Kissing a Woman

The first time I kissed a woman, it was more different than I could ever imagine. Her lips were sticky with a vanilla gloss, she smelled like a too lush summer day. She was too much a summer day for me. My hands were slick, my heart running marathons, and my breath gone completely. We kissed each other and kissed each other. Never has a kiss been so cooperative. It was as if we were working together to solve a rubix cube between our lips. Her hands rested on my hips and never traveled further. Their presence was meant to ground rather than explore. My blonde mingled with her brunette, our eyelashes tangled, our legs binding us together, and we kissed until we couldn’t move our mouths out of the smiles they formed. We kissed until laughter flowed out of us and rang like bells. We kissed. Not she. Not me. But we. That’s the difference between kissing a woman and kissing a man.

 

-AcuteAnimosity

Hello!

Okay, so I will confess something. This isn’t my first blog. I wrote on my first WordPress blog for five years. It was supposed to be anonymous, and I told people about it for whatever reason. Now I feel a tad uncomfortable writing my feelings there. So, because I’ve had a blog I know that when I talk to “you” I’m really talking to myself. An anonymous blog doesn’t usually gain many followers. Anyway, moving on. I’m a girl who feels acutely animistic about this whole life thing. So here’s where I will express my hostility toward the world and all its inhabitants. Today, let me talk about stupid girl stuff today. I don’t always complain about idiotic girl issues, but when I do they are cliche.

So I have this boyfriend. He’s pretty much perfect. The only problem is that I’m the worst girlfriend ever. My boyfriend, let’s call him Lewis, hates to dance. However, I love to dance. So I went to a Salsa Social that my friend invited me to. Lewis was okay with this because he trusts me. At this Salsa Social I danced with a ton of guys. Nothing romantic or anything, just some nice, fun dancing. So for one of the last dances I danced with this friend that brought me to the dance thing, let’s call him Philip. Well Philip is a really good ballroom dancer and I’ve been dancing for eleven years, so him and I were dancing really great together. However, it was a really romantic song. Pause here, you probably think I as unfaithful right? Wrong. We danced, and some how we got talking about our troubled pasts. He held me really close, and he told me that he despises how badly my past has affected me; he told me that I was a great person that didn’t deserve the things that have happened to me. We danced closely, and we danced amazingly. There were spins and shines and a ton of fancy things that made us look pretty cool. At the very end we were in a dance position called “close embrace” so my head was on his shoulder, and he kissed the top of my head. He doesn’t think that I noticed, but I did, and that small gesture meant something to me. I don’t know what it meant to me, however it meant something. Of course at the end of the dance we both awkwardly blushed and found new dance partners for the last dance (I danced with this really cute guy that didn’t really know what he was doing and it was adorable). Okay I know what you’re thinking, I’m a terrible person. I’m not though, I swear. When I call a guy cute, he’s an attractive person in my opinion, that doesn’t mean that I want to jump into his bed and leave my boyfriend. I just think he’s nice looking. A dance is just a dance, but that dance felt special. I don’t know how to describe it, therefore I’m sorry. There wasn’t much a point to this little anecdote. It was just a little intro to my life. Welcome.

-acuteanimosity