I’m at work when I hear your ringtone. You know I can’t play now. What are you up to? I have to wait until my break to check your message.
Oh, Goddess. You are a bad, bad man. My mouth goes dry as I listen. Every breathy word tells me what you want to do to me and what you’re doing at the thought of it. If only my break were long enough to call you back…
It’s been too long. Your scent overwhelms me, quickly followed by your hands trying to touch me everywhere at once. Your kisses set me on fire. Clothes won’t come off fast enough. We try to make it across the room but I stop and pull you to the floor. I free you from your jeans at the same time you realize I’m naked under my dress. We both sigh as you sink into me. I’ve been waiting for you…
Mistletoe has been mentioned in literature all the way back to the ancient Greeks. It’s recorded use as a decoration during the Christmas holidays is well documented. The common tradition of kissing under the mistletoe has a long history dating back to at least the 1800s. But who cares about the technical details. Let’s get to the smooching!
Common tradition says that a guy may kiss a girl under the mistletoe and then must pluck a berry from the plant. Once all the berries are gone, the privilege of the kiss is gone.
I happen to like kisses, all kinds of kisses. Long, short, slow, fast, sweet, steamy, sloppy, polite…. to paraphrase a bit, a kiss by any other name would taste as sweet.
But what do you do when there are no more berries on the mistletoe? Well, if you’re smart you have an artificial mistletoe (they’re poisonous, ya know!) so you can just snap those little white berries right back on there. At the very least you should have a back-up sprig of mistletoe! What a disaster to run out of kisses?!