Do you want to kiss me?
If you do, let me tell you how.
Before the kissing starts, please look at me. Look at me deeply. Look beyond my eyes and face. Look at my person, my essence. Look at my whole self.
Drink me in. See inside. Take your time.
Show me that you understand me. You don’t have to love me yet, but you do have to “get” who I am. And, you should consent to the vibe I’m putting out, which is that I want to “get” you too, and, yes, it’s definitely a vibe. For now.
Your desire must be there. It must be clear and present—and overflowing a bit. Your desire should be building to the point where containment becomes difficult for you.
If you want to kiss me, I have to know what’s going on underneath the surface of our conversations, our silly banter. Your want. I have to feel it. Your heat. I have to feel it on your skin and see it when I look at your lips. When you look at me, I want your mouth to water.
You can show me your desire by touching your fingers to my lips. By telling me, without words, to just stop my incessant, nervous chatter. You can tell me by whispering in my ear, imploring me to stop being so cagey about us. You can tell me that I can trust you with my heart because I see what you see when you look at me.
Do you see a home? Do you see a dog we might share? Do you see a child, perhaps, and bicycle rides and wine? Do you see us splashing in the ocean, and hiking a few trails, and screaming with passion at basketball games? Do you see us planting a tree together in the backyard after my mother dies? Do you see us sitting together on a bench in a green space park 50 years from now, just soaking up the sun, with no words necessary between us?
You don’t have to be certain of these things, of course, but if you want to kiss me, you must also want these things. Because I want these things. With someone. Someday.
Before I part my lips and offer you my tongue, I must know that you are capable of love.
I like that you want me. It stokes the fires of my confidence that you like what you see, when you stare at my legs and my waist, when I see you drinking me in—but I need to know that you might also love me someday, just as I am.
Maybe you already do.
Use your body. Cover me. I need to feel some of your power, your protection. If you want to kiss me, I need to sense that you will protect my body with your body. Know that you might even have to protect my words with your body, too. If it comes to that. Because I have spirited opinions, and I’ve proven time and again that I like to operate without a filter. My words won’t be locked in a box or set upon a shelf. I won’t be toned down or silenced or subdued completely. Unless you are kissing me.
If you want to kiss me, don’t rush it.
I am wearing a short skirt on purpose. Yes, it is for access. Look me in the eyes as you slowly hike it up, and don’t look away. Not even for a second. Show me with your eyes and your hands and maybe even with your raised knee pressing up between my legs that you want nothing else right now but to feel me first. This is something I would like from you, before the kissing starts.
Lean in with purpose and press your lips to mine. Do it softly at first. Move your head around a little. Apply a small bit of pressure.
It’s okay to close your eyes. I want you to see me without looking anymore. Make sure your hands are cupping my face, or, at the very least, please place them firmly on my shoulders. I want your hands to grip me gently, but hungrily. I want to be enveloped.
Show me. Show me that you see me and that you are hell-bent on ensuring my pleasure—and I will do the same.
If you want to kiss me, love, you better know how.
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