A kiss in the dark

a kiss in the sun

a kiss on the bum

all of it fun

I chat with Simone, I chat with Annerose, and I chat with all these other girlfriends of mine and we all agree: If he can´t kiss, it’s a no-go. In German we´d say: “Das geht gar nicht.“ (That doesn’t work at all.)

He can be smart, gorgeous, the most charming man on earth, but if he can´t kiss? Because we are single and desperate, we might spend the night, but we certainly won´t see him again.

If you fall in love with a friend, and it turns out he can´t kiss, you continue dating and being in love, hoping to change his kissing skills (likely your secret reason for eventually breaking up).

How can you even describe the perfect kiss? Imagine trying to teach your kissing mate what to improve. I prefer not having to do that.

My favorite kissers were the Spanish; they kiss passionately—not too wet, not too dry.

All girls hate the kind of kiss that’s all over your face, wet, feeling like he´s trying to eat you up, rather than professing his desire for you.

English speaking, British, Canadian, and American are among my other favorite kissers. Hmmmm, maybe it has something to do with their Mother Tongue? Perhaps that’s the reason why I prefer Spanish and English over German.

Let´s see—have I had the joy of passionately tongue kissing all of these nationalities? Probably, yeah. And my memory successfully deleted the really unmemorable ones.

I used to make lists of the people I´ve slept with, tracking the number to ascertain if I´m staying in the decent or average range. Not go beyond five, ten, twenty. Some people  have achieved three-digit numbers.

But I couldn´t make up my mind whether or not to put the people that I had just kissed (and made out with) on the list. I’m proud to have had such a lovely adventurous life, being single in the city, but conflicted after being with some wonderful people, experiencing some romance, and then being sad that it never worked out with any of them.

And making these lists over and over again (because I would never keep a copy anywhere), I was afraid that I´d gone over what I had established as my decency level. Oh, well, there are only a few kisses I cherish and remember.

What really is the best now is not a kiss of the past but a kiss of the present. A mate to kiss whenever I feel like it, whenever I want my tongue to converse in a more silent, intimate language: a kiss of the present that holds the promise of many more to come.

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