I don’t kiss

When those 3 words egress from my mouth, the recipient is occupied in a state of perplex. What’s more, I phrase my conviction that kissing is some more intimate in comparison to sex.

Fucking and feelings are something I infrequently resonate with. When it comes to sexual engagement the effects of emotions are pretty much stifled to me.

Contradictorily, there was a time I’d murmur I love you whilst “love-making” and I cannot begin to explain a number of times I’ve suppressed the urge of screaming the same expression during a fervours NSA relation. Both occasions are merely reflections of my fraudulence.

A honeyed declaration of love is sweet except greatly meaningless when you’re still trying to decipher the denotation of the term, in addition, attaching it to an act that is identified as inherently filthy is ludicrous.

My ridiculousness has got me caught up in permitting myself to be objectified as a result of no letting go of an empty relationship. The exposure of a naked body contributed to the perception that I was bestowing a sacrificial statement of love while in reality, my nakedness was just an object of appetite which fuelled sexual desire, what I equated as intimacy was a disillusion and in actuality a large helping of oxytocin exerting unnecessary emotions.

I feel like I have to clarify that feelings are non-essential when it comes to sex especially when seeking casual sexual escapades. Having an inclination for bellowing those 3 words at the top of my lungs exhibit my love for the way my body is made to feel and not my love for that person.

Sex can be associated with: the erotic gratification of an orgasm; luxuriating in animalistic desires; treatment for a breakup; cheekily closing your eyes in order to envision fucking somebody else. The possibility is endless and yet all these things I’ve mentioned don’t bear on intimacy, in my opinion.

Locking lips are considered to be an art form (this doesn’t apply to woeful kissers). There are multifaceted and stylistic ways of kissing, you may find yourself opting for: soft, endearing kisses that elucidate fondness and devotion; passionate and fiery kisses that have you pressed up against the wall; unhurried and prolonged kisses that are unequivocally emotive and yearning that fulfil a sense of belonging; traverse kisses, where your tongue manoeuvres the inner part of another person.

I cannot imagine kissing just anybody, can you? Endlessly holding the same breath as somebody else holds depth, even the proximity develops a mutual vulnerability that fosters closeness. Someone being direly in the vicinity of your face projects rawness, the most stripped down version of yourself.
Taking in the scent of pungent perspiration and basking in the taste of liquor from a stranger you met in a nightclub is hardly idealistic when you’re playing the kissing game.

Kissing is metaphoric for something beyond the domain of sexual appeal.

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