Blasphemy

7.01am 10 April 2005 Sunday

When Andreas and I were going through the initial hiccups, I wondered if I should write it all here. I didn't try, but somehow it seemed inappropriate to. It's not just because I'm used to this being your space, but also because it seemed... unfair to him that I treat our relationship as though he's just a backup for you. Oh, but he isn't. He's tall, fair haired, green eyed and gentle. If there's anything I like about him, it's how he is so peaceful, quiet and gentle.

There isn't alot of passion, on my side at least, but we share similar interests, which makes him a good companion to have. He's in the scientific community, which makes it easy for me to talk to him about stuff in school and at work, although he's in engineering. He's a good writer, and very frank in his feelings, which means I'd never have to play games nor to guess where I stand with him. We like to hike, and of course, badminton is part of this whole story. Sometimes we talk about books we like, and he gets the literary parts of my favourite movies too. There isn't much drama when it comes to this guy, because he never seems to show much emotion. It's not that he's emotionless, but more like he... just doesn't express it much.

So no, he's not someone whom I'm just going out with interim fulfilling our compromise. But yet I know it's not possible with him. Is that how you feel too?

It's a thin line between the sane and insane.

6.34am 10 April 2005 Sunday

This morning I thought of you. Not missed you, which would have a mental equivalent of your name in neon lights and an emotional accompaniment of pain. Not a trip down the memory lane, where you'd get a flashback and some longing for the good ol' days. In fact, now that I'm writing about you, I'm not really thinking of what happened, but more of what you might be doing now.

I called just now. The first call wasn't answered. I wasn't disappointed nor upset, but my heart pounded fiercely nonetheless. I tried again, and just as it was about to click into "The M1 customer you are calling is not responding," you answered.

We chatted about regular stuff for a while, ie cars and scholarship, and I launched into a diatribe about my bad week. You listened and cracked not-so-funny jokes, which took away the tension. I steered the conversation towards Francis, and told you his comfy sofa analogy. You echoed what I've always thought was true, that even friends closest to us don't really see the difference. But you can't blame me for thinking otherwise, because it is an improbable proposition.

Francis wasn't the first well-meaning person to say that. Leslie told me you were an unstable flirt too. Friends looking at the situation shook their heads at my gullibility. Part of me was skeptical too, wondering if I was the proverbial stupid person hanging on to a lie.

He said I was a comfortable sofa that you have on hold while you look for newer, flashier models. That you didn't really want the comfy old sofa, that it was a back up in case you couldn't find something better. You reassured me.

"Alot of people don't understand what we're doing. But I've never thought of you the way he said I did"

"is our compromise still valid?" "which compromise?" "the one you spoke of in dec" "yes."

"Is he from the airforce?"

"Be careful..."

So I'm not crazy. I'm not that madly in love with you that I can't see any rhyme or reason. Maybe that's all that I needed to know, that I'm not a stupid fool hanging on to nothing. When I started this alternative blog, it was to straighten out my thoughts about you. Every time I've a doubt, it's magnified by well-meaning friends and this doubt just grows because I've forgotten you. I've forgotten the inexplicable reason that sets this relationship apart from others, why I cannot explain this belief that I'm not being taken as a dumbass and dragged around like one.

Oh, I hope this persists. I do so hope.

A kiss is just a kiss... or not?

2.30am 3 April 2005 Sunday

Some things are embarrassing but they still need to be tackled.

"Never underestimate the power of the perfect kiss. Get it right, and the rest will fall into place.

It has been theorized that a woman decided within five minutes of meeting a man whether or not she will have sex with him. Possibly true, but there is one catch. Most women I know, myself included, may initially decide we'll have sex with a guy, but when we find out he's a bad or a mediocre kisser, we change our minds entirely. We decide we will never have sex with this guy. He won't even get asked for a nightcap, much less for breakfast the next morning. As our lips part while we stand on the doorstep, we will announce that we have an early-morning meeting or (if you were really awful) that we're actually already married to someone else.

What we will never, ever say is, "God, you're a lousy kisser. I was going to have sex with you until just this moment." This is one of the ways in which men and women differ. If a man is very attracted to a woman but discovers she's a bad or mediocre kisser, he'll probably have sex with her anyway if presented with the opportunity. A woman can't get past a bad kiss. (Unless, of course, she's a horrible kisser herself, but we're not talking about those women here.) Experience has shown most women that a bad kiss only spells trouble down the road, so to speak. After all, if he hasn't mastered kissing and fails to see its sensual possibilities, what hope is there for, ahem, anything else?

The disappointment of a bad kiss is a recurring topic of discussion among a group of single women I run with in the park several times a week. "It tuens into a fabric softener thing," says Nora, a blond from Dallas, when describing the previous night's date. "You know, where the guy kisses you and it's so bad but you've got to finish it up so your mind wanders and you start wondering if you have enough fabric softener to do two loads of laundry the next day?" She laughs. "So I'm thinking about that, and the guy says, "Wow! You're very passionate."

Oh, the egos we would crush if men could hear the post-mortems. If any guys happen to be running with us, they immediately demand to know what exactly constitutes a bad or good kisser. So we tell them about the all-purpose litmus test: A bad kisser, reguardless of whether he likes to secrete a gallon of drool or waggle his head like a dog menacing a bone, seems to be simultaneously thinking: " When can we get to step two? And three and four? Is she aroused yet? can I put my hand on her breast now?" He sees kissing as the next step on a carnal quest. The good kisser, however, sees the kiss as the destination itself. He kisses as if he will never do anything else with this woman, as if he never wants to do anything else with this woman. He kisses as if this is what he's been dying to do for years and he wants to savor every moment. I guarentee you that this is when the woman decides there will be other activities on the agenda.

The first thing to remember: When in Doubt, Go Slowly. make that first kiss slow and gentle and easy. While you may want to demonstrate that you're a cauldron of seething desire, save that for later, when you're both sufficiently warmed up. In the meantime, resist the urge to mash your face against hers so hard your teeth collide and she ends up with brush burns from your stubble. One woman in our running group actually passed out during a particularly bad kiss of this sort, when the man pressed his face to hers so tightly he blocked off her nose with his cheek, mistook her thrshing for passion, and suddenly felt her body go limp. "i was out for maybe thrity seconds," she says. "Fortunately, he had me in a bear hug, so I didn't hit the group. Of course, he thought I passed out because the kiss was so good." This is what's known as the Harrison Ford School of Making Out. Watch him in the movies,a nd watch his costar's face get twisted out of shape from the sheer force. this is also why they're panting afterward. It's not from desire, it's oxygen deprivation. So the second thing to remember while kissing is to make sure she can still breathe through her nose.

There are other movie stars who perpetuate bad kissing styles. There's the Tom Cruise Method (as seen in Top Gun), whereby his tongue is already slithering out before he's met her lips. This is also referred to as the Lizard-King Style, and once lip-locked, it may also feature the rather grotesque tongue-insterted-rapidly-in-and-out. Most women do not cherish the idea of kissing a large anaconda, which is what this must be similar to. Equally unappealing is when the guy's tongue seems to be on a thorough search for any food trapped between the woman's molars. This is her tongue's job, not yours. The only response possible is for the woman to open her mouth wide and remain motionless while he finishes his routing, a posture that calls to mind trips to the dentist.

Like good sex and great dancing, any tongue action should involve a give-and-take, with both parties allowed the opportunity for interaction in a saliva-laden minuet. Get into a groove with this, and every now and then you may want to stop for a short time while still joined at thelips. Like being on a dance floor and suddenly holding your partner motionless, it can have the galvanizing effect of heightening the sensation. this is ideally practiced in places like a dark booth in a dive bar with a great jukebox. Just make sure your sleeve doesn't catch fire from the candle on the table.

So although no one wants a tongue completely jammed down her throat, neither do we want its exact opposite, as favored by Woody Allen, one of the screen's all-time-worst kissers. Check out the last scene in Hannah and Her Sisters, and you'll see him pecking away at Dianne Wiest. This Road-runner-eats-birdseed style of dry, repeated kisses accompanied by inordinately loud smacky sounds is not what any woman fantasizes about--even if she's weird enough to fantasize about kissing Woody Allen. The occasional smacky sound is inevitable and can exciting, but go easy on the moaning and groaning. Its sounds fake at best and, at worst, like an unconscious habit, like tuneless whistling.

Daniel Day-Lewis belongs in the kissing hall of fame for Best Use of Hands. He gently caresses his costar's face and touches her hair, a model of how hands can increase the erotic pleasure of the moment. Bear in mind the hands should not be used to prevent the woman from going anywhere or to clamp her head into one uncomfortable position. Remember most women like men to toy gently with their hair. After decades of bad press about sticky hairsprays and helmet hair, most of us have been using products to enhance "touchability" and are favoring hairstyles that look good a bit tousled. So go ahead and touch hair. And quit using all that sticky hairspray and goo so we can go back to touching yours.

Finally, I offer this suggestion: Try opening your eyes. I once cautiously opened my eyes while kissing and saw a pair of brown eyes staring back at me, which made the kiss even better because it became more intimate. Some people find this to be an impossible task (like sneezing with your eyes open), but while the prevailing belief is that we must try to block out all other sensations, you may find that kissing with your eyes open is the sensual equivalent of making love with the lights on. And if you're going to be kissing for several hours in a make-out bar, it's a good idea to peek periodically at the where-abouts of your drinks, her purse, and your wallet."

So for the first time in my life, I meet a bad kisser. Till now I never really believed the existence of such people, but well, I've just met one. The worst thing is that he's completely charming and sweet, and willing to learn that I don't know how to tell him he's slobbering all over me.

Now I understand the power of kissing: a good kiss tantalises the senses, it sets the mood for more to come (pun unintended), and more importantly, it arouses. I don't think I need to elaborate more on how good Mark or Jem is, but suffice to say, we had much pleasurable time in this activity.

But now. Now I fear intimacy because I don't know how to push his wandering hands away, nor to guide him to a proper kiss, and it bugs me. Sigh. I wonder how I should broach this subject...