Slutty kissing

The combination of trying to constantly bring myself back to being in the moment and being single is making me hyper-sexual. Not quite horny, not quite hot and bothered just often titillated- mostly with myself, with my space. Everything feels like a shimmer on my skin intriguing men, stunning women, soft sheets, lovely outfits. Every song I hear is inspiring, the weather is exciting, eating tastes delicious and all those things keep putting me back in my body in a way I’ve only felt when first falling in love or in lust. I want to keep this romance with the world, with myself. I want it to be the place where I operate from- my default setting.

And as I said to my friend the other day, over a salty caramel chocolate tart, I’m not sure I’m ready to sleep with anyone but I want to do a lot of kissing. I want to be a slutty kisser. I want romantic, slutty kisses like the ones I gave and got in Paris in the middle of a nightclub, with a boy whose name I’ll never know, while everyone danced around us.