The Anatomy Of A Good KISS

I’ve been thinking about kissing a lot lately. You know, the kind of thoughts that drift into your head in the middle of doing ordinary things and suddenly leaves you staring into space like a woman possessed. Sometimes, my mind wanders into a daydream about kissing that leaves me lightheaded. Mind you, I’m not talking about the polite, even mechanical locking of lips that y’all call kissing. I’m talking about slow, greedy kissing that leaves you dizzy and gasping for air. The kind that makes your stomach tighten before lips even touch; yeah that one.

Too many people underestimate kissing. They treat it like some sort of warm up act before the “real thing.” People like that are missing out on a real art form. A good kiss can ruin you for an entire week and there has to be at least one person out there who has probably fallen in love simply because somebody kissed them correctly. Anyway, let’s talk about the anatomy of a good kiss.

A good kiss starts with the eyes. Always the eyes. That moment when your gaze catches on someone else’s and you see it before you feel it. Desire, silently begging for permission. Good kissing begins long before mouths touch.

And ah, desire.

The first and most important component of a good kiss is desire. Because kissing is not something you do casually. It doesn’t matter if it happens unexpectedly in the middle of a conversation or sneaks up on you in the dark when you’re in deep sleep. There has to be hunger in it. A kind of unbearable ache sitting underneath the skin.

You can always tell when desire is missing from a kiss. It’s just there. Like somebody completing a task instead of surrendering to an urge. A kiss that’s born from desire feels different. Every inch of contact feels deliberate. Every breath matters and you can cut through the tension with a knife. I actually feel a little dizzy thinking about it alone but we move.

The second component of a good kiss is tongue. Tongue work is art and only true artists understand the mechanics of it. You can’t rush it. Your tongue should never attack your lover immediately because there is nothing sexy about desperation without rhythm. Tongue work should tease and unfold slowly. I once kissed a man who sucked on my lower lip until I nearly ran mad (don’t do that kids)

A good kisser understands timing, pressure and patience. It’s art. You have to be an artist to get it. When you kiss, you have to give more than you take. Remember, it’s an exchange. Good kissing is a conversation. It is a call and response between two people learning each other in real time without saying a word. Listen with your mouth, pay attention, then respond.

The third component of a good kiss is body. You have to apply yourself. Put some weight into it. Participate. Don’t just stand there Chike. What is your body saying? Your mouth cannot carry the entire performance alone.

A good kiss travels. It moves through shoulders and hips and breathing. Sometimes it is the way somebody pulls you closer because the distance between you both has suddenly become too much to bear. Sometimes, it is the tiny loss of composure. You stumble backwards, then exhale. It is the small involuntary sounds people make when pleasure catches them off guard. Bodies speak during a good kiss.

The last, but not the least, component of a good kiss is hands. Personally, I like hands that possess. Hands that hold my face like it is something precious and dangerous at the same time and can tell the truth while exploring my mouth. Hands expose hesitation immediately. You can feel uncertainty in a person’s fingertips and much as you can feel their confidence. A good pair of hands understand that the body is an instrument and so they travel carefully. Imagine a hand at the back of your neck guiding the kiss deeper without force, and without hurry. My God!

The best kisses feel almost unbearable because nobody is trying to get through them quickly. They linger and they torment you; making you painfully aware of your own mouth and pulse and skin. A truly good kiss leaves you slightly disoriented afterwards. Like you’ve briefly stepped outside yourself and returned a different person. I think that’s why I keep thinking about them.

It’s just appetite.