I was never a Boy Scout, but I have always admired their motto: Be prepared. So, in keeping with that, I have decided to write about kissing. One can never be too prepared when asked to share a kiss.
There is a moment when nothing short of direct purpose is called for. When lovers have been apart for a while, the need is so great that as soon as they see each other, nothing else matters.
Their thoughts and emotions are parallel; there is no question of the outcome. Hands reach out, snake into clothing, bodies seek contact, quiver―as an earthquake shakes―and then lips and tongues meet, mate, and the dance begins—no foreplay here, only the need to feed the raging fire that burns so hot.
And then there is that time when good manners and respect for your hostess demand that you separate and mingle with the other guests. This separation only fuels your need, and when you see your mate across the room, it is impossible not to will him to look at you.
Depending on your skills as a witch, this might take a moment, but when it happens, when he stops mid-sentence and looks your way, you smile, and that smile takes his breath away, and you both know the pleasure it offers. He might hesitate for a moment, but then he starts his escape and moves toward you.
Although a conversation with others might continue, he is soon at your side, and his fingers start to play with your hand, slowly message the hollow of your palm, even as he pushes against your thigh. Standing your ground, you push back as his hand slowly moves up your spine, smoothing a wrinkle in your blouse that does not need smoothing, up and into your hair, just there, just below the beginning of your swan neck. And then you turn, and he sees the total nakedness of your need.
He takes his drink, and yours then places them on the table and only says, “We have to go.” You make it to the car, almost. The air outside is hot and sticky, and your trembling gains in its intensity until you think the ground is going to open up and consume you.
Your lips touch, pull back, eyes lock, seeking answers that really do not matter because all that matters is to be inside each other’s skin. There is only one way to overcome this need. It is not there, wedged against the car, but to make it home without being arrested, you take the time to feed on a long, deep, fevered kiss that goes on forever.
It is so intense you forget who, and where you are, you only know your yearning will never be completely satisfied, and that is good.
Oh yes, life does not need to be complicated when a kiss can be as essential as sunshine and apple pie. So pure, fired simply by the need to touch. Passion brings humility, for you are so grateful for this relationship that keeps building day by day. You move to your lover and take his face in your hands, and your mouth gently covers his. You fit so well there.
You move slowly, at first, fleeting, like a moth seeking the light. You touch, pull back, then gaze into his eyes as your fingers caress the side of his face. The tip of your tongue replaces your mouth, and like a leaf caught in a gentle breeze, it dances over his lower lip, spreading moisture, and all the while, a wicked smile frolics across your face.
You have practiced this smile; you know what you are doing. He reaches out, wanting to draw you close, but your eyes say no, let me do this, let me see what I can draw from within you, let me give you pleasure. He reads and knows this look; he has seen it before and grins, eager for what is to come. You again touch his mouth with your lips, and the game is over.
You start to quiver; you need to find and touch the treasure that dwells beyond his sensuous smile. Oh yes, as you draw his tongue to meet yours, as you take it and gently pull and caress, your look tells him that now is the time for him to hold you tight.
Now is the time for bodies to meld, for heartbeats to increase as the kiss deepens, where one plus one becomes one, and you float away from reality, not caring, for nothing matters, only this need, this contact, this kiss.