v u l v a l i c i o u s
kissing like you mean it, even when you don't necessarily know what "it" is
She tastes sour from one too many coronas, but her tongue is heavy enough to make me forget that. Sometimes you know when your mouths first press together: this is going to be good. It's like that.
The night was a dance. I looked at everyone but her, because I was afraid she'd be looking at me. She kept her eyes down or away, said silly things under her breath in the usual way. Laughter. I pulled my dress up to dance while she sat back talking, all the while thinking, she should join me.
In the moment, we feign nervousness instead of anticipation. But you know from the beginning where you're headed, and with her it's a smooth twist of the tongue, wide and soft inside my mouth. Teeth involved only lightly, tangential to the actual project of a well-formed mouth, strong lips, and urgent hands. We stop because it's a requirement of starting, neither of us wanting to move on to kissing other people at the moment.
Later, in the car, I lean over and ask if she wants to continue. I could kiss like that forever.