It started with a kiss

Pucker up, folks, close your eyes and move in for that smooch!

Today, we are snogging, necking, ‘pashing’ or just plain kissing. Whether it’s your first ever time or you’ve done it hundreds of times before, your first premeditated kiss with someone is a daunting prospect. I am not talking about a random drunken snog at a nightclub or office party, when you don’t think about what you are doing and all inhibitions evaporated hours ago. This is more about being on a first or second date, when you realise you quite fancy one another, but have not yet found the right moment to make a move. Or you could have a friendship which is about to turn a different corner. Most of us have had someone in our lives with whom we fantasise about locking lips, whether it actually happens or not.

In fact the premeditated kiss is so much harder than the random snog. If it’s someone that matters, you are desperate to get it right, just as much as you would be desperate for things to work out in the bedroom; in fact you are highly likely to get a forecast of bonk-skills from the way their lips work with yours – although I for one can tell you that good kissers don’t always make good bonkers. And bad kissers? I would never let it go any further, so can’t say if this works in reverse.

So, to help anyone else over-thinking a first kiss with someone,  I’ve devised 14 top tips:

  1. Lose the chewing gum – gum-passing is for 14-year-olds, and even some of them will be grossed-out by it.
  2. Don’t eat garlic from at least 48 hours beforehand, unless you have both had it which can enable you to develop garlic repulsion immunity.
  3. Check your breath – go overboard brushing teeth, sucking mints, chewing gum (but see point 1). You have to be fresher than a polar ice cap.
  4. Don’t grab boobs or butt, unless you are 100% certain this will be welcomed.
  5. Don’t ram in your tongue on a first kiss. A small tip of the tongue would be acceptable if you’ve been going at it for more than four minutes.
  6. Move in for the extreme close-up moment as slowly as you can to give the other time to change their mind or avoid the unsynchronised head dodge game i.e. you lunge left, she lunges right, one of you head butts the wall and no one gets a kiss.
  7. Don’t make ‘mmm’ noises – you’re not eating a steak or ice cream and it will kill any ‘buzz’ in a flash.
  8. Try to control your saliva flow (gulping if necessary) – ending a kiss dripping with spit is up there with gum-sharing – something you out-grow at 15 and if she wanted a drink, she’d get one in the usual way.
  9. Don’t bite – at least not for the first kiss – it will just scare off your ‘kissee’.
  10. Don’t wear heavy or over-vibrant lipstick – it is intimidating to your kisser and screams ‘don’t touch me, I don’t want my precious make up ruined’ and most don’t want to wear your lippy themselves (although some may).
  11. If you feel a burp brewing, swallow it back or end the kiss, if it’s beyond your control – having someone belch in one’s mouth is a no-no.
  12. Eyes closed, eyes open? A chicken and egg kind of question. I would say, play it safe and close eyes, but after 30 seconds, you could discreetly peek through one eye to check what he/she is doing.
  13. Slow, soft, gentle, tingly, light-headed – all the things you want to feel, but you can only find out by actually doing it, going with the flow and not over-thinking it (apart from noting the above).
  14. If you are taking this step with someone you want to impress, good luck and remember they will be worrying just as much as you. If you both end up butting heads or missing target, just laugh about it.

Teenage dream?

“No, I don’t want it there,” I wailed, standing up in the bath and looking down at myself. “I want it to go away!”

I was about 12-years-old and my mum and popped into the room while I was having a bath and helpfully pointed out that I had started growing my first few strands of pubic hair. I was absolutely devastated – it looked disgusting and ugly, or so I thought at the time. I was quite happy with things as they were – just some hair on my head, some downy bits on my arms and legs – that would do me fine. Why did I have to get a horribly beardy bit on my privates?

But I was a 12-year-old of the 1980s, had no older sister to look up to or try to imitate and still enjoyed playing with my Barbies. Puberty and sex never entered my mind. My mum never did the ‘talk’ so I was pretty clueless, apart from seeing some couples kissing and rolling around in cheesy American soaps like ‘Dynasty’ and ‘Knots Landing’. I had just assumed this was a different version of cuddling.

The idea of growing boobs was just as alien. I remember my mum getting me some rather odd coffee-coloured training bra before I had anything to really put in it. She insisted this was the right time to start wearing it, despite the thing being very itchy and chafing my armpits. They did grow quite a bit between about 12 and 15, but in the early days, I was just baffled and confused as to why any of these changes were happening to me, when I was pretty happy with my straightforward, uncomplicated girl body.

The story now is a whole new ball game. I have an eight-year-old who is practically on one giant countdown to becoming a teenager. She checks the growth of her chest on a daily basis, despite there being nothing to report. She wears lip gloss whenever she can get away with it, such as when we are in a rush to go out somewhere and I’m too busy to notice. She already has posters of boy bands on her bedroom wall, while I was 13 or 14 before I swapped my pictures of cute kittens and fairies for A-ha and Duran Duran. She even slams her door shut and listens to music when she wants to be alone – something I only started to do in my teenage strops.

So how does a reluctant teenager guide her teenage wannabe through puberty? I don’t want to put her on a downer by warning that it’s not all lipstick, push-up bras and prom dresses. She will have to be prepared for mood swings, spots, emotional roller-coasters, boys being senseless gits and period pains.

The trouble is that her ‘teenage dream’ comes from all the American TV shows she watches, where teens have an endless wardrobe of trendy clothes, perfect white teeth, hang out at milkshake bars and always have witty one-liners. Funnily enough none of them have spots or stomp off to their bedrooms, slam the door and put Slipknot on at full blast. And the boys all look really clean – they probably don’t have bedrooms that smell of sweaty jock straps and stale socks, as I recall my brother did in that era.

Maybe the answer is to find a teenager and get them to explain what it’s like, how it has its ups and downs. The trouble is getting one to willingly articulate that…

If you can stand the heat, stay in the kitchen

The kitchen is steamy and the windows are opaque with condensation. Two pans bubble on the hob – one with a winter stew, the other with vegetable soup. Even though it’s cold and damp outside the room is warm with activity and my excited heart-thumping anticipation.

I shuffle around the table straightening cutlery as I play for time, waiting for the knock at the door. I know he’ll be late as usual. Looking discreetly out of the window won’t make him arrive any sooner, but I still do it – ready to duck if he sees me, looking desperate.

Eventually, the knock, thankfully when I am back in the kitchen. He mumbles that something smells good, but not whether it’s me or the food, and steps into the steamy room, peering into the pans.

He moves closer and, before I have time to think, kisses me long and hard, his tongue softly dipping into my mouth and his hands moving down my back, over my buttocks, lingering slightly over my groin, before moving up to my breasts. He now has one hand over each, moving them round in circular motions, before he lifts my top up and simultaneously yanks my bra below each one – The Man never feels the need to undo bras.

He is about to stoop to direct his mouth over a nipple when he stops, moves away quickly and begins opening cupboards. “What are you doing?” I ask, somewhat bewildered and disappointed.

“Just wait there – don’t move.” He says, still looking in every cupboard, as I feel a little awkward, boobs out, top hitched up, glancing over at my pans. “That will do!” He exclaims, pulling out a jar of chocolate spread.

Unscrewing the lid, he dips his finger in and smears a little on my left breast, then more boldly plunges in four fingers and slaps on a large splodge. It feels cold and gloopy, and my nipples tingle and firm up at the change in temperature. He eases me back so that I am sitting on the table and leans in to lick, nibble and devour the gooey mess as I wrap my legs around him and stroke his head, enjoying the excited tingles I am starting to feel inside my jeans.

As he slows down I lower my hands to his trousers, tugging at his belt and zip, urgently retrieving his solid penis. The chocolate spread is nearby and there is only one thing for it – on it goes, creating my very own tasty lollipop. I slide off the table and on to my knees. He steadies himself against the table as I gently devour his chocolate coating and he moans with pleasure. I lick it from top to bottom and bottom to top until it is all clean again and we are both bubbling in the same way as the two pans.

He pulls me to my feet, kisses me hungrily and pushes everything off the table – knives, forks, spoons, mats – luckily I hadn’t got round to getting the glasses out. Everything crashes to the floor and he hitches me up on to the table, laying me back and whipping off my jeans and knickers in one fluid move. Within seconds his mouth and tongue are in contact with my clitoris and his fingers are on the edge of my vagina. His tongue works its magic, gently lapping and sending writhing waves through my body, turning me into a shaking mess.

The table feels cold against my back but also stronger and safer than I imagined. I can’t wait any longer I have to have him inside me, so I pull him up and closer and he stands to enter me as I lie spread-eagled. He fucks me hard and rhythmically and I moan with exhilaration. By now both pans are boiling over, liquid spilling over tops. I am beyond caring but my body is echoing them, as The Man sends me past boiling point. If I was a kettle, something in me would be whistling by now.

He pulls me off the table, so I am standing in front of him, and turns me round so he can enter me from behind. I clasp one of his thighs as he pumps me until he reaches a climax, then reach back to hold him close to share his closing moments and feel the warmth of his body against mine.

Soup and stew totally ruined, me totally ruined – but what a beautiful way to go! I take a few moments get my bearings – as he always leaves me light-headed and dazed – before opening a bag of nuts and pouring two glasses of wine.