Why I don't like kissing

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking "haha, this is one of those clickbait titles, isn't it? This is going to be one of those essays where the writer explains that she doesn't like kissing, she loves kissing."

If that's what you're thinking, you're wrong.

Kissing, as it is, does nothing for me. What the hell? It's two sets of lips shaking hands.

My husband does like kissing. "It feels nice. It feels intimate," he says.

I do like kisses - giving and receiving - little drops of affection against skin. But lips-to-lips? Meh, says I. But I think I figured out why. It's too much of an egalitarian activity. We press our lips together and we move them - and our tongues - in certain ways. It's just a thing people do.

However. If there is force involved, or once I am turned on enough, it's all a different thing. It becomes exciting. His hand on my throat/jaw, forcing my face to stay where it is while his mouth claims mine? Oh, fuck. Even better, one hand on the back of my head while the other is on my throat. Fuck, yes. That's a kissing-related activity I can get into.

And then, with extreme arousal, comes extreme behavior. I hadn't experienced this in so long I'd almost forgotten, but I did just last night and what a revelation that is. There is a point of arousal when I just need him inside me, any bit of him, anywhere. If all I can do is kiss him and suck his lip into my mouth, then that is what I will do. I will attempt to devour him with every available part that can do so.

I'm indifferent to kissing, but I love being kissed.

And apparently when I am aroused enough by the being kissed, all my previously established kissing behavior is just out the bloody window.

Strange beasts, humans.

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It's still March, y'all! Any questions? Ask and be answered!

Sex objects

And now for something... a little different.

We were playing around online, my husband and I, and this ...male creature came along and started hitting on me. Straight up, obviously hitting on me, with no reason other than that I was presenting as female at that time. No invitation on my part, nothing. To be fair, he was hitting on everyone presenting as female.

My husband is amazing and hilarious and perfect, and turned it all into a good time for me. "Wife! Bad wife! Are you being a person again and not a random male sex object?" he said to me, in full view of everyone.

Later, we'd gone to bed and were talking about it. "'Conina I want you to love me too,'" I giggled as I settled, naked, into my husband's embrace. "Who does he think he is anyway? You can't just go around treating people like objects."

"Well," said my husband, his voice deepening a bit as one hand spread over my scalp, tightening in my hair, "only specific people, right?" He rubbed the soft growth of his beard over the place where my neck meets my shoulder.

I purred, shivering with delight as his other hand drew me close to him, his leg completing my entrapment as it captured my legs. I wriggled back into him. "Mmhmm. Only specific people who've agreed to such things," I confirmed.

"My fuck toy," he whispered, pulling my face toward him as he tugged on my hair. His lips met mine and the universe exploded in sensation. His lips, soft and warm, his beard, coarse and springy, the soft noises he made in his throat filling my ears as surely as if they were bomb blasts. Everything was magnified.

His hand covered my throat, holding my head where he wanted it from both sides as we kissed. I whimpered. I love the sensation of having no escape from him. I felt his cock grow hard against my arm where it was trapped between us, and moved my hand to stroke him through his boxers. He felt absolutely enormous. "Oh my God," I whispered against his lips, my eyes momentarily going wide.

"What?" he laughed before continuing to kiss me.

"Oh my God, husband," I said again, my fingers seeking to encircle the massive shaft of his erection and squeeze.

"I don't think it's changed, pretty girl. Maybe it's just been too long since you touched it last." He pressed himself hard into my hand.

"Oh my God, husband," I repeated, and then, "that's quite the monster you have in your pants."

His reply sent butterflies chasing in my stomach and tingles all over my body. He tightened his grip on the back of my head, on my throat. "This is quite the wonderful girl I have in my hands," he growled, his lips again claiming mine, keeping me from further words. But I melted. Ohhh I melted. The noises I made after that were confined to my throat.

How is it that the man I've agreed can treat me like a sex object makes me feel so much more like a person than people with whom I have no such agreement?

What's your experience with dehumanizing behavior from random web denizens?

In a different world

Monday was interesting. I couldn't stop being horny, all day. I longed to just get my husband home and take him to bed, to feel him touching me, filling up all the empty spaces within me. I told him as much too.

When we got him home from work we spent some time snuggling and making out like teenagers, kissing, kissing, endlessly kissing. It was glorious.

I went to take a bath after dinner, and afterward the intensity of my need was dampened quite a bit. That's not to say I wasn't still up for sex, but I wasn't raring to go.

He was writing some code after we put the little one to bed, and I went into our room and started making practice monkey fists for a new flogger. He followed me soon after, sat on the bed and talked to me, eventually convincing me to to stop making monkey fists and "have monkey sex."

I cleared away the ropes from the bed and lay down, facing away from him.

"Take off your clothes," he said.

Beautiful synergy

The star jasmine is blooming all over here now, as it was when we moved here. You walk outside, and even in the midst of sidewalks and asphalt and traffic, a million people bustling about their too-busy lives, this heady cloud of fragrance is there. It invites you to breathe it in, to let it be a beautiful part of you, to experience this moment with it inside your lungs.

It's magical, that flower. That fragrance.

Lilies are my first love, the gorgeous colors, the flowers rising majestically on stems that can tower over your head. I love trumpets, orientals, and orienpets that will knock you over from across a lawn with their heady scent.

I'm learning, though, to love the jasmine even more. The unassuming, yet lovely flowers all work together to emit this intoxicating aroma, this scent of summer, this reminder to slow the hell down and experience your life.

"Kiss me here, by the jasmine," I ask my husband as we get out of the car at the farmer's market. A low groundcover of jasmine in furious bloom is covering the parking lot island next to our car. He does, his soft lips lowering to my uplifted face, a tender lover's caress in front of anyone who cares to see it. His lips dance with mine, briefly, and as I breathe in the impossibly lovely fragrance of the jasmine, it becomes a third participant in our interlude. It makes this kiss one I will remember for a long, long time.

Anticipation

I was inexplicably tired, had been since just after noon. I went to bed early, leaving my husband sitting at the table writing code. He stopped me on my way past him. "I'm coming to bed!" he said. "I know it looks like I'm writing code right now, but I'm sipping my drink, and I'll be along in a few minutes."

"Okay, husband," I said, "but I'm going to sleep now."

"You do that, love," he said, with a smug grin on his face that said he knew I wouldn't be sleeping for long.

He slid into bed behind me and wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close to him. "Sexy girl," he said into my ear, as his hands wandered over my skin, chasing sensations all over my body, coaxing soft moans of pleasure from me for several minutes, long enough that I thought this would be a lovely vanilla lovemaking session.

I was wrong. Suddenly he pinched my nipple, hard and fast. I screamed at the unexpected pain.