she doth protest

huff.

dainty toe tap tap tap.

petulant incline of the head.

furrowed brow.

quick check of her person. lips? check. full, soft, slightly glisteny. tongue? well, duh, i still have one. breathe? nice. like a georgia peach.

so where did it all go astray? my first birthday since i arrived at kissability with no kisses. nothing deep, searching, playful, urgent, soft, warm, wet, bitey, swelling, hungry, tender, no nothing.

i even waited an extra day. just in case. but now, i have no choice but to put my foot down. somebody's either gotta step up to the plate and put a tongue in my mouth or...

i'll be forced to write across the chest of my tight white ribbed tank top with a black sharpie-

"KISS ME, BITCH!"

-and stand on the corner of sunset and vine until it happens.

then, if i end up smooching on a particularly well hung tranny, or decent smelling hobo, so be it.

don't say you weren't warned.