My Gentleman, who is a spectacularly good kisser
I admit that I am one very choosy bitch when it comes to lovers. Even more so with one night stands. I just know it wouldn’t be good for me and I am certain that I would never, ever get off. Most of the time, I would take Chinese men for lovers. I do love the type - alabaster skin, almond-shaped eyes, dark hair.
I’d like to tell you about one of my lovers.
Daniel and I met through a dating app, that one where you need to swipe the photo of a potential lover to the right, and those that do not make the cut, to the left. He and I “matched” on my very first night trying on the app. We started chatting on the same night, nattering on about friendly, harmless stuff, nothing hardcore at all. Just two people getting to know each other. I felt comfortable enough giving him my number.
He is an interesting fellow, I can tell right from the off. He was funny, has a lot of stories to share and an overall charming man. He can form grammatically correct sentences and type them with correct spelling. He is obviously highly educated. He runs his family’s business so it goes to show how responsible he is, how important he is and how he contributes to society. I value these things in a man.
I have other lovers - the shy but good-natured 24-year-old Eugene, the gorgeous 26-year-old Alistair, the 33-year-old drag racer Jordan, my 30-year old former classmate Christopher and the 32-year-old financial analyst Byron, which happens to be Daniel’s first cousin. I know, I know. Shut the hell up. I can almost see the cogs in your brain turning. Stop judging or I’ll burn you with my lit Marlboro Black and douse you with a glass of red wine.
Going back to Daniel.
Comparing him with the others, he isn’t a head-turner. If all of them would go out together like mates, people probably wouldn’t take a second look at him. He is attractive, mind you, but the others just outshine him. He is 34 years old, his hairline starting to recede, not as tall as the others but he definitely has the alabaster skin across which I love sliding my hands and the almond shaped eyes which looks at everyone with kindness and at me with such tenderness when we are intimate. In a crowd, people would think he is just one of the many Chinese businessmen in the country. In my bedroom, he is the most spectacular kisser. Whenever we would do the deed, I could fool myself that we were actually making love and that we cared so much about one another. At least, I always feel that he does genuinely care about me, as a close friend and someone he trusts not just with his pleasure, but also with his feelings and thoughts.
I remember the first time we saw each other. He came to my house bringing flowers, a bottle of wine and several trinkets. I love receiving presents. I made him dinner. For the first two hours we did nothing more than talk, argue playfully and laugh. He was very endearing. I found myself wanting him that night. I tried to communicate that to him, but we didn’t do anything more than make out. Instead he made me feel so drunk with his kisses. It was lovely. He was amazing. I already missed him the moment he went inside his car and drove away.
Many things had happened since then. We see each other as often as his schedule would allow. I learned more things about him. He’s a sharp businessman, strict about punctuality, and expects nothing less than than the best that his staff can do. He is also kind, gives genuine praises and appreciation for a job well done. He is opinionated. More importantly, where I am concerned, he is conservative in bed. He said so himself and I definitely did observe and experience for myself. He is not at all adventurous when it comes to intimacy. He treats me as if I would break. Although I especially like it when I make him lose control. But afterward he is apologetic for being too...vigorous, for a lack of a better term.
In spite of that I love how he kisses me. He is very good with his hands and his mouth. He likes touching me all over, even across my horrible tummy and thighs with all the stretchmarks disfigured by pregnancy. I felt so very insecure the first time he did that, as all the lights were on. He saw my hesitation and discomfort and he told me it was all right. His eyes said so, too. So I believed him. I believed I was still all right in spite of my youth having gone out the window for quite some time. I am still all right. I could still be wanted. I needed to be wanted. So I gave him a night he would not soon forget.
As he sat on my bed, I drew close to him and held him. My head on his shoulder, I whispered to him, “Thank you for coming to see me tonight.” I really needed someone that night.
Ever the gentleman, he took my hand, kissed it and looked me in the eye as he responded, “Thanks for having me.”
In my head, I knew that he would always be welcome in my bed and to my friendship.
Unfortunately, as with some good things (a la Barbra Streisand), my association with this wonderful man did not last. I have no one to blame but myself and the circumstances by which we met.
I miss him. I don’t think about him every moment of everyday, but I do think about him. On those nights when I need tenderness and genuine affection the most, I miss him. I think about his wonderful kisses and how they made me feel. I think about how he made me feel.
Utterly spectacular.