Author’s note: I really don’t write enough humour anymore…I apologize in advance, and though the initial attempt was to take this week’s prompt seriously, I failed.

They once said that the kiss of Buttercup and Wesley blew away the top kisses of all time.

Hogwash!

This is vanilla propaganda, at its worst.

The best kiss, though.

It, of course, happens only once and causes us to spend the rest of our lives attempting to recreate that moment.

I invite you, dear reader, to picture a half-full parking lot bathed in sunshine on a frigid day.

I in my parka, and her in her cap, we had lunched and moved outside from the pubbish restaurant towards our vehicles. Knowing we each had to return to work, it seemed to be an event that would end in frustration.

At first, I put my hand on the small of her back. An affectionate gesture, initially intended as more of a “fuck, I’m cold, let’s hurry to our cars” as anything, but it caught her attention. Then, as we approached her car with blood freezing on its way to our brains, my arms found their way around her.

Given temperatures, perhaps not the smartest idea, but I was sold.

Then I pulled her so close until our lips touched and created a spark that electrocuted anyone else who happened to be walking through the parking lot and stepping close to a puddle.

These places should have warning signs for those wondering through to avoid romantic kissers for fear of death.

My mind wanders as our tongues exchange phone numbers.

A king bed is first to mind. My partner is sans parka, of course. Okay, she’s completely naked and slowly pulling herself back on the bed as I climb on top of her. My erection is robust and, with each move, touches between her legs to tease her before she moves back further.

Being this erotic image is incomplete without her hair fanned across a pillow, she endures the tease simply for image purposes alone.

I thank her for this before my cock finds her opening again and teases through it brushing the length of her opening while rubbing her clitoris and standing high above her belly.

“You idiot, you missed,” she whispers seductively.

“Oh did I?” I ask and wink.

She gestures to my member. “Yes, you did. Are you going to fuck me or…”

“You don’t like the tease?”

“No! I want to be fucked, dammit. My husband won’t…”

I put a hand to her mouth to silence her and smile with the realization that “no” actually means yes. I only succeed in muffling her as she continues talking into my hand and then bites it, being the playful minx that she is. I play my erection along her pussy lips again, sliding between them and up until my entire length is wet. Pulling back again, I allow the tip to play about her wet and warm pussy lips. Coyly, I check my hand to make certain I’m not bleeding from her bite.

She pushes my hand from her mouth. “Would you just fuck me?!?!” Lifting the pillow from beneath her head, she hurls it at me with a perfect aim that snaps my head back and, inadvertently, my cock jerks inside her from the recoil. Then I fall backward in pain, feeling something in my pelvis snap as my erection was not to bend that way, before hitting my head on the floor at the foot of the bed.

The NFL denies my concussion symptoms, so I climb back on the bed and, as soon as my vision clears, we continue.

We move together…mostly. Unfortunately, my foggy brain leaves me lacking in the rhythm department, but she seems eager to keep up…or slow down. I really can’t tell as the voices in my head keep telling me simply to ride on.

She begins serenading me with beautiful lines from a Sarah McLauclan song.

I, of course, glare being I’m currently hearing “Weird Al” asking for a new duck in my head. “Shut up!” I scream in a seductive growl.

“You’re useless!” she yells back with a wink as she playfully climbs from the bed.

“Wait,” I plead, “can I, at least, give you money for the lunch you bought?”

This is when I snap back to reality.

The sunshine. The parking lot. My erection rubbing against her hip as she swatted it away and my mind considers ways to lift her skirt.

The swatting, of course, is not of disgust or lack of consent, but instead from fear of the randomly passing police vehicle getting the wrong idea.

Then she is gone as a cloud suddenly freezing and falling to the ground from about forty-thousand feet to shatter and destroy my car.

Wait…sorry…my wrecked car had nothing to do with the kiss. That was all a freaky ice thing that my insurance company offered me a ridiculous deductible on.

But dammit, that was the best…

As I later sat at my office desk and considered the beautiful creature I had locked lips with, a curious thought came to my mind.

When was the last time the NFL concussion policy was mocked in a Wicked Wednesday or Masturbation Monday post?

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