It was dynamic kissing. It was kissing with legs. It was kissing that should be filmed for the big screen.
We would have kissed much longer, if I had my way. Alas, extenuating circumstances cut things short....the second of which was his violent allergic reaction to my cats and need to depart in order to continue breathing.
(Note to self: stock up on Benadryl. Stat.)
(And no, I'm not going to tell you any more of the Young Engineer story. Even if you ask.)
I forget how much I enjoy the act of kissing until I'm kissing someone I enjoy kissing. How when enjoying a kiss I can't help but run my fingers through his hair. How I want to grab his shoulder blades to the point of pain and then feel all the muscles in his back. How when it is a good kiss, there is no part of the kiss that is wrong. Nothing is gross. Nothing is too much or too little.
As a kisser, I will confess I often err on the side of overenthusiastic. This I chalk up to being single: by the time the occasion to kiss someone comes along after droughts of varying length, I have been known to act like a desert-walker spotting a cactus. Once I even got pushed away for, as he put it, "being too passionate"....or more passionate than he wanted to be, perhaps.
There was no such slobbering with Young Engineer. He wanted to kiss me. I wanted to kiss him. Someone taught him to kiss well....and I just followed his lead. And to my benefit, his lips were strong. I grabbed his head. He grabbed my head back. I grabbed his shoulder blades. He grabbed mine. I discovered every muscle in his back.
Alas....due to the transient nature of our meeting and interaction...odds are high I will never see this man again.
But I cannot stop thinking about kissing him. I spent most of my 12-mile run this morning thinking about kissing him. I spent the better part of the party I just came from wishing I had been kissing him instead of being at the party.
Bummer to the max.
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