Tag Archives: kissing

Of Walls, Waits, and Wistfulness

It was a warm and spring-like evening when our heroine sat tapping away at her keyboard, clad in unsightly short shorts and a 15-year-old concert t-shirt that never would live to see the streets again.
Tom Waits wailed in his gravelly splendour as a breeze softly batted the bamboo blinds. She peered over the rim of her glass at the words before her, unsure where the fuck any of it would go.

But with the right music on the right night with the right drink in the wrong clothes with the tapping toes, well, who needs luck? She shrugged. Continue reading

Great Moments in Movies: The Rocky Kiss

I’m feeling a little like an underdog today, like the odds are stacked against me, so I thought I’d have some quality time to myself this morning before I head into the world for the sixth day of work this week. I’m feeling like I’m losing my leisure a bit, and Virginia Wolf states that to be akin to losing one’s soul, so I’m taking it back by force. I’m watching Rocky. My coffee’s almost cold, but it’s still strong and good.
Rocky has just kissed Adrien for the first time. I think this should really go down as one of the finer cinematic kisses ever done. It’s all so unlikely, like a kiss between Harold and Maude. She’s pushing 30 and she’s never been kissed. The absolute vulnerability portrayed by Talia Shire in that scene’s just as sexy as any of the va-va-va-voom shown by Hollywood’s vixens non-pareil.
It’s pretty easy to go too long without being kissed. It’s awful to be in the middle of the kissless times of life, but there it is. There’s something about a kiss that always makes you miss it.
This scene is how a great kiss feels after you’ve been stuck in a dryspell of Saharan proportions. Whatever’s wrong in the world, the naive part of me believes it could be fixed by great sessions of smooching. I’m such a fool, I know, but it’s a nice belief to keep in the back pocket. I’m not a dreamer, but I have my lapses.
I’m at the point where I no longer miss the recent relationship, but I’m certainly wishing I could break up all the tension that is my present life-status with the odd makeout session. I wonder why I’m not thinking about sex? Maybe sex, for me right now, symbolizes far too many complications and struggles. I really don’t want the complication, I want the carefree abandon that making out on the sofa symbolizes for me. Days with the parents out at a card game and the boyfriend sneaking over. The good old days. Yes, we’ve hit nostalgia. How can you tell another birthday is looming? I feel like I’m devolving, but my vital stats are continuing to argue that assessment. Damn them anyway.
And this is what that one kiss brought up for me. And yet I’ll continue watching the film.
Okay, wait a second: I’m specifically remembering being at a party in my teens, and sneaking out back with a boy who thought I was hot ‘cos I was wearing ox’s-blood Doc Marten 9-hole boots. We sat on the stairs, lit from above, as we necked and necked and necked for what seemed like hours. Every time his hand would try to cup my breast, I’d bat it away again. Later, he spread the rumour that it was he and I who’d been making the camper rock’n’sway. I assure you, I made his life hell. But the kissing, man, at that moment, there was noplace better to be.
Sadly, I gave the boots as planters to a chick I once loved who totally flaked out on me. Now I have the tattered remains of my Aussie Boot Co. boots.

This girl needs some boots fer walkin’ all over some boys. That’s what she needs. I should start a boot fund, then go on a shopping quest and keep a photographic record for blogging about my quest for the boots and the fall-out of owning said boots. I mean, really, I’m a eurotrash girl on a scooter. I need a cool new coat for winter scooting and boots. If you want me to get the Walkin’-All-Over-You punk-rock eurotrash girl boots and keep a record, then PayPal me and put “boot fund” in the subject field. We shall stomp together.

Kiss Me, You Fool: Some Tips

It’s Friday, do you know where your lover is?
I’m going into kissing withdrawal. You have to understand, I just absolutely love kissing. It’s really not often we find someone whose mouth fits ours perfectly and whose kissing style works with yours. This relationship has that fit. We could kiss for hours. And do. Among other things, of course. But KISSING… oh!
Now, I’ve got mad kissing skills. I can go soft, gentle, tender. I can deliver a deep, probing kiss that says nothing less than, “Take me now, you beast!” Kissing’s a world of wonderful variety. Long, deep, slow, hard, furtive, ferocious, fun. Whatever works for you. And it ALL works for me.
Why do we kiss with our eyes closed? Ever wonder? Muscle memory, baby. It’s easier to kiss by feel and sensation when you take the visuals out of the equation. I’ve noticed that every time I open my eyes to study a guy mid-kiss, I lose my pacing. Sad, but true. And I know I’m a good multi-tasker, so, hey, it’s a hit to the pride to admit.
I was asked recently to post some kissing tips. I will. I’m not getting into actual techniques today, just tips. So, without ado:

  • It’s best to kiss with your heads off-set at 45-90 degree angles. It allows for better contact, lip-sealage, if you will. Sometimes, though, just contacting is what it’s about. You crank your head up off his lap for a kiss while watching TV, whatever, and then, you go where it takes you. Don’t think so much. Yoda might say, “Do, or do not, there is no think.”
  • Always try to swallow before you kiss. Nobody wants a mouthful of saliva. Moist, not wet. There’s a big difference, and it ain’t just semantics.
  • Get your hands in on the action. Caress their face, hold their neck and pull them to you. Whatever, but it shouldn’t just be about lips.
  • Lips have a great deal of nerves in them, happy nerves. Don’t forget to suck and nibble the lips in between tongue-probing. I love, love, love lip-nibbling and nibbling lips. OH.
  • Do you suck tongue? You should. But for the love of god, try not to be too aggressive! Light sucking, like you’re feasting on a Creamsicle. Use your tongue to toy with theirs as you suck, too, if you like. Lightly drag your teeth up their tongue as you release your prisoner.
  • Every now and then, detour away from the lips to let them get their sensation back. May I recommend dotting their face with light kisses (and light sucking), particularly over the eyebrow hump thingie, the earlobes, and on the neck just under the chin and jawline? Hell, anywhere will do, baby. Money-shot: Back of the neck. Yeah, baby! Me, I kiss every inch of a guy’s face and neck (and more), and just love doing it. They don’t seem to mind, either.
  • Feel free to moan softly during kisses. The vibrations of the moans can add a nice little dimension to the kissing. But, really, don’t go over the top. It’s a mood killer. Soft, barely-there moans. MmmmM.
  • Don’t dominate the kisses. Do quick exchanges of probing. Stay interactive.
  • Sometimes, stop and linger with the lips just hovering in proximity of each other — a half inch or centimetre away. Breathe softly, take quick lip nibbles, and linger teasingly slightly apart. Now’s a great time to lean in for a hard, long kiss. MmMm.

I’ll get into specifics of kissing techniques another time. It’s sort of daunting, actually, trying to think of how to describe tongue moves, et al. But I have a pretty spiffy research subject, and he’s willin’.

Now, get out there and kiss, people. God knows it’s in my plans.

Confessions of a Serial Kisser

Nice, full lips: I can’t get enough of them. I bite, nibble, and suck them with little regard for consequences. I acquiesce to an invading tongue like a defenseless village against raiders. Enter at will, I silently command, unwilling to put up a fight, but ready to engage regardless.
I nibble, bite, lick, and suck my way down his torso, enjoying it as much or more than he does. It’s my land, my territory, and intimate knowledge is my only goal. There’s no part of the body safe from my probing, and I’m an explorer with abandon, navigating first with my hands, then staking my claim with my lips. A nibble, a bite, a suck… all aphrodisiacs for yet another.
Like an addict, one is never, ever enough.

Kissing: Oh, So Telling

Ah, the kiss.
We all remember those kisses that have left our knees weak, our hearts pounding, and us wanting more, more, and more. There’s something about a well-delivered kiss that can melt the hardest heart. There’s no sexual act that leaves us wanting more, wishing for more, than the kiss.
Me, I rate a good kisser on a curve, no matter what else he offers. I just can’t get over a great kiss. Out of all the things I do well, I think being a great kisser is one of the best things I offer in a relationship. There’s nothing more fun than laying a deep, passionate kiss on a man on a couch and getting into a heavy makeout session.
For all the fuss we make about sex — the oral, the penetrative, the games — if the kiss isn’t there, it’s hard to find real satisfaction in the rest of it.

Does he love me? I want to know
How can I tell, if he loves me so?
Is it in his eyes?
Oh no, you’ll be deceived
Is it in his signs? A
Oh no, he’ll make believe
If you want to know if he loves you so
It’s in his kiss
That’s where it is

After all, most sex trade workers will tell you the one thing they won’t do, is kiss a client on the lips. There’s something about eyes closed, tongue-probing that smacks of intimacy like no other sex act does.
I remember my first kiss, but I remember the first kiss that left me melted. It was a story-book date with a guy who was a poet. We would eventually spend seven years in and out of love, but the first time we enjoyed each other’s company was spent outdoors just like it was for any teenager. We headed to Vancouver’s famed Little Mountain and sat on a small garden bridge, talking the night away. Finally, he decided it was time to lay one on me, and we began to kiss. About a minute or two into it, a transformer in the park blew, and every light exploded into darkness. The full moon was the only illumination we had, and I can still, a decade and a half later, remember the shivers that ran up my spine.
When it comes to being single, I may miss the sex, but I mostly miss the kissing and touching that comes from straight-up intimacy. There’s more to be found in a warm body and a wet, warm kiss than there is in all the orgasms to follow.
Kissing comes down to a few things — how your mouths fit together, how you taste to each other, quality of breath, moisture, technique. Unfortunately, some people ain’t got the skill. Some people don’t have the hygeine. And some people just don’t have the passion.
Lip shape does play a pretty big factor in how a kiss comes off. If you’ve got thin or flat lips, it does make for a little less oomph, but there are things you can do to compensate.
Coming up next time, kissing techniques to leave ‘em wanting.



Sleep unable to find me, I lie naked under my sheets, a hand across my breasts, the other stretched atop my thigh.
The dim streetlight filters through my cotton bedroom shades and its shadows dancing on my ceiling are all I see.
For I know that when I close my eyes again, you’ll flood back in front of them. Like you always do.
In imaginings of those things soon to happen. Of ecstasy. Of this moment we’ve spoken of for so long, as those miles pulled us apart all that time.

it’s been a long time comin’
it’s been a long time comin’
i’m gonna stab your kissy-kissy mouth

My mind swirls with thoughts of the warm wetness of your mouth. How your kiss will leave me tingling and weak from my torso to my knees. How I’ll weaken in your possessive grasp. How I long to breathe you in and taste you.
And now, mere hours separate us.

it’s been a long time comin’

All those conversations about wanting. Promises made. Events foretold. Fantasies divulged. Talk, that’s all we’ve had.
And all of it to blame on my kissing you on a whim that night, moments before you left. When I broke that boundary between us. You surprised me. Overcome, you forced me against the wall, kissing me as if you were already penetrating me.
That night returns to me so often, stirring desires.


So many bitter-sweet memories of arousal. So many moments left satiated by myself, and never you. So many wrongs. So many regrets. So many things to make right.
And yet that night is all I recall.

it’s been
a long time comin’

How hard you felt. The way you pinned my arms to the wall, pressed into me, restraining me. The distant droning as your cab driver laid intermittently on his horn out there in that shadowy cul-de-sac, and despite it, you continuing to probe me intently with your tongue. The sound of your devastatated gulp when finally you knew you had to pull away.
The feeling then, knowing that a plane was to steal you away to London, where a year of university awaited you. Knowing that you were leaving me for that year with nothing but a kiss, a grope, and that feeling of being overpowered against a wall to tide me over.
And now, nothing but a jet over the Atlantic keeps us apart. In less than eight hours, you’ll be in my arms. Now, at the mere thought of you, my heartbeat collides upon itself in a cacophony of expectation and need.

it’s been a long time comin’

And now, nothing but a jet over the Atlantic keeps us apart. In less than eight hours, you’ll be in my arms. Now, at the mere thought of you, my heartbeat collides upon itself in a cacophony of expectation and need.

i’m gonna stab your kissy-kissy heart

The need to fuck you, the tease finally done. To have you within me — thrusting, holding, lasting. To finally know if it’s to be everything it was promised to be during those expensive, desperate, by-the-minute sessions spent gasping, wanting, yet denied, on the phone.
I know it will be. I knew it would be when I was pinned against that wall, wanting you as badly then as I do now. As badly as you clearly wanted me. It overwhelms me to think how that desire has since grown, and how forcefully you might take me eight hours from now. And how much I desire you to spend me utterly.
Never have I wanted a man like this, like I want you now.

it’s been a long time comin’

*The lyrics included are from Kissy-Kissy, a dirty blues-rock/punk ballad by a guitar duo fittingly from both sides of the Atlantic called The Kills. Live, this song was one of the most erotic, driving sexual things I have ever, ever witnessed. I felt dirty and abused at the end, and wanted nothing more than to not go home alone. The gentle licking of guitar strings and steady throbbing beat coupled with wistful, pained Velvet Underground-ish vocals tinted with a touch of PJ Harvey gets me hot every single time. The duo endlessly repeats the same lyrics over the five minutes, and it ebbs like the slow rhythmic cadence of two experienced, passionate lovers in no rush to reach their destination.