Acquired Tastes, XXXXI: Kissing

Introduction:

You don't have to be rich

To be my girl

You don't have to be cool

To rule my world

Ain’t no particular sign I’m more compatible with

I just want your extra time and your… Kiss

-‘Kiss’ by Prince/Glen Ballard/Celeste Noelle

When a kiss is right, you just know it.  It’s like exchanging oxygen.  Lips lock and two become one; a self-contained, self-sustaining unit of pulse, flesh, and breath.  A good romantic/sexual kiss is not a single kiss, but a series that crescendos and undulates like waves on an ocean.  Acting as the igniter, this can whip up a fire storm and lead to some real mind-blowing sex; for once the union catches fire – where else it will lead is anybody’s guess.

So, let’s pucker up and plant one, getting hot and heavy as we examine…

Kissing

Scope of Activity:

The pressing of two male pairs of lips against one another in a sexual/romantic manner

The Official Line:

From Wikipedia

A kiss is the act of pressing one's lips against another person or an object. Cultural connotations of kissing vary widely. Depending on the culture and context, a kiss can express sentiments of love, passion, affection, respect, greeting, friendship, peace and good luck, among many others. In some situations a kiss is a ritual, formal, or symbolic gesture indicating devotion, respect, or sacrament. The word comes from Old English; cyssan (“to kiss”), in turn from coss (“a kiss”).

Sexual or Romantic Kiss

The kiss is an important expression of love and erotic emotions. In his book ‘The Kiss and Its History’, Kristoffer Nyrop describes the kiss of love as an "exultant message of the longing of love, love eternally young, the burning prayer of hot desire, which is born on the lovers' lips, and 'rises,' as Charles Fuster has said, 'up to the blue sky from the green plains,' like a tender, trembling thank-offering." Nyrop adds that the love kiss, "rich in promise, bestows an intoxicating feeling of infinite happiness, courage, and youth, and therefore surpasses all other earthly joys in sublimity."  He also compares it to achievements in life: "Thus even the highest work of art, yet, the loftiest reputation, is nothing in comparison with the passionate kiss of a person one loves."

The power of a kiss is not minimized when he writes that "we all yearn for kisses and we all seek them; it is idle to struggle against this passion. No one can evade the omnipotence of the kiss ..." Kissing, he implies, can lead one to maturity: "It is through kisses that knowledge of life and happiness first comes to us. Runeberg says that the angels rejoice over the first kiss exchanged by lovers," and can keep one feeling young: "It carries life with it; it even bestows the gift of eternal youth." The importance of the lover's kiss can also be significant, he notes: "In the case of lovers a kiss is everything; that is the reason why a man stakes his all for a kiss," and "man craves for it as his noblest reward."

As a result, kissing as an expression of love is contained in much of literature, old and new.

Romantic kissing "requires more than simple proximity," notes Cane. It also needs "some degree of intimacy or privacy, which is why you'll see lovers stepping to the side of a busy street or sidewalk."   

Psychologist Wilhelm Reich "lashed out at society" for not giving young lovers enough privacy and making it difficult to be alone.  However, Cane describes how many lovers manage to attain romantic privacy despite being in a public setting, as they "lock their minds together" and thereby create an invisible sense of "psychological privacy." He adds, "In this way they can kiss in public even in a crowded plaza and keep it romantic."  Nonetheless, when Cane asked people to describe the most romantic places they ever kissed, "their answers almost always referred to this ends-of-the-earth isolation. They mentioned an apple orchard, a beach, out in a field looking at the stars, or at a pond in a secluded area.

Psychological Aspects:

• Intimacy
• Submission/Surrender
• Romantic Wonder/Hope
• Reward
• Expression of Desire

Within the context of a sexual encounter, a kiss can take on many different definitions (see above).  Because there are two people involved, the meaning for a single kiss can actually differ greatly.  It makes for an interesting/complex means of physical communication that keeps our heads in the game and our mind constantly questioning.  That’s why it’s important to remain aware while kissing; in order to continue to pick up on our partner’s physical needs and wants.

Kissing (and the physical act of making love) has been likened to dancing, and in many ways it is an apt comparison.  The key to great dancing is for partners to be in sync with one another.  It is a matter of act and reaction, call and response.  The same is true of great kissing. 

And this is where bad kissers frequently mess up.  They forget that kissing is a matter of give and take.  Instead, they assume that one kiss fits all and slap their usual kiss on the object of their erection without consideration.  Doing so may please you, but if you aren’t pleasing your partner as well, then you fail as a kissing partner and may never discover whether you could be successful as a sexual partner.

A successful kissing session (which typically will lead to a sex-cessful fucking session) begins with the approach.  And it’s sort of like approaching a horse.  Unless you know that horse really, really well, it is wise to not just jump on its back, dig your heels in, and attempt to take off full gallop.  Horses typically only respond well that way in the movies; usually you have to gain the horses trust before mounting it.  Same is true of kissing. 

Suggestions/Advice

Good oral hygiene is a must.  Gargle.  Brush your tongue.  Brush your teeth.

If anybody knows of a remedy for ‘lots of garlic’ breath – you know, where it has gone bitter and exudes from the pores? – clue me in.  I avoid eating great amounts of garlic (even though I hear it’s good for you) because of this issue.

Your approach should be soft, not hard… unless you know the person you’re with really well and know that they will respond positively to such a kiss.  A good approach is like cradling a small bird.  Being a bit tentative in this case is a good thing; it allows you to gage the response of the receiver. 

Once initial contact has been established and approved, then it should be a matter of experimentation until you find what works for both you and your partner.

Just as a soft initial approach is rather essential to guarantee future sex-ccess, so are soft lips.  Nobody wants to be pecked at by hard, bird-beak lips.  Relax your mouth.  Lips are cushions, not battering rams.

And that relax thing?  That should include your whole body.  No, no one wants to kiss a limp noodle, but nobody wants to be attacked by a mound of wound up taut muscle either (at least initially).

Be mindful of the state of your lips; a little lip wax/chapstix will do the trick and keep your pucker nice, smooth and soft.

Biting is rarely a good idea.  Taking my lower lip and holding it between your teeth?  Sexy.  Biting down on it?  Painful.

Saliva.  Use sparingly.  Unless your partner tells you otherwise.  Deep wet kisses?  That’s something that needs to be requested, and is never a given. 

Remember: One kiss does not fit all.  Be mindful of your partner.  Pick up on his cues and technique. 

Resist the urge to plunge.  Again, be mindful of your partner and what is pleasing to them.

Sucking face should never be taken literally.  If we wanted you to mouth-rape our entire face, we will let you know.

Your mouth should never be open so wide as to risk scraping our face with your teeth.  In fact, teeth really shouldn’t be involved in kissing at all (unless requested – and who?).

That tongue of yours (the one you brushed up nice and clean?) – It really shouldn’t stray very far from the cave of the mouth proper.  Licking my face is something I let my dogs do, but not something I enjoy as a prelude to a great fuck. Yes, the mouth may wander, but the tongue should only be stuck into openings: like mouths, ear canals, and my ass.  And keep that tongue out of my nose!  What the hell?  Who told you that was sexy?

Change up your technique and approach.  Just as one kiss does not fit all, one trick ponies tend to find themselves alone on the farm.

That tongue darting thing?  Okay, you can get away with it maybe once during a major make out session, but if that’s your whole technique then you are playing the wrong game (and perhaps kissing the wrong end – there is a part of the anatomy where that can feel quite pleasing – hint, hint).

Dick to mouth?  Typically, not a problem.   Ass to mouth?  Hmmm.  You are pushing the envelope, buddy.  Don’t assume you can go there.  Check in with your partner.  Also have mouthwash and a wet wipe handy if that’s what you have in mind.

So, if you are not experienced enough or sensitive enough to know when to slip into no-holds-bar mode while kissing, wait and take the cue from your partner.  If he wants your tongue lodged deep in his throat – he’ll give you some indication that is the direction to go.

Stuck in a bad kissing situation?  You have options:

• You can see it as a teaching/mentoring opportunity
• You can muddle through it / put up with it
• You can ask the person what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, shaming that person and causing possible harm
• You can respectfully tell the person the kissing-thing is not working for you, part ways, or suggest another activity
• You can discretely redirect the action elsewhere – yes, sex without kissing is not as much fun, but it will still get the job done

My Experience:

I love a good kisser.  Nothing better.  Nothing lights my fire more.  I will be more willing to do anything requested if the kissing is good.

That said – and I have devoted some space to this topic in the past – there are a lot of bad kissers out there; clueless individuals who need to be given some basic guidelines in what is and is not acceptable when kissing (Scraping my cheeks with your teeth?  Not acceptable).

But you know what’s even worse than a bad kisser?

Someone who won’t kiss at all.  What’s that about?  I have asked and gotten the following explanations:

• They are saving it for someone ‘special’ (short bus special?)
• Kissing is ‘too gay’ (but putting my penis in our mouth isn’t?)
• Real men don’t kiss (but they do beg for my cock?)
• Kissing implies ‘I love you’ and I don’t even know you (in what third world country?)
• I don’t know (really?)

Kissing is a physical act.  If you’re engaging in a no-strings-attached fuck or chance hook-up, chances are the other person involved knows full well that having sex with you isn’t ‘the start of something big’.  So relax and pucker up.  This reminds me of dudes that won’t cum for you, because they want to save it.  WTF?  Like that stuff doesn’t regenerate?  Like you have a limited supply?

I may develop feelings for someone – a fondness, or maybe even something that borders on the romantic – in the moment - but I know not to fall in love with my tricks.  That’s a part of having a mature and healthy mindset in relation to casual sex. And my kisses, passionate as they may be, don’t even begin to imply that I want to ‘gay marry’ anybody.  As I see it, relationships are all about negotiations, commitments, romantic notions, and feeling good when with that other person.  Sex is all about physical contact and feeling good when you are with that person.   Sure, you can role play some kind of romantic entanglement (fun, but dicey), but, hey, the reality is you met on a hook-up site looking for casual sex (which is not to be confused with meaningless sex).  You are not the love of my life, you are the love of this moment… so, again… pucker up and don’t be so stingy with the kisses, bitch.

If someone doesn’t kiss, I am rarely interested in hooking up with them more than once. 

I simply like getting lost in a kiss.  It makes me melt… as in; it makes me want to melt into the other person.  Yes, that is a rather romantic notion, but then I also think the best casual sex should be intimate and needs to border on that whole ‘falling in love’ precipice, even if it is just for that moment, and just that once. 

I have been accused of having too wet a kiss.  My bad.  But I am blessed with an abundance of saliva.  This can be a good thing when giving a blow job, but is almost always an issue when kissing.  Nobody wants to feel like they are drowning (unless it is in a sperm bath).  And then again, it can be a bad thing when giving a blow job, like when you have been working on a dick for a long time, and then things start to go cold, because of all the saliva?  The ball sack goes all tight and hard and you can tell the dude is not going to bless you with his load.   Ah, but I digress…

See?  Kissing really is the great prelude to other (hopefully sex-sessful) activities. 

Still, no matter where I am in the dance, I like to return to home base and get a little sugar. 

Oh, when I am on my back with my legs in the air and a dude is plowing my hole?  If he leans in and locks lips with me, I am in heaven!  So, tops… take a hint.  Your bottom?  Unless he tells you otherwise, he really likes that.  It sort of completes the transaction.

I also love exchanging breath with another dude.  That kind of oxygen deprivation is sort of like poppers – it really gets me high (Carbon monoxide? No, silly, carbon dioxide.).

Race: I have to bring this up. There are some schools of thought out there that men of a certain race or ethnicity make better kissers/lovers.  Eh.  Obviously these people have not kissed their fair share of any race.  Me?  I have.  And while I could make a case for particular members of particular races (Black men, Middle-eastern men, Latinos, Italians spring to mind) the fact is, that, in my experience, for every good kisser I have met three poor kissers – and race has nothing to do with it.  Those ethnicities/races that sprang to my mind?  They are just as likely – culturally – to refuse to kiss another man, for whatever fucked-up reason they can come up with.  So, sorry, race ain’t a factor if it’s a kiss that you’re after (that rhymes!).  

That said.  I love a nice pair of plump lips.  Kissing them is like sinking into a great sofa.  And, yes, certain ethnicities/races are more likely to be blessed with cushion lips. Big, juicy, cushiony lips.  (Drool.)

My Conclusion:

It is in his kiss.  Oh, yeah, that song got it right.  If you are mindful of your sexual partner’s needs and wants, nothing will inform you more than the signals to be found in his kiss. 

Now… if we could just make kissing mandatory for all sexual activities, I do (want to) believe we would all be better sexual partners.  And, yes, I realize that I could make that mandatory for myself… but then I would miss out on so much fine dick, so that ain’t gonna happen.

That said, you?  Don’t be so stingy with the kisses.  They don’t cost you nothing.  So pucker up and give it up, fool.

Kisses…

The Return of Mr. Bookends: Spring Has Sprung (Boing)

This spring got off to a slow start.  Especially in light of the early one we had the previous year.  I was out there tanning at the end of March last spring.  But not to worry; I now know that spring has finally arrived.  For, just as the first robin and the budding lilacs signal the rebirth of Mother Nature, so, too, does the appearance of a certain swarthy man signal a rebirth in me.  Or an awakening, I guess you might say – but not necessarily a spring awakening, more like a sexual one.

Wednesday, I sat in my car, as I like to do, at my local, favorite cruising park.  Doing so has been problematic lately.  The cops and park police have been patrolling like crazy, typically showing up around 5:00.  They like to sit behind parked cars, write down license plate numbers, and glare at the drivers from afar.  But they keep their distance, because - they have to.  Sitting in one’s car is not a violation of any law.  And when they confront me when I’m walking around, asking me what I’m doing there?  I simply shrug and say, “Walking around, enjoying Mother Nature.” – you know, like people who go to parks generally do. 

But the weather has not been good, so sitting in my car has become more common than walking.  And not hooking up at all?  That’s become rather common, too.  I simply don’t feel it.  I have no desire to hook-up with men that I am just not that into solely for the sake of getting off.  I find it a bit worrisome, but then I also think: why not?  Why fight it?  Why not embrace that diminishing light?  Still, old habits die hard. And it has been my habit to hang out at this particular park and get it on with strangers.  I had a great time sunning there last year and plan on doing so this year, as well - every day, Monday through Friday, weather permitting. 

On this day, the weather is not permitting.  It’s raining, just slightly.  Complete cloud cover.  I sit in my car in a remote parking space and check out things on Grindr  and Scruff, not really looking for anything.  A dude hits me up to text him, but he’s 20 years old and still has yet to tell me what he’s into, so I’m not feeling it; too young, too vague. 

The rain stops, so I decide to go for a stroll.  Walking, I check out the river bank, where I spy one of the regulars; a dude who can’t get it up and gives me the creeps.  I keep walking.  I spy another dude.  Belly, in dark peach shorts, looks like a total poindexter.   Not feeling it.  I make it all the way to the next parking lot, look at the sky and figure, that’s it.  End of game.  I walk back to my car. 

I glance at my dashboard clock.  It’s too early to go home, but I contemplate doing so anyway.  This day does not seem to hold any promise.  Plus, I have to say, I’m not really up for anything.   I’m about to head out, when a giant, silver truck pulls in.  Initially it pulls into the handicap stall behind me and I think it must be one of the really old dudes that troll the place.  But then it backs up next to my car, facing out.  Typically dudes will do this so vehicle doors match up in a way that makes for easy conversation, but this truck is so big, I can’t even see into the cab, so I have no idea who it is.  I don’t recognize the truck at all, so I sit and wait. 

Eventually the dude in the truck gets out, lights a cig or something.  He’s standing on the opposite side of the truck, so other than getting a vague sense that he may be bald, I still have no idea who it is.  Still, something in the ballsy way he parked beside me makes me think he might know me.  So I get out and head toward the main path.  I glance over my shoulder and it’s a thin, bald black man with a scruffy, long goatee.  He’s rather ageless and sexy, and something about him gets my heart racing.  I keep wondering: is it him?

Him: a certain black man who appears in the spring and in the fall of my life – just once each season – and fucks the hell out of my ass on the shore of the Mississippi. I call him Mr. Bookends because I see him at the beginning of the season and at the end.  I am praying history repeats itself.  I’ve written about him in a couple of posts, the most recent being last fall.   

It all started two years ago.  Since then, each day that I visit the park, I wonder… is today the day he will appear?  Last year he drove a different car than the previous year.  Could he have upgraded to a truck?  I can’t be sure.  The dude is wearing brown, flat pants, dress shoes and an over-sized white golf polo.  What with his bald head and the long scruff on his chin, it makes him look older than I remember.  I take off down the path, walking toward a certain picnic table that looks straight onto a path that leads down to the shore.  It’s where I got fucked by this dude last fall. 

I stand at the mouth of the path, on a tiny hill that’s right in front of the picnic table, with the path falling between.  I watch.  Sure enough, eventually, he follows.  He’s always a bit cagey, cautious, careful.  Winning him over is part of the game.  I wait and then move in a bit further.  Puffing away on his little cigar, he takes a seat on the table and faces the path.  He acts like he’s not looking, but I suspect he is.  I’m starting to think this is the guy, and I know of one way to find out for sure.

I step up to the hill again and stand with my back to him.  Undoing my pants, I let my jeans fall just a bit, hiking down my underwear, too.  Oh, yeah, it’s not short-wearing weather yet, so I am still dressed in my work stuff:  jeans and underwear.  Shorts make this kind of fun so much easier, but you work with what you got, am I right?

But wait.  Someone is coming down the path.  It’s the dude that gives me the creeps.  Typically, if he sees that I’m interested in someone or someone is interested in me, he will stick around and try to watch or horn in.   But today, he walks on by.  In retrospect, I wonder if it’s because the other dude is black and not his thing.  Anyway, Mr. Creepy keeps walking.  I get braver, and move a little closer toward the path, so I am now on the apex of the hill, the perfect view – for him.  I start to drop trou again, but hold the phones: it’s the dude in the dark peach shorts.  I retreat down the hill and ignore him, hoping he will walk on.  Amazingly, he does.  Maybe Mr. Dark Peach Shorts has a thing for Mr. Creepy?  In any event, I don’t see either of them again for the rest of my time at the park.  Yay!

That crisis past, I remount the hill, drop trou, bend over, and show my spring fling my moneymaking thing.  Does he appreciate it?  I can’t tell.  Dude has a poker face that would serve him well in Vegas.  He just keeps puffing on that little cigar in his mouth.   I pull up, zip up, and retreat down the hill a bit to wait for a reaction.  A sign.  Anything.  And then I panic.  What if this isn’t Mr. Bookends?  I move quickly up the hill and start down the path toward my car, turning back just in time to see Mr. Bookends rise up, cross the path, and mount that tiny hill. 

It’s him!  I just know it. 

So, I’m torn.  If it’s him, then he is going to want to fuck me.  In order for that to happen I will need a big boy condom, some lube, and, just to make it easier on me, some poppers.  It’s also been a good hour and a half since I last checked my hole and I’m thinking, considering how big this dude is, it would be a good idea to do some housework before inviting in this particular guest.   On the other hand, if I walk away without nailing this thing down, I’m pretty sure this dude is skittish enough to bolt.

I decide to find out exactly what I’m dealing with here and head back in the direction Mr. Bookends just went.  By the time I get to the little hill, Mr. Bookends is already down near the shore, where there is this dead tree lying on its side, the same one he bent me over in order to fuck me last fall.  Without sufficient leaf coverage, the area is pretty exposed to the other side of the river or anyone that might be standing above us on that little hill.  Mr. Bookends realizes this and takes off due south.  Like the good little cocksucker I am, I follow suit.  Soon he’s standing facing a big tree that blocks the view from the other side of the river.  There is also sufficient brush up the hill to prevent others from accidentally seeing us.  I slip in between him and the tree, hunker down, and simply stare at the crotch of his pants.   I think they are the same ones he was wearing last fall.  They ride low on his hips so the waistband of his silky boxers (a brilliant blue) is visible.  He hikes up the front of his oversized polo and shucks those pants and boxers mid-calf, revealing a most breathtaking sight.  No, it’s not hard, but it is beautiful.  I love this man’s cock.  I can’t help it.  I take it in my mouth, breathing in his irresistible funk.  Amazing.  Better than poppers.  There’s also a beautiful pair of low hangers for me to caress and play with.    With his dick in my mouth I look up into his eyes.  He’s smug and happy.  Me? Oh, yeah, I’m happy, too.

Within a minute I have him rock hard - and I mean: ROCK HARD.  Amazingly, (or maybe this just comes with practice) despite how thick and long he is, I’m not gagging or having any difficulty holding him down my throat.  Of course, I can’t breathe (not even through my nose!), but I can keep him deep in my throat for as long as I can go without a breath. 

Ten minutes go by.  We’re having a good time of it.  And then he asks, “You got a condom?”

Oops.  I tell him, “Yes, but back in my car.  I’d have to run and get it.”  And I do; scrambling up the hill, I hightail it back to the parking lot lickety split.  I grab two big boy condoms, my poppers, a cock ring (which I never put on), and a packet of lube.  Then I run into the porta potty and do a quick clean out.  All systems go; I head back, amazed at how quickly I can get things like this done.

Returning, I see Mr. Bookends has moved further down toward the shore line.  I make haste and join him as quickly as possible.  He’s chosen a group of trees in a small alcove.   Again, I crouch between him and the trees, this time, with my pants down around my ankles.  His dick has gone soft, but I enjoy my work, so it’s a true pleasure getting him back to full mast, which takes a matter of moments. Part of me, wanting to prolong my time with him, doesn’t want to stop sucking his cock.  But eventually he indicates he’s ready for the condom. 

While he’s putting it on, I lube up my ass good, before applying the rest to his weapon of mass destruction.  Rising, I turn around and bare my hole to him.  When I do so, I find my head poking in between a ‘V’ created by two of the tree trunks.  It makes me feel like I’ve been put into one of those prison yokes/shackles things (and it kind of turns me on). 

Mr. Bookends makes a stab at my hole and I beg him to go slow.  My ass is no stranger to big dick, but the size of his (nine plus) gives me pause, and requires a little getting used to on my part.  I reach down and grab the poppers.  After a couple of mega hits, I feel my hole relax and Mr. Bookends glides sweetly inside me.  He ramps up his attack, and I just keep hitting the poppers.  Feeling fully lifted, I cap the bottle and focus on that magnificent man fucking me deep and hard; so lost in the moment, I don’t even worry about someone seeing us.  

He changes up his style a couple of times (the man knows how to fuck), and even allows me to fuck back on him for a bit.  But the ending comes too soon.  It always does.  He fires one off in the condom and then just allows his massive member to throb deep in my hole.  Slowly, I slide off, but only because I absolutely have to.  As he unfurls the loaded condom, I kneel before him.  Taking his spent dick in my mouth, I clean and worship it a bit more.  Surprisingly, he’s in no hurry. 

His shirt is still pulled up over his head, exposing his chest and his collection of fading tattoos, remnants from a misbegotten youth.  I love looking at him: his face, his eyes.  He’s stoic, but there’s a light there when he looks at me, and it’s that look that keeps me wanting more.  His lips look so inviting, but since no invitation is forthcoming, I know better than to ask for a kiss.

From my crouched position I explain to him how I’ve been waiting for his appearance and that I’m not sure if he’s aware of it, but I get him once in spring and once in fall.  I then tell him, as I have in the past, that he can have me any time.  And I mean it.  I’d go anywhere to be with him.  Does that make me come off as desperate?  Needy?  Probably. 

Maybe it’s the poppers talking, but I don’t care.  There aren’t many men I would allow myself to be this vulnerable with, but perhaps the fact that I won’t be seeing him until late September or October makes me act like such a dumb cluck.  He’s always nice about my gushing and, I think, just a bit flattered. 

I let him walk off by himself, remaining to pick up all my stuff – the spent condom, the wrapper, the lube, the unused cock ring.  I even brought wet wipes, which I use once he’s vanished up the hill. 

I want to relive the experience.

This is what I wanted.  This is what I needed.  This is all I really need.  Quality speaks volume over quantity and waiting for the right ones…

…makes it all the sweeter.