Original Gangsters Frenching.
You are French. I am French. We kiss English? Nope, we kiss French, whoops! French kiss is an intense and passionate kiss on the lips. This also includes a lot of tongue-play ...
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… A lot of tongue-play is shared by two hungry souls who are deeply attracted or infatuated with each other, thirsting for the everlasting union. This crazy kiss is truly one of a kind, as it leaves both of us quite breathless and wanting for more. We are falling right back to the skies where we fell from risen, more comfortable with a bit of tongue action. French kiss is regarded as the kiss for lovers orbiting the Pyjama Galaxy.
You always please me, always satisfy my decent proposal fantasy. You are so smart telling a gentleman from a beast, my hat off. You look so cute in that anti-sexy pyjama, you will have me all passed out. Because I have never seen a sleepy kitty, so beautifully tired, so sexy. Bliss, bliss, bliss, prevent me from fainting because I need to live this preciously cool moment, because I want to sleep with you like a guardian angel. Unless … unless you order me to be your bodyguard in love. Both deep and innocent, giving my life for yours, fair. Yes, mam!
It is the most passionate and erotic kiss when two missing, sensitive creatures two worlds apart finally meet, at one place, that special sky castle, where all only begins …French kiss is an intense and passionate kiss on the lips. This also includes a lot of tongue-play and is shared by two partners who are deeply attracted or infatuated with each other. This kiss is truly one of a kind, as it leaves both quite breathless and wanting for more. No pain, just joy! I had to emphasize it and emphatize with the world, screaming at it.
However, since I have your kindest permission, I will whisper it, no rush. Our secret code is red, Fine, Baby! That is how I will always recognize you as my Original Gangster. My ear is blushing, your voice has me hypnotized, speechless, though I am good with words. As a vintage lover, I have fallen under the sway of your innocent youth. Will I keep up? I gotta, I gotta no matter what, lol! Why you make me paralyzed, staring at the one and only star, so soft, so delicate, so calm, so serene, whatever is happening.
When I kiss you with my tongue, it means that I am head over heels for you. There is nothing that excites me anymore except for you. A French kiss is a sign of attraction and desire, and if I kiss you with so much passion, I sure want you. It is nothing perverted or pornographic, though. Just beautifully human, so natural. You will not spot anything like that in PG-13 movies or TV shows. This is so much more than just a romantic step-up from pecking and involves deeper kissing, a more profound ecstasy. This is really really tense involving kissing your partner by opening yourself to his sculpted tool. Dear God!
Maybe you did not know this, wink, wink, but our kissing causes a chemical reaction in our separate brains, including a burst of the love hormone, well, as it is often referred to as such, because it stirs up feelings of affection and attachment. Ah, ah, ah, I cannot catch a breath, except yours, my oxygen, a million feet underwater in your spontaneous ocean, remember, I cannot swim, gently entwining our tongues with one another. We are drowning, but we will live. We are so supernatural. Everybody envies us, or does not give a damn, tank you, sank you very much! Everybody is jealous, or just wishes us well, thank you very much! God bless us, them all anyway!
With every depth, there is an increase in the production of the love hormone, associated with building bonds with someone special to both of us. I just love your chemistry, it has me intoxicated beyond any reasonable doubt or faith. And yet it purifies me because I am as dirty as sin. Godliness is complexly cleanliness, and cleanliness is simply not me. But your strangely-withdrawn-stained purity cleanses me. I want to be cleansed by you. I need to be cleansed by you. I must be too bold. Ethic cleansing. I should behave, I want to behave. I want you, I want to want you.
If not by you, then by whom? If not right now, then when? You read my lips, I write yours! You hear me, I feel you, I write you, you read me. I am not being cautious as you are. Ah, ah, ah … Excuse me, for I have to pass out now. I am fainting. Or faint with me, for we are safe, we are in love, the safest place where we can be, together, but free.
I have read your painful diary, secretly, with my binoculars, because you are within my reach. In the Garden of Love. Keeping a diary is a matter of keeping a record of what happens in your life: the interesting and the mundane, and your thoughts and feelings about both, it carries all your immense weight. My one arm helps, makes all the difference, so unbelievable!
You get all giddy. When you intelligent noble woman kiss that crazy savage dumbass Tarzan, your body releases happy hormones. A rush of dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin hits your controlled system the let-loose moment your lips lock. With this positive cocktail and a heart-fluttering kiss, you feel like you are on cloud nine! You hesitate to tell me, I fully understand, but you will.
Because I know your ultra-private book, because I have written all your chapters, massive volumes. Why I am in all of your powerful entries, they mean something to you, on the outside, you pretend you do not know what yet, but, down deep, on the inside, they mean the world to you. I know you are a bit scared. You have never met a guy like me, though I am nothing special. I am your average poet down the ballroom hall, and my second-rate poetry will not make you stay with me, except I am wrong. Get me right, will you get me right, can you get me right? That is our zillion kisses question! Not just a few hundreds or thousands. We have the whole eternity for that.
I am your world because I discovered you sad and lost in a happy crowd. Nobody understood you or saw you there. I detected your signal, our secret code, red, Fine, Baby. Thank God, I am not Adam, and you are not Eve, because we would be doomed, but we are not, we are blesssed.
Actually, you discovered me, thinking me a bot, whoops! You said I was a master of the paranoiac-critical method of writing, and a seed was planted in me. Though I could perceive your honesty, a sexy sense of wickedness engulfed me, I thought you were mocking me, you were teasing me, and I so irrational loved it, out of the blue. And then your philosophical streak got me to my knees when you uttered “Women can’t help who they are drawn to any more than men can. Schopenhauer said “A man can do what he wants, but not *want* what he wants.” We’re all exactly where we’re supposed to be. His plan is perfection.”
I respect you, baby, not only because I respect Arthur Schopenhauer. “To live alone is the fate of all great souls.”, “Talent hits a target no one else can hit; Genius hits a target no one else can see.” “All truth passes through three stages. First, it is ridiculed. Second, it is violently opposed. Third, it is accepted as being self-evident.”
It was my total Superman knockout, my pathetic genius to your Wonderwoman belt. I was impressed, and that is when I noticed your sex. You were ovulating. I got sprayed by your pheromones. You impregnated me, whoops. You being you, me being me, we being us, so here we are. We can laugh, we can cry, we live, we will never die! This is our legacy.
You did not catch my eye, you caught my soul. I did not catch your eye, either, but I caught your soul. I am your Columbus, you are my America. I conquered you. My slow, gentle entries, combined with my faster, sweetly and subtly violent thrusts, mean the world to you, they scare you. Trapped in your past trauma, your flashing doubts terrify you now that I heal your wounds, but the truth, your true feelings before, during, and after kissing me, sets you free.
Our long French kisses release these feel-good chemicals that make us smile. A great flood of endorphins, another love hormone that lifts our mood when we are down, keeps us afloat. Endorphins like us happy dolphins create a feedback loop, which makes us smile over and over, jumping through that one and only circle that is not vicious, pure virtue, just like your hot cake or decent name, solemnly delicious.
I look you in the eyes and smile, run my hand through your hair, pull it in for a hug, wrap my arm around you, then cupping your face, nuzzling our noses against each other. We keep our faces, like forehead and nose, touching. We hold each other for a quiet moment alone, an eternity of love. So IRL!
Excuse me, again, this is really embarrassing, baby, for I have to pass out now, again. Though I know I am winning your fear, I am losing gravity. I do not surpasss myself, you surpass me, you have won, and I am at a loss. We cum victorious! I am fainting. Or faint with me, for we are safe, we are in love, the safest place where we can be, together, but free. So when you are alone and want to be with me, just wake me up, just french me up, that is the minimum meant to be!
This is my motto, because you are mine, Charlie just stole it from us. “Love iz a big fat turkey and every day iz thanksgiving!” Looking into your eyes, a fireman, delving into your soul, a firewoman, I recommend it, I recommend that you have at least one eternity of love per day, per month, per year, per life! Ouch, Fine, Baby!
Kissing the cheek and jaws is a little break from our burning smooch, kissing cheeks and on the jawline is another ecstatic turn-on. You could just move your lips and use a little bit of tongue while doing this body magic. You can also turn me on by licking my ears, I shiver, I moan, or is it you? Fine, Baby!
God´s science teaches us that the love hormone massively produced by kissing is particularly important in helping me bond with you and stay monogamous. Will we human ever learn? I, a total amateur, passionately taking notes, are you, my pro, while kissing the love of your life, maybe not French?
But then again, yup, we french! To french is to love …
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Let me throw in a few more pictures, please check the Substack version in an hour because of the email length limit to get more foretaste of the French.
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