Kissing as drapery

It’s easy to get enveloped. The kiss is like drawing the blinds.

The pull on my flesh was just too strong
Stifled the choice and the air in my lungs
–Mumford and Sons/Broken Crown

The other night, I was chatting with someone online. The subject of sex came up, like it does, and we talked about getting carried away.  There are a lot of stories in my history about getting carried away, losing track of what I was doing and where. It goes way back.  Clothes get pushed aside or taken off. You find yourself doing things that you don’t think you would normally do in public.

And it starts with kissing.

It’s this alchemical reaction. Someone pushes your hair back, touches your neck. You like the way they smell. You like the way their skin feels. Then they kiss you. Sometimes, most of the time, almost always, that is all there is. Kissing. Regular kissing. It’s..nice. It’s…fine. It’s…enjoyable. Sometimes, though, it’s sparks and heat and the breath catches at the back of your throat. Maybe you remember saying something like “ohhh” and then there is a click. Your conscious brain shuts off and everything goes elemental.

And it is all there is. Taste, touch, scent.

Sensation. There’s a word to think about: sensational. Full of sensation. We don’t use it that way very often, but it’s perfect for the kind of kissing I am talking about.  Ever notice how close together your mouth, nose and ears are? It’s like all of the sensory organs are crammed together specifically to cause sensory overload during kissing of the sort that causes you to get carried away. So many sensations happening simultaneously that your brain turns off unnecessary distractions like modesty and judgement.

Like pulling down the blinds. Suddenly it doesn’t matter if you’re in the front yard, at school, in a car. All that there is is sensation. Taste, touch, smell, sound. You stop noticing anything else. You don’t think, you just feel.

Biological imperatives rule.

And there is a sense that we tend not to use when we kiss..most of us kiss with our eyes closed. Like one more sense added would cause such an overload that everything would have to stop . Or maybe it’s just because our eyes are too close together to focus when we kiss.  Eyes closed, it’s like meditation, only instead of your own breath you hear his. His heartbeat. Fingers entwined in hair. Mouths, tongues and teeth. Hands on skin.

It’s a good thing we’ve learned how to prevent reproduction, not that I will be able to do that for much longer. 

Kissing really doesn’t get enough credit when people talk about sex. For me, if the kissing doesn’t work nothing else will. Everything starts with the brain, and ends with kissing. If the kissing is right, usually everything else is too. If it isn’t it can be fixed. You can’t fix incompatible kissing. 

It always seemed like such a teenage thing, but I have never outgrown it. 

I hope I never do.

The perfect start

Wake up.
Look at the clock.
Yawn, stretch.
Don’t think about anything but pulling the covers back over my head.
Close eyes.
Open them again.
Peek outside.
See the sun.
Open the blackout curtains.
Sing a song to myself
Make coffee.
Go back to bed with coffee.
Wake up gently.

Then it doesn’t really matter where the day goes after that.

There are infinite variations to the perfect way to wake up. 
Waking up with the sound of water. Rain on a tin roof. Waves. Water streaming over rocks. Sometimes a book makes its way in. Or music. Maybe a breakfast after. The sound of laughter from an earlier riser.

The best ones involve waking up with someone else. A lover, a group of friends.


Any time you start the day with sunshine and coffee in bed, it is perfect.



Stopping yes, but starting?

As the entire Western world knows, Facebook loves to remind us of our pasts.

In my case, that includes not only all of the lovely pictures and funny things that I post (remember the vagina beauty contest and the vampire dildo? Fun times…) but also blog posts from that date in history.

Usually I just ignore them, because, well, I wrote them and don’t need to read them again. Lately I’ve been reading them. And they sound JUST LIKE ME. Is that a good thing or a bad thing that I write so completely in my own voice? I can hear the people on both sides of the imaginary conversations so clearly.

But it made me think about why I stopped…

Why did I?

I really don’t know.

It’s not like the imaginary conversations have gone away.

It’s not like I am not bleeding internally for the lack of a creative outlet.

It’s not like I am still weird and struggling like we all are.

So why not start. Maybe not with the self inflicted pressure of daily writing (you mean discipline?) but just now and then. When I need it.


I can stop any time I want.

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