs loosely on either side of me and I’m jostling your body up and down slowly. What does it feel like to wake up with someone between your legs and staring into your eyes? Tell me. I want to watch the words float from your lips as I stare in your smokey eyes.
Lets not waste a morning on good mornings. We should spend each one finding what curves of our bodies fit best against each other, and when they don’t fit we’ll crash ourselves into each under until they do. Bend me. Break me. Let me feel your fingers snaking around my neck to edge me further.
Push. Physics is simple, for ever action there is an equal and opposite reaction. I want to test every possible one.
I’m not saying good morning. I’m saying get up, lets have some fun.
I’ve tried to write you a number of times now. The title of this has changed a few times over because the words never landed quite right. I wanted them to fit into something perfect. A reflection of you but you’re not so easily reflected.
I could jump into a tirade about how I want you. I could rant about how I need you. There would be words spilled all over your thighs and between your legs. The drip from my lips would coat your nipples and run up your neck. The black ink from my pen would bleed along your jaw. I would write you underneath me and I would write me inside of you.
None of it felt right though. I don’t want it forced. You can’t be forced.
Recently I was told that one of the only substances to never go bad is honey. That there are deposits of honey that were buried with the pharaohs and were considered still good today. Thousands of years and it can still be consumed, it sounded pretty amazing. Honey doesn’t spoil and it made me think of you.
Your honey golden hair and that sticky taste of your kisses. How I could come back to them after a long time apart and they’ll still have the perfect feel against mine.
I can move my fingers through your hair and feel like I can never get them out. They’re stuck and are refusing to move. My lips too. My eyes. My body. All against you and wanting to remain.
You’re my personal taste of honey. You’ll be just as good no matter the time we spend between swallows.
Kisses aren’t sweet. They’re described as if they’re a sugary dessert. Something with a whipped topping. A treat after a long day or the delicious cap to a full meal, but they aren’t anything like that.
A kiss, if you had to describe it with a food analogy, is more of a steak. Medium rare. The right amount of pink and the right amount of something else. It’s dripping and sizzling at the same time. It makes your mouth water in anticipation and when you finally delve in you don’t want to stop until there’s nothing left.
You’re like that. You aren’t sweet. When they made you they purposely left out the sugar and threw in some extra spice. It shows up in your smirk, in your hips and in the back of your eyes when they glint against the light.
You sear my skin when you lay your body against me. You leave marks and they burn deep. A cake is just bread with sweetener. You’re much more appetizing than that. I think about you all day and when it’s time to feast you can’t stop me. You make me hungry. I want to leave the impressions of my teeth on your shoulder. I want to hear the sounds the deepest part of your throat can muster.
Kisses aren’t sweet, at least yours aren’t. Your kisses are a tidal wave and I want to get swept away.
I’m wondering what you’d say if I asked you to have a staring contest. Staring was always your thing. I’m sure your cocky self would tell me something like, “what’s the point? You’d lose.”
I loved those flashes of bravado you gave. A glimpse of I got this not usually part of your repertoire. No matter your self deprecation or eternal humble state, you knew what you could do.
Of course me asking you to have a staring contest was just a lead.
I’m sure you’d pick up on it, you’re a smart girl.
Staring led to silence which led to kissing, and that’s all I really want to do right now is kiss you. I want to kiss you the way I used to kiss you. I want you to put your lips against mine as if they’re supposed to be together.
When that’s all sorted out your thighs would be split with a leg on each side of me and your hair making a tunnel down to my face. You and me, forget the world.
So when I ask you if you’d like to have a staring contest its not just because I want to look into your eyes a little while longer. It’s because I want to kiss you. Is it weird to ask to kiss you?