I practiced on donut store orange juice bottles back when I was 12 or so.
Hey, don’t judge – it’s called honesty and sometimes it’s downright embarrassing. I’m sure the large pulp was not all that impressed either if I have to be completely transparent.
But a good kiss, you know, like the iconic ones like Holly and Paul at the end of Breakfast at Tiffany’s. The kind that buckles your fucking knees.
Still not much out there that tops that. Besides rough anal, of course, but that goes without saying.
In all seriousness, there is something magical when you grab that girl by the back of her neck, close your eyes, and send her into orbit.
You can pretty much tell at that moment if there is momentum in this relationship or if it’s got no shelf life. That’s when you know if you’ll be cooking her breakfast months down the road or if it’s back to the drawing board.
When it’s magic, it’s undeniable. It’s time to bring the best you got, in bed, in life. Step up your game time. Eat that pussy like you have a purpose. Fuck her like you are fighting for her. Earn, like a fucking boss. Open doors. Laugh.
All from that fuckin’ kiss.
Also published on Medium.