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.

Part one: the night that never happened

I didn’t ultimately intend on being in a relationship during my first year of university. Why would I be? For the most part I’ve always had unsatisfactory experiences with men. In addition I’d continually advocate this notion that love is inexistent. Surely, these two components would deter me from pursuing a love affair but they didn’t.

Lol, did I say “love affair”? I’m not saying it was wholly adverse; the adversity appeared to overwhelm the body of our relationship.

Initially my friends had approached me to say there was a guy in our halls of residence that had an appeal for me. I believe I tuned in disbelief as I discerned the situation to be rather preschool like. Surely if he had an interest for me he’d approach me himself to convey that? Rather than hearing about it like a game of Chinese whispers. I did find out that his inceptive impression of me was “she could definitely hold something”. How pleasant.

I had run into him whilst I was returning from a lecture and he was sitting outside our accommodation. I said “hi” and I got completely aired. I won’t lie I was a little confused and expressed to my friends that, allegedly liking me was such a stretch for a guy that won’t even converse with me. He did go on to tell me later on that he was “buzzing” on that day which supposedly affected his capacity to respond to me. Personally, that is an insubstantial excuse considering I was hovering over him but, let’s move swiftly on.

Our next meeting was prompted by the same friend that initially told me of this male taking a liking to me. My friend had said that he wanted to meet me and I happily obliged. We went to his room but he was rather busy so just decided upon meeting him afterwards. A “Netflix and chill”  did occur but it didn’t live up to its euphemism. I remember messaging my friend to say that the “Netflix and chill” had depicted a child’s version of the session and that I hadn’t really vibed with this guy.

Surprisingly we had started spending more time together and messaging more often. The time that we spent together necessitated watching movies, ordering takeaway, drinking alcohol and smoking spliffs  (alongside his counterparts). Not the most idealistic form of dates. Messaging him generally revealed that he liked me which I would usually disregard or him complementing on my physicality.

To me whatever we had was genuinely friendly although he wanted more. He did reveal to me that he felt that I led him on. Which I believe to be nonsensical as I don’t feel like I was luring him into thinking we could share something more as our engagements lacked any type of affection or intimacy.

His birthday was nearing and he’d asked me multiple times to take part in the celebration, that would involve pre drinking in the communal area and then going to a club to honour the day further. I did agree to join him for drinks but not clubbing. The objective  of going out has never really appealed to me… The predatorial men, the insanitary lavatories, the congested dance floor that has you sucking in a stranger’s scorching breath as a substitute for oxygen and not to mention the distasteful music.

He had broadcasted a message on WhatsApp generally discussing his coming of age and when the actual date occurred he had sent me images of himself holding bottles  (just unnecessarily wasting my phone memory) and we also discussed whether I was still coming, furthermore he had gotten arrested possibly for assault (for tossing a Ciroc bottle at a taxi driver whom had used a racial slur towards him). I think at that point I had a change of heart about attending. We later discussed this in his room whilst sipping on Disarrono and he went into detail about what had transpired so far on his day.

I met him in his room again whilst he was facetiming a relative to which he quickly introduced me to and then we began drinking again. Our choice of drink was now Ciroc. We spoke some more and he unexpectedly attempted to kiss me. I did not reciprocate. I smoothly swerved him.

One of his closest friends also arrived to which he also introduced me to. She somehow seemed familiar and I ended up figuring out how so… I’ll get onto this later on.

This would also be the same day I would be meeting my friends parents and sibling. I was a teeny-weeny tipsy amid meeting them. Whilst I was in my room I’d also drank  Budweisers prior; escalating my inebriation. If you know me I can be unspeaking and introverted however the insobriety brought out a chatty and exuberant side to myself. I appreciatively “chopped ” the delightful home cooked food my friends mum had prepared and pretty much spent some of my evening with them.

They were now leaving and we had followed them to the main exit to escort them to their car, I momentarily got distracted by a male and we ended up exchanging numbers. Soon after I made my way to the communal area.

The night was nebulous to me. Until this day I only have a minimal recollection of what occurred and spent the next day attempting to piece together the events of the previous night through other people’s accounts.

The following thoughts were running through my mind:

  • Why did my friends “devil” come and wake me for breakfast?
  • How did he even access my room?
  • Why was I sleeping without sheets?
  • Why could I see vomit in my bathroom?
  • What was my toothbrush and the rest of my toiletries doing on the floor?
  • Whose socks did I have on my feet?
  • Why did the “birthday boy” message me to ask me if I was okay?
  • Why did people keep staring at me?
  • Why did my voice sound gravelly like I’d been smoking for years?
  • Why did I have carpet burn marks on some areas of my body?

The feeling of trepidation overcame me but I needed to know what occurred.