The language of the kiss? Yeah, more like Kiss Off!

Sigmund Freud would probably have something to say about me having these thoughts on Mother’s Day (Happy, Happy, Mom!), but I swear that was a coincidence. I had these while vacuuming, which, upon reflection, Freud would probably have had something to say about as well. Oh well, I never denied being neurotic.

Nor have I ever denied being romantic. I believe in fairy tales, true love, and perfect kisses. That’s where I tend to get into trouble.

There are a lot of truths in kisses, and I remember the important ones: My first tongue-kiss, on the bus on the way home from the Band Competition; being attacked by “the octopus” in front of my sister and her date at Ring Dance; the crazy near-kiss at Chanco; the one in the Godwin parking lot that cold November night; and the one when I turned my back on one friend and my heart to another. That last one was a mistake, but I’m glad I remember it. It taught me that I should never, EVER do that again and to always be grateful to a friend who knows the power of forgiveness.

I also remember the first kiss I shared with the last guy. The one I initiated, the one with a man I very nearly fell in love with this year...until I realized I was initiating every kiss we had shared during our relationship.

I’ve never been the aggressive type. Sure, I’ve initiated my fair share of kisses, but when we’re both on the same page, the split has been so minimal, that I’ve never really noticed it before. I guess I’ve assumed that it’s 50/50, and if I’m to the point where I’m not interested in kissing someone anymore (it happens), I break it off with a pretty little speech. I don’t leave someone hanging for six months, waiting, praying for me to kiss them, and then playing hot and cold with their psyche -- disappointing them time and time again.

And yet, that’s what happened. I swear, it was like dating me in high school. A very nice person who was connecting emotionally, but refused to connect “physically.” My defense back then was that I was a “good girl.” Still, while I wasn’t giving up the goods, I was giving up enough of the above-the-jaw action to make it clear that I was into the guy. Plus, I was way under 18, and in Virginia “abstinence counted.”

I’m not 18 anymore. I’m also quite cute, skinnier than the average American, have a drawer full of hot lingerie, pushing 30, and at my sexual peak. That means that when I date a guy for six months, I expect to get laid. And yet, he wasn’t even kissing me...A girl could get a complex. Believe me, I seriously did.

It wasn’t halitosis: I brush and floss regularly, and I verified the minty-fresh quality of my breath with trusted friends. It wasn’t smoker’s mouth: apart from an occasional cigar, I never touch tobacco. I have all my teeth, my gums are in the right place, I have no piercings that would be off-putting to anyone who was about to put his tongue in my mouth, I wear normal shades of lipstick, and I (as I said) am pretty damn cute. I also, shall we say, studied French in high school. Believe me, when a man kisses me, he wants to do it again.

And yet, he didn’t. I couldn’t figure it out then, and I still can’t now! Here he was, a perfectly normal guy who seemed to be content with the idea that I was doing all the work!!! Where was the fun in that, I ask you? I already work 50 hours a week!

I couldn’t even ask anyone. After all, his best friend was dating my best male friend. The guru who before had helped me decipher the intricacies of the male mind was suddenly someone I couldn’t talk to for fear that my insecurities would get back to HIM. When I did attempt to talk to my boy, his girlfriend would remind me that HE had been hurt badly in the past and that I needed to tread carefully with his heart.

That part I got. You guys all know I’ve been badly hurt myself. Therefore, I wasn’t going to push him into a physical relationship when he wasn’t ready, and I was going to work to foster the emotional side. Still, the kissing thing continued to bother me, and with no one to turn to, I made a command decision.

I stopped kissing him. Granted, he was in Virginia and I in Maryland, but it was still three or four times from the time I made my grand decision to the last time I saw him. I would hug, I would talk, I would do everything I could to keep the conversation going, even if it meant self-monologuing. I was going to make this work, dammit, I had to. Just trust me.

And I never got kissed.

And so it was over. I devoted exactly enough time to the break-up as I felt he granted to the fostering of our relationship over the course of our six months together. I was satisfied, and I have high hopes for us being friends in the future.

So why am I bringing it up now? Simple: I’m starting to date again, and I’ve found that my confidence has foundered. Instead of being the funny, beautiful, confident girl that I was a year ago, the combination of Phoenix and this last round has made me start to wonder if there is something seriously wrong with me. (Preparing for inappropriate comments now).

I hate when the only type of fuck a guy offers is a mind one. At this point, I’d settle for an elbow ala RHPS!

On second thought, maybe not. Rif Raff had his own neuroses to deal with....