It All Started With A KissMy Dating Life NSFW / Sex The Hubby 

It All Started With A Kiss

I was in Amsterdam recently and whilst browsing the souvenir shops for something not weed or tit-related for gifts to take back home to the family, I came across a little book. It was an empty book of lists for you to fill in — favourite romantic movies, mix-tape love songs, relationship pet peeves, that kind of thing. I thought it was a bloody marvellous idea so I decided to give it a shot but instead of writing it down in a book I’ll probably never look at again, I shall write my lists down here. It might be cool to look back at them in another four or five years time (I can’t believe my blog is that old!) and see if things have changed.

The point of the book was to look back at happy memories and smile. Isn’t that a great idea? I’ve had my fair share of shit times over the years, plenty of which I’ve written down in the blog, but very rarely do I mention the good times, the great times, the best times. But that’s going to change.

Starting with number one: LIST THE PEOPLE YOU’VE KISSED

It All Started With A Kiss

Well … I’m not going to do that because we’d be here for a lifetime. I was a little [slut] in my former years – you can insert your own word if you don’t like that one. If I’ve slept with almost 50 men, can you imagine how many I’ve kissed? So, instead of listing ALL the people I’ve kissed, I’m going to tell you all about one particular kiss that I’ve never quite forgotten about.


Kisses are underrated I think. A good kiss can do things to me that no hands ever will. Kiss me in all the right places and I’ll be putty in your hands but if you kiss me badly, you won’t get a call back. I can deal with awkward and fumbling sex because that can be worked on. You can’t work on a bad kiss. Well, that’s my experience anyway. You can’t exactly tell someone you don’t like the way they kiss which is odd because I would have no problems ‘subtly’ directing a man into touching me or fucking me differently. I can be quite dominant when I want to be, or at the very least quite vocal when I get over my nerves.

I’ve kissed a lot of frogs. I haven’t found my Prince yet so technically they must all be frogs. But I’ll never forget one kiss I shared with my beloved (cough) husband, probably eight or nine years ago. We were mid-fight in the hallway, shouting and screaming at each other, a little drunk and very angry. I can’t remember what we were fighting about but I do remember having a plastic tumbler of orange juice in my hand. It might even have been vodka and orange. In fact, the latter is more likely. I wasn’t really the type of person to drink fruit juice without an alcoholic addition of some sort in my early twenties.

I can’t remember what he said but I do remember throwing the tumbler filled with orange juice at him as hard as I could. The hallway was thin, two people wide if that, so the splash back hit me just as much as it covered him, bouncing hard and loud against the wall. Immediately I regretted my decision, wincing as he moved towards me, sure he was going to raise his fists or push me to the ground. Shaking with fear, I closed my eyes and expected a bone crunching thud but instead I felt his lips on mine. Determined lips, forceful lips, lips that spread mine apart and a tongue that invaded, his entire body weight pinning me back against the wall.

It was an unexpected kiss filled with passion. You see, as much as we had the worst of times, there were really good times too and I often forget that, my memories clouded with the bad flashbacks of blood and bone-crunching punches. Our sex life was incredible — nothing was out of bounds, everything was on the table. I never understood why he cheated on me as much as he did because he knew all he’d need to do was drop a subtle (or not so) hint and I’d bow down to his demands. I was and still am a highly sexed individual, and I like to think I’m pretty open-minded too. There was very little I would have said no to. Plus I recently established that my fantasy seems to be fulfilling men’s fantasies, something I need to talk about in greater detail. Keep your eyes posted obviously … Or subscribe. There’s a little box on the right hand side which you can pop your email into. Just saying 😉

But back to that kiss. It felt like it lasted a lifetime but in reality it was probably only a few seconds. I think it stuck in my mind because I didn’t expect it at all. I expected quite the opposite – a hand around my throat perhaps, or maybe a quick, forceful shove so that my head bashed against the wall. He did shove me but with his body weight and not really what I’d call agressively, holding my arms to the side of me as our kiss got more and more intense. I remember him kissing and nibbling his way along my jaw, biting my earlobes and leaving teethmarks down my neck, both of us trying to get my trousers off and forgetting I still had my heels on. We fell onto the floor together, still scrambling to get rid of my clothing, and he fucked me right there on the hallway rug. It was hard but not angry, more lustful and filled with animalistic passion — he had scratch marks down the entire length of his back after I pulled his t-shirt off and I had friction burns down my back and across my ass cheeks. And I remember after he’d came, we just laid there together, him playing with my hair and us both apologising for being such assholes in the fight. It was hard not to love him in moments just like that, that’s why I stayed with him for as long as I did. He was my everything – the man I married, my best friend, the love of my life. Or so I thought. He was also my destruction – the man who cheated on me, wanted complete control over my life, left me without access to money for months on end and hospitalised me with punches so hard, he left his knuckle bone in my face. It was quite the contrast.

But that kiss on that night … it stuck in my mind and I think it always will. It was everything I loved and hated about him all at once. The sex, passion and intense love that always had me wanting more and more, and the fighting, anger and fear that led to me eventually hating him.

And just like so many of my other stories, it all started with a kiss.

It All Started With A Kiss

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