anyone up for frenchin'?

I don't really know why Frenching is called "Frenching", but I assume it has something to do with France being queer. Not as in gay, even though they all kind of are, but as in just not right. If someone sees a couple sitting on a bench in the shade of an elm, lips locked, but at least a few inches of space between their hips... as in they're both sitting down, facing body-forward, but turned to embrace, then they are merely kissing.

"French" kissing is the kind of stuff that leads to French ticklers, and more importantly, sex, which we all know is pretty much the meaning of life. Good things. Anyway.

So not texting or calling DC really paid off tonight. Not that I credit the entire evening's fortune to ignoring her, but I think it might have helped... especially since I found out that last night, when I gave her the balloon flower, she was "ON THE PHONE" with her stalker-- desperately telling him to NOT come over to her house. Obviously she couldn't say that at the time, but she did genuinely dig the gift. Plus, tonight she initiated the kissing not once, not twice, but three times. Before then, I pretty much made all the moves. She either just received them, and kissed back, or would put me on the spot by saying, "What are you doing!?" Twitch, I say, "Could you hold still while I kiss you? Thanks."

We were in her car when she dropped me off and I had just finished telling her (jokingly) that she is the master of mixed signals. I leaned in for a kiss and she practically dove for it. She gave it quite a bit more effort than usual, and I felt the heat in her breath as she kind of panted in resistance. I swear, if I had better hearing, I may have even heard a whimper in her voice. So, having detected desperation, I made it easy for her by pulling away almost immediately and following her empty advice to "have a good night". I turned and began grasping for the door handle, but failed. I searched for only a second before finding it-- then just when my hand reached the latch, I heard a loud "click". I pulled the handle... nothing. She'd locked the damn doors. So I look at my feet, then the mosaic of raindrops on the windshield, then at her lips. All I remember is closing my eyes and meeting her, finally feeling her hand on my neck as we kissed. That's when you know it's truly consensual. It's not a one-way pucker, but a real embrace. Finally, my doubts all along were settled... she wasn't just weirdly charitable about letting me kiss her... she'd been enjoying it this entire time, and she was enjoying it at that moment.

I don't think she's ever looked so beautiful to me before as when she sat there, mouth gaping, struggling to force some combination of clever words out-- but coming up dry. That's right, ladies and gentlemen... I successfully rendered the girl of my dreams speechless. Monumental victory for me... fodder for denial for her.

The struggle continues, though, but I will keep you informed as I try my best not to fuck this up, and mainly, by her suggestion to just "relax."



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Conversation with a bouncer friend at George's.
Bouncer: Hey Mullis!"
ME: " "Dude, my name isn't Mullis."
Bouncer: "I know, I'm just fuckin' with ya."
ME: "Just call me ---t, man, everyone else does."
Bouncer: "Okay... Mullis."
ME: "Dude, seriously... the next time you call me Mullis, I'm going to pop you in the face."'
Bouncer: "Oh, that'd be stupid. I'd kick your ass."
ME: "Maybe, but I'd still hit you once, and it's going to fucking hurt."
Bouncer: "Ha ha ha... ok.. ok, ---t."
ME: "Thank you."