"So you see,” said Harvey after the second round of beers, “that is why men are better kissers."
Caren rolled her eyes.
"Harvey, you're drunk."
He grinned.
"Not yet. Maybe one more beer."
Caren turned to Marsha.
"So what did you have in mind for a kissing contest?"
"Well,” Marsha said, “not counting me, I have two men and two women here. I think the four of you should kiss me and let me decide."
"That's not fair,” Stephen whined. “You're a woman so you'll say the women kissed better."
"I won't know who is kissing me,” Marsha stated, “if I am blindfolded."
She took one last sip of her beer, took the scarf from around her neck, and put if over her eyes. As she secured it around the back of her head, she chuckled.
"Ok, now you four have to decide who will be first."
Caren and I looked at each other.
"I've never kissed another woman,” Caren whispered, “have you?"
I didn't want to admit, that being bi-sexual, I had kissed quite a few women, so I just shook my head.
"No, but we have to do a good job, since the guys keep thinking they're the best."
Caren nodded her head.
"You're right. It's for all woman-kind everywhere."
I smiled. Caren had definitely had a little too much to drink.
"All right, who's going to be first?” Marsha asked.
Stephen stepped up to the plate, motioning to us that he would go first. He leaned forward and quickly laid a heavy-mouthed kiss on his employer, and then stood back and grinned. Marsha pressed her lips together in an attempt to realign her teeth, and then smiled.
"Next."
Caren stepped up next, but just as she was about to give the boss a lip lock, modesty took over and she only gave her a quick peck. Caren timidly stepped back and blushed. Marsha sighed and called for the next one.
Stephen saddled up to her, put his hands on each side of her head, pulled her face to his, and put a hard mouth fuck on her. As he stepped back, he smiled, knowing that he had won for his gender.
Marsha took a deep breath and wiped the drool off her chin.
"Ok, let's get this over with,” she said.
It was my turn.
I remembered the way my last female lover had kissed me … softly … tenderly … yet passionately, and I wanted to recreate that with Marsha. I moved just to the side of her, then put my fingertips under her chin and gently turned her face to mine. She opened her mouth to speak, but as she did, I pressed my lips against hers and kissed her.
It was perfect.
I slid just the tip of my tongue between her lips, and as I did, I could hear her moan. She lifted her hands to touch me, but knew she couldn't, since that would be against the rules and give away who was kissing her, so dropped them by her side and surrendered to the passion she was feeling.
Kissing Marsha made me remember a quote I had once read by English author D. H. Lawrence…
"She lifted her face suddenly to him, and he touched it with his lips. So cold, so fresh, so sea-clear her face was, it was like kissing a flower that grows near the surf."
Except that there wasn't a “he” kissing her … it was me. I inhaled her breath and I could smell the cinnamon mint that she had popped into her mouth just before we began the kissing contest. Our lips were slick with passion and her tongue bashfully eased in between my lips, as if she was afraid I would be offended by the felony of her tongue touching mine. When I didn't push away, she gave me more. I sucked on it gently, neither wishing to do it harm nor wanting her to try to force it down my throat like most men that I knew tried to do. Our tongues waltzed together in perfect synchronization for a moment, and when I finally pulled my lips away, I heard her whisper, “Damn."
I opened my eyes and looked around, and for the first time, I realized that the music had stopped, the conversations had paused, the bar noise had discontinued, and no one was eating. Every eye in the place was on us. Most of the men had erections, including the two that were with our party, and most of the women had looks on their faces like they would like to be in our shoes.
Marsha took the blindfold off and smiled at me.
"The women win."
There was a round of applause throughout the house and then several people, including women, came up to our table, apparently wanting their turn at the kissing contest.
"Can I be next?” one gentleman asked.
"You want to be blindfolded and have my four employees kiss you?” Marsha asked.
"Naw,” he said with a grin and then pointed to me, “just her."
"Maybe we should open up a kissing booth and charge admission,” Stephen chuckled as he winked at me.
I smiled and felt my face turning a bright pink.
"Only,” the man said, “if this little lady is your only attraction. Hell, I'd pay to watch her kiss anyone!"
[Back to Table of Contents]
THE CARPET CLEANER
My name is Mark and I'm a carpet cleaner by trade. I've had this job for six years and I've always enjoyed it, but you would be amazed at some of the things I see in people's homes. Most times, it's just pet stains, traffic dirt, you know, things like that, but once in a while … well, I'll let you be the judge.
Take the house on Mockingbird Lane. I'll call the owner “Jane", since I don't want to offend anyone. Jane is a dark-haired, middle-aged, large-breasted wife of a career Navy man, and whenever he is gone to serve our country, Jane calls me to come clean her carpet. Actually, the only carpet she ever wanted cleaned was the one in the bedroom. This is what happened every time I went there.
Jane would meet me at the front door, a smile on her face every time she saw me, as if she was greeting a long lost friend.
"Come in, Mark,” she said, “It's good to see you. It's been a while."