Kissing Party

This week a random email found its way into my inbox, inviting me to take a quiz about kissing. Needing to further my procrastination for an impending deadline, I took it. After 20+ questions, it told me that I was a "Krafty Kisser", suggesting that my kissing style was "playful and prankish" and that I was the kind of person who was naturally more frisky and maybe even a little bit mischievous.

I heart kissing. There are very few things in life that I enjoy more than kissing. I love how versatile it is; how it can be sweet, or vengeful, or seductive, or playful, or REALLY passionate, or all of those things wrapped up in one big, sloppy kiss. I love how you can kiss someone for hours upon hours, yet it always feels like you just started. I love that anticipatory moment, when her hand is on your neck and you notice her lips starting to part, ever so slightly.

I have only ever kissed two boys; once on a date when I was sixteen and it was horrible, and once in a drunken night in Canada with a boy whose name I don't even know. I wasn't going to be the kind of girl that wasted her time kissing/dating boys that she didn't like; and I never meet a boy that I liked, so I didn't date boys. I thought it meant that I was a mature and ambitious individual; turns out I was just a dyke. (I mean, I am mature and ambitious, but that's not why I don't like kissing boys.) I came out, to myself and to a handful of people, before I started kissing and/or dating girls; when I started having gay thoughts, I knew what they meant and I decided not to hide from them. I thought that I could either embrace it and love it and walk through that door, or I could bang my head against that door for ten years and then be forced to embrace it later in life; I choose the former. But it wasn't until my first girl kiss that I knew, for certain, that I'd never turn back.

I was at an event for an art gallery that a close friend of mine was running. This gorgeous girl, Anna, my said friend's childhood neighbor, came into the event talking on her cell phone and looking quite frantic. She sat down by the front door and I gestured to see if she wanted a drink. She nodded and I handed her a glass of wine. After that initial silent connection, our only form of interaction for most of the night was through playful winks and distanced glances. Though our paths never directly crossed in that small space, our eyes certainly did, almost constantly. Many hours later Anna grabbed my hand and whispered, "Do you want to see if we can get in to see that band?" (The art gallery was a few blocks down from a warehouse venue and in those old buildings you can hear anything that is in close radius.) I squeezed her hand and smiled and she led the way. When we couldn't get in, we walked back to the gallery, stopping short of the front door. We sat on the tiny stoop and talked for at least an hour, until I put my hand behind her neck and leaned in to kiss her. "I just wanted to see..." I said and she put her hand on my knee...we kept kissing and then never did kissed again.

Once I was romancing this very smart, and kind of intimidating, woman. I had invited her over to my apartment for our first "in house" date and had planned this really romantic evening. Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. I cut myself with the corkscrew; I forgot about food that was in the oven; my loud downstairs neighbor was playing hard-rock music (not exactly the ideal music for a romantic evening). Later in the evening, we were kissing on the couch and I thought, "Whoa, it's getting hot in here, maybe this night is salvageable...and then I thought...wait, it's getting really hot in here..." I had lit these candles that were sitting on my window seal a few minutes earlier and when I opened my eyes I saw my curtains completely up in flames. I put the fire out and took her out for ice cream. (Oh, and then I changed the batteries to my fire alarm!)

On the only night that I've ever worn a tie, I was at a birthday party and I was on the balcony with a pretty lady, who just happened to be the only other lesbian at this party. We were talking and things were going great and bodies were gravitating towards each other and then out of the blue, she grabbed me by the tie to pull me in to kiss her. (Hot, right?!) I was completely taken off guard; one, she was this shy, sweet girl and I never expected her to make such a bold move, and two, this shy, sweet girl was a lot stronger than I had anticipated. I lost my balance and my feet slipped out from underneath me. I hit my head against the railing and then consequently the concrete. After we realized that I wasn't badly hurt, she took me back to her place and she got me some Advil and the biggest drink I'd ever seen, and I spent the night with my head in her lap while we watched episodes of the X-Files. We kissed a week later.

Moral of the story: Kissing, no matter how tragic the story might be, is always worth it. Cheers to girl kisses!

P.S. For a little kissing extra credit, here's a video of, in my opinion, the best girl-on-girl kissing scene from a movie...