8 minutes on tiptoes: a very mindful make-out

Image by the fabulous Stuart F Taylor

When we start to kiss, I’m on my tiptoes. Stretching up to meet his lips, soft and floaty and slightly off-balance. We exist in this tiny, horny bubble in his kitchen, surrounded by jangly tunes and the smell of something spiced for dinner. I’m on tiptoes when we start to kiss.

He sets a timer for eight minutes, leaves the pan simmering on the stove. I stand behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. Then I turn him around gently, so we can kiss while dinner cooks.

Just before we kiss, he tells me he likes this music, and I glow. It’s a band he’d never heard before, that I liked and thought he might too. I hardly ever have the courage to do this. Sometimes I put on music that I enjoy, but I rarely ever hope to recommend: I don’t trust my own judgment enough for that. That night I took a leap, though: I picked this particular band because I hoped he might like them too. It’s a weird role-reversal from almost every other music interaction I’ve had with a guy. Doubly so because he tells me he likes it. Maybe he’s just being polite, I don’t care. Politeness is underrated. Politeness is welcome.

We dance a little as we make out.

I stand on tiptoes to kiss him, and he wraps his arms around me. I’m feeling soft and stoned and slow, and in the moment the eight-minute timer gives me permission to do exactly this and no more. Exploring his back with my hands, testing out different configurations of where I like to touch him: one hand in his hair, gently pulling it at the back of his neck; one up underneath his t-shirt stroking the soft skin along his spine; now both hands outside his t-shirt grabbing his big shoulders, for balance. I’m still on tiptoes after all.

He kisses me back and we sway together slightly in time to the music. His hands on my arse, mine exploring him. Sensitivity heightened by the weed and the tunes and the rich scent of dinner.

Mindfulness is hard to achieve at the best of times, and today is not the best of times. But somehow that timer gives me permission to just breathe in and out and enjoy him. Exist purely in this moment. Kiss for kissing’s sake. No pressure to escalate or change position or do anything other than exactly what my lips and hands are drawn to.

I feel warm and cosy and wholesomely horny. Just tingling with the sensations of his lips on mine and his palms running all over my back and arse and thighs.

He pushes gently into me with his crotch, nudging me back against the fridge, and I giggle. I feel small and vulnerable next to him, but it’s the kind of vulnerability that comes wrapped in the security of knowing that this person will not hurt me. He pushes me into the fridge with his crotch, but gently. Playfully. I don’t know if it’s a conscious or accidental nod to how fragile I am feeling this evening, but I’m grateful for it either way. I wobble on my tiptoes then rock backwards onto flat feet – all the better to push myself back up against him.

I feel floaty and soft and hot. His tongue on mine feels good and his hair feels gorgeous running through my fingertips. And I don’t think it at the time, this would ruin it, but later I’ll remember this brief moment suspended in time, and try to capture it again. Alone in bed, stoned and sad, I’ll close my eyes and try to tap into the absence of worry that I captured in that fleeting moment: with an eight minute timer and the gentle hands of a hot guy and permission to do nothing more than make out and dance until dinner.

When the alarm goes off it’s like we both wake up from a mutual trip. He cancels the timer and we look at each other for a second, just a brief burst of intense eye contact which makes my veins throb. Makes me want to do it all over again. Makes me want to say ‘thank you’ though I can’t specify what for exactly.

It’s just intensely chill, and beautiful. And when we break apart he goes ‘hey’, and I go ‘hey, yeah wow.’ And I say ‘I really like just being able to kiss you and enjoy you – all chill and no pressure and no chance to escalate because dinner will be ready soon.’

He replies with something like ‘yeah it’s really nice to just do this kind of thing without immediately escalating to sex.’

And I say ‘oh god, yeah, it’s glorious. Did… did we just discover foreplay?’


If you enjoyed this mindful make-out, here’s another post about making out with this guy

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