Afterthoughts on Kissing…

Afterthoughts on Kissing…

After pondering what I’d written on the subject of kissing in my second blog entry of the new year and speaking with others, certain afterthoughts have come to guide me into other levels of understanding.
What is an afterthought but the cream that rises to the surface of consciousness once you figure you’ve thought all that you could possibly think on a theme. And found there is an ocean of more thoughts to think. *sonrisas* So….here are my exhalations. Have you ever had anyone to beg you to kiss him or her? I mean implore in voz alto, sorta like, “CLAUDIA, KISS ME. PLEASE, KISS ME!” The tone begs, what is wrong with you? Don’t you know if you only bowed to the feeling you might find that somebody loves you? I didn’t. This happened thrice, once in a friend’s living room, the other while sitting in my car, in the front of what used to be Towers II, and the third in an airport. Each time I was virtually appalled, shocked. What? Were their lips going to communicate something their words and expressions couldn’t? Stymied, the beat went on and so did I, rolling into the next moment without a clue. Until now…
Tonight, I am listening to Iyanla Vanzant’s “In the Meantime: The Music That Tells The Story” CD and am shrouded in the prickly sweetness of love, always, after the song, “You Haven’t Lived” with Donnie McClurkin, Iyanla Vanzant and Nancey J. It’s absolutely beautiful. Donnie sings the story; reminding me that I haven’t lived until I’ve loved. To me, that means I haven’t really tasted what love is until I’ve relished the ecstasy of the delicacy of lips on lips, of lips on skin everywhere that skin can be, like the synergy of the meeting of the minds, when two become one in the realm of thought. Treat yourself to the song, if you haven’t heard it already.
Reality shows crossed my mind today, in conversation with my beloved sistafriend, Anita, who is Miss New York and Miss Venezuela and Miss Puerto Rico, wrapped in one queen! On today’s televisions, the reality shows seem anything but reality yet are definitely shows, almost Broadway shows in scope with their glitter and glitz and fantasy living. Mercy! One handsome Mister Man has the spine-tingling task of choosing a wife or girlfriend from, let’s say, twenty women. Each is, appearance-wise, entirely different from the girls around her. Some are tall, short, shapely, thin, thick, nappy, slicked, brunette, blond, spiked, whiny, direct, smooth, sexy, straitlaced, ingenious, ditsy and the adjectives can skid off this page describing them. What does the lucky Mister Man do? Spend the entire program discerning between the women, sharing dates with not only one but two and sometimes the whole group, debriefing on this or that one’s loyalty and quirky traits and honesty, AND, get this, KISSING them as if somehow he is about to glean something special about the woman’s character if he kisses her often enough. A kiss and he sends one off in hopes that she will stop telling lies in the house; a kiss and that one hasn’t given her all, like the others before her; a kiss and the wild one is leaving the show…she lied about having a threesome.
Where does it stop? As long as the viewing public watches and the Neil son ratings are up, television producers continue spoon feeding us what we might emulate while finding our own mates. Okay. So what, Sweetheart, you might say, before you digress further, what do realty shows say about kissing? Mmmm. That kissing can be taken lightly, is there only for the moment’s flash, not cherished for that divine moment when all feels right, when trust sets amorous possibility into play. Yet I know that isn’t the message the Powers That Be want to send about kissing…or is it?
Gee, even my grand baby, Nazzie Pooh, knows how to kiss, and he knows when to kiss, as he only kisses those whom he adores, those who care for him. To date, his mama, daddy, maternal relatives, and me are the only ones he kisses. And it’s the cutest thing, like my sister, Chicken, says about her grand babies who kiss. The miniature hands grab your face, position it just so, the smile explodes on the plump baby face, and the teeny tiny lips present a sloppy great-big one, right on your lips, and one on each cheek! And my grand baby hasn’t topped ten months yet. His twenty-two year old mother has always kissed him. With Chicken’s crew, their young mother has regaled them, also, with precious Mommy kisses since they’ve been in the world; thus, they know why one kisses—to show love and affection. Guess I’ll take some tips from the smallest of us! *smiles*
I’ve longed to kiss in my past…many times…but I’ve always waited for her to make the first move…and the last time…it was in the not-so-distant past. I was visiting D.C. for the Inauguration. I knew her from our connection in the cyber world. Well, not quite. I did know her voice, too. On countless nights, we talked and laughed, about movies and her job and her past and my history, etc. But I’d been in that blasted, chilly city for a couple of days before we met, standing face to face, the time and distance falling away like scent after a shower. She came in to greet my sistafriend, Bren, and her hubby, so that, I told them earlier, if she didn’t like me and hit me in the head somewhere in our capitol, Washington’s finest would know where to begin the investigation.
She was considerate. She was easy. Gentle. Serious. If I close my eyes, I can feel again her red-carpet embrace. We went sight-seeing at night. Snapped pictures in the street with night-vision lenses. Accommodating, she drove to the famous Florida Avenue Grill. Too late. They’d closed a half-hour before we pulled up. As we pondered what to do next in the warm car, she entwined her fingers in mine, and it was the most intimate act. My vision lowered. I was excited. I longed for her kiss, thought it was coming. Didn’t know how to lean over and smooch her on the cheek, for being precious, thoughtful. So we held hands like that, the road before us leading into Virginia, I think, being she wanted me to see the lights off the water or maybe to spend more time together, before she had to return me to Bren’s home.
I’ve decided to kiss more. To kiss hello on the cheeks; to kiss good-bye. Miss New York reminds me of herpies and other diseases one can contract on mere contact, skin to skin. I am not calling that to me. Simply, I desire to express the plethora of emotions, beautiful emotions, that I feel in the presence of others. The Italians are known for it. Kissing, kissing, kissing. My other Miss New York friend, Kimmie Tyger, is Greek and Italian, and she kisses just to look at you. I love it! An indescribable warmth comes over me when a dear friend kisses me on the cheek and hugs me tightly. Guess it’s another part of the magic of kissing.
The Golden Goddess
January 21, 2010
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