forgetting vanilla

I like kisses.

I’m a bit funny about it, but I like them.  Just not usually on the lips.  No, not those lips, either! I’m just not big into kissing, except with a chosen few.  I do not wish to kiss merely for the sake of kissing.  When I do, though… Neck, curves down my body, thighs, legs, feet. Or my favorite, just behind the shoulder.

Some people, I think, seem to believe soft, sweet kisses cannot coexist with roughness and leather and latex.  But I didn’t leave vanilla behind to avoid kisses. I did it to get away from someone telling me I must kiss to prove love.

Vanilla is not a lack of flavor, but a special flavor in its own right.

If we say one cannot kiss, or be sweet, or loving, or gentle, and still be allowed to call themselves kinky–than how are we better than the toxic culture that told us we are dirty, wrong, and evil for wanting to whip, beat, and mold our love? (Sorry, am I talking about kink still or baking cakes?)

I pick the puzzle pieces I like, and I find a way to fit them together that suits me and those affected by my preferences. The point, I believe, is not to tear it all apart and rebuild, but to adjust life in a way that works in reality (rather than only theory).

Nothing’s wrong with living life exactly the same as one did in the “vanilla” world, but to do so consciously and enthusiastically. If one likes, one might reinvent oneself.  But not feel forced to transform! Because isn’t that what we wanted to escape?  Someone telling us what we should or shouldn’t do?

I choose not to forget what I used to like.

But instead to abandon the ideas of telling someone that there is only one way to do something. Because, you see, I may have left vanilla behind. Mostly, anyway. But I have not forgotten vanilla. Which might mean today I would like a sweet, gentle kiss on the mouth. 

If I want it (and, of course, if He wishes to give one to me!).

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