I compare a KISS to an art display; the front window of an art gallery will alter each time a particular artist is showcased, and each object in the window represents a wide array of concepts, not to mention mediums, that an observer views. I think a KISS is similar. There’s a lot more synergy happening with the mouth. Firstly, the muscle sets involved in a simple bout of ‘French’ is staggering and all work to caress, explore and vary the tongue’s tempo. The first kiss is important as it greases the wheels, gives a person a taste of their partner’s repertoire and/or refinement, opening the door to penetration. I don’t remember the look or dynamic of the first cock that entered my life, or me, but I do remember the first adult kiss, and every other kiss that followed but if you ask me about each penis, then I’ll enter a fugue state because they all blend in together. When I jumped into my first kiss, I had visions of sex in my mind. He leaned over, opened his lips and planted one on me. It went through various phases: tentative, urgent, soft, hard, deep, flirty, his tongue knew no bounds, and I thought if sex was like this, like a tongue, then it would be a heavenly ride because I successfully received his tongue repeatedly as his essence worked my insides, traveling through the warm depths of my soul. This foreplay is important, because it’s something that a penis is incapable of doing all on its own. The tongue, on the other, can alter its shape at will or, like one of those revolutionary tooth brushes, get at angles that a cock can only dream of. I think of the kiss, the initial interactions that unfold. Everything from the gaze, to the first brush of lip on lip, or flesh against flesh and it’s not purely about love, or romance. It’s about anticipation, or the idea that I’m going to unwrap something special, or arrive to a sacred ground of sorts and experience something unique and for me, there is nothing more unique than the sexual fingerprint of that kiss.