On another kiss

Another round of Remittance Girl's Kissing Challenge, even later than the other one.

Kissing Problem

By brewt.blacklist

May 2012

Physics. Biomechanics. Trajectory calculations. Brain chemistry. Synchronicity. Psychology. Strategy. Behavioral modification. Cause and effect. Meaning. These are the problems. And we wrap them all down into one or two words: needs and wants. Our world is constructed so that once we get the basic needs under control, everything else is a want, right? Kissing must be something we just want.

I mean, sure, we can argue we don't need it, but all human societies practice it, so there must be a biological component evolutionary piece to it in there somewhere. Technically, it's not necessary for reproduction. And unless it gets minimized to 'hello' or 'goodbye' or overly-dramatized in gangster movies, it always has the same meaning behind it everywhere, the same idea of expression.

Well, okay, getting one from mom or dad doesn't mean the same thing as it does from you. At least, it better not. If it does, then it's over. Or, maybe there's something weird about home.

But the vision we applaud at the altar when the demonstration is given there before God and everyone is but a hint for what we all know is supposed to happen later on, that we all titter about and smile knowingly over, that when you're finally alone, after the party, the reenactment of that first act as man and wife will be replayed for real, and it will lead to other things. The things that you are telling us all you are going to do, and we all accept it and approve. Things that are arguably needs. One thing leads to another.

And that is, for me, the hard part. The approval. Because I totally don't. I don't want this to happen to you; not like this. It should be me up there, god damn it. And even though they'll go through the motions of asking me if it's okay, we all know that it isn't because I really am not allowed to say anything when the question is asked. Because I do object. Honestly now: when did you did you last see someone actually object?

I really want to.

But it is for entirely selfish reasons. I blew it. I had my chance and I blew it. God damn it. What the fuck is wrong with me? I know, I know. My fault, even though you insisted it was you, not me, that I was great, and it will work out better this way. Really. Love you. Always will.

Fuck. Better, my ass. There hasn't been one better day since then. Not one. And I have missed you so much, and I'm sorry, and it hurts, and I have regret, and ache, and there is no want involved here at all for me anymore. It is all need. And I need you.

I need you to kiss me.

Because when we kissed, when we kissed, all the shit went away. The arguments faded down to a dull roar, the problems quit mattering anymore, the world became a better place. A place I actually wanted to live in. You made me feel alive.

You know, I can still taste you. It still, to this day, makes my lips tingle, and they feel wet even when they are as bone dry as they have been ever since you left me. They quiver. I quiver. I pause, my breathing does something I don't know how to describe, and you know I can't cry any more, don't you? Except when I remember this. No one has ever made me feel the way you did when we kissed. That one simple universal gesture made me feel like I was acceptable, like I was accepted, wanted, desired, like I mattered. Like I was needed. You made me feel like I was needed, that you needed me, despite all the trouble, the problems, the anguish, that it, me, I was somehow worth it all.

I need you to make me feel that way again. I'll do anything. Do you want to switch roles? I'll be the god damn sub. I'll let you hit me instead. I'll lick your feet, I'll let you take my money, I'll do everything, I'll work so you don't have to do, I'll be your entertainment, you can make a fool of me, you can laugh at me, you can hurt me, I'll suffer whatever you can think up---I'll even help and you know what I can think of, god, the stuff I put you through---you can put whatever you want wherever you want in me, I'll even let this other...person have you as much as you want. Just like you did for me, until you couldn't. Until I wrecked it all by wanting too much. Because, because I thought I could. Because I didn't really understand. I didn't know why you were there, why you were with me. I still don't.

I'll die for you.

I am dying for you.

Shit. Vanity, thy name is...me. Hhhhh.

Even though this is all supposed to be about you two, your day, your happiness, it really is about me. The two moments that really matter here are the two that I am involved in. The first one being where I am supposed to demonstrate my loyalty to you, my bravery, my submission---funny---to your desires and just sit here and shut the fuck up when the question comes around, and can I do that for you please. And the other one is when you do it, you actually show me and God and everyone that it is indeed over between us, and you kiss this other person and cleave yourself unto them and then cleave me in two in the same fell swoop. This isn't about commitment today, it's about sacrifice. Mine. Oh, sure, it will look like I lived through it when I meet you in the reception line afterwards, and the kiss we used to share will change into what we are now allowed, into something that more resembles what happens with mom. Or dad. Something polite. Chaste. Quick. Bloodless.

Worthless. Not life-giving at all. Quite the opposite.

Okay, there's really two other words that are the ones that actually matter here. The words of victor and victim. And I can't care any more about dreaming about the possibilities and fantasies and impossibilities of coming out as triumphant here. Not that that will stop me. Because you've already told me 'no', and with this 'yes', I thus am perished from this earth.

I will not survive the kiss. Please don't. I'm begging you.

I suppose it wouldn't be appropriate to expect you to stay for the funeral, huh. I'm sure you have things to do. Things I don't think I want to know about, even though I do. I hear the grave is a lonely place, so just you never mind. Go on, you crazy kids, don't worry about me, I got me some worms to tend to.

So go ahead. Kiss each other. Do it. Commit torture onto me the way I used to do to you. I deserve it.

And be happy. For...for me. For my sake. For my memory. So that one of us is.