I remember the first time I kissed a boy; I was 13, it was a warm summer night and I absolutely hated it. He pressed his lips pressed so hard against mine, his tongue invading my mouth and what I remember most clearly, is an overwhelming inability to breathe.
And in the twenty years that followed, I continued to hate kissing boys and generally avoided it. I convinced myself that my allergies and stuffy nose were the culprit of my distaste and my ex never questioned it. He also accepted that I wasn’t very affectionate and I hated snuggles, cuddles and touching in general.
I remember the first time I kissed a girl; I was 19, she was a friend and her kisses felt so right. Soft lips, sensual caresses and an instinctual familiarity and comfort that left me breathless. And somehow over the years that would follow, I would neglect to realize the difference between feeling unable to breathe and feeling breathless and more importantly, just who made me feel each.
This is just one of the signs of my sexuality that I ignored; I wasted years making excuses and choosing not to listen to my intuition and my instincts. I know now that I had it wrong all along, I wasn’t unaffectionate and I didn’t hate kissing, I hated kissing boys.
But where my girlfriend is concerned, I love all the kisses and always seem to need just one more. My girlfriend fills me with love and light and happiness, her kisses are like candy for my soul, filling me with a sweetness that I can never quite seem to get enough of, her touch awakens my nerve endings, sending tiny ripples of energy undulating across my skin.
In her arms, I feel like I’m finally home.