Prettier Than Napoleon

Kissing is a pastime highly underrated by people of a certain age. It seems that once one is out of the teens and well into the experience of adult sexuality, there is a tendency to shift focus away from the delicate pleasures that once enticed us. Kissing becomes a perfunctory act, or at most a form of foreplay. Fewer and fewer people recall the keen delight of kissing for kissing’s sake, of making out for hours in a state of foggy bliss, drunk on sensation. The absurdity of pressing lips together, of daring to explore with the tongue: perhaps their strange charms are forgotten, or they no longer inspire giggles and heady excitement. We no longer make time for oddball kissing games, sneaking nibbles or marathon snogs. It’s a damn shame.