She has the most beautiful eyes.

I don’t usually have my eyes open while kissing. It wasn’t a conscious decision, just how I kiss. I think most people close their eyes. Anything looked at up close is bound to appear strange, not to mention it’s hard to focus that close — eyesight, that is — I was very, very, focused in other areas, and dizzy enough from that, already.

Mine were open now, however, and, as if she could sense it, she opened hers as well, and I was struck, again, at the crystal blue clarity framed by the most beautiful dark border around her iris.

Her mouth opened and her tongue brushed my lip. She doesn’t kiss like most girls I’ve kissed. It’s not a matter of better or worse, just… different. I like that it’s different. It should be. She’s not one of a string of ill-advised relationships with women who learn to kiss by watching porn. No, she’s different. Special. It should feel different.

I was a bit thrown off my game, though. I’m a good kisser, but I was suddenly in a rare state of desperate adaptation — taking in, testing, responding, parsing that response for her response — like I’m building a profile, of sorts, an analysis, because I plan on kissing her a lot, and I find myself without a cookie-cutter foundation to curl her toes with ease.

Her tongue doesn’t venture far. I’m not used to that. I’m used to aggressive tongues — fuck metongues. Hers is gentle and shy, inviting me to come to her. Instead of twisting and writhing, her tongue waits for mine and then caresses, stopping for a moment just to savor the touch before the soft dance begins again.

In this, she is no less passionate. Not at all. In fact, there is an even more intense sense of her wanting me there in her mouth, a feeling of sharing rather than an exchange of wills. That’s an intoxicating feeling, being invited in, wanted… desire instead of submission.

There’s a point at which she was so intent on kissing me that my attempts to kiss her neck became absolutely futile. I’m nothing if not patient, though. Still, my back against the arm of the couch with her on top of me, while straight out of a movie scene, left me at somewhat of a hindered angle for the deep kissing I wanted on her neck, shoulders, chest, ears, and my tangled shirt pinned beneath me was not helping matters.

Get rid of the shirt, she tells me. This small shy woman has just bloomed into something so intensely sexy that I can’t even begin to make any sense of it in words.

Do you want to move things over there? I asked, with a nod of my head towards the bed. I was instantly worried, having halted something pretty amazing on a gamble when I doubtless could have continued right there on the couch for a while yet.



The authorKen

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