The French Kiss

'Ooh, what do we have here?'

The French approach to kissing is a curious old thing. There have been countless books and blogs etc. that outline the when's, where's and how to's on this subject. So I won't bother spending any time explaining the need to increase the frequency and time spent on kissing the further south you go... as an actress said to a bishop, but will instead give my take on the art of French kissing...

When I think too much about it, the act of sending your tongue to writhe around with another persons' seems a bit strange and a more than a little alien like. Sometimes I wonder what on Earth we're doing, and perhaps more significantly why the hell we're doing it (I should point out I'm using 'we' to signify humans, and not specifically The Real Girlfriend and I). The mouth, particularly in the morning, harbours some of the least enticing smells, particularly in the morning or if one has been gorging on French cheese and garlic, so I can’t imagine why and indeed when the practice came about. Wikipedia, despite its faults and issues of reliability seems to have covered the subject fairly comprehensively so if you're interested have a read. For those like me that may also be curious about the etymology of the phrase French kiss, I found the following:

• French letter "condom" (c.1856), French (v.) "perform oral sex on" (c.1917) and French kiss (1923) all probably stem from the Anglo-Saxon equation of Gallic culture and sexual sophistication, a sense first recorded 1749 in French novel. I'm not sure seeing two middle aged trolls going at it on the metro equates to sexual sophistication, but it certainly isn't a rarity in these here parts. 

• In Greek mythology, after an argument with Erato (muse of love and erotic poetry), Zeus decided to punish her with a curse that forced her to kiss the blokes she liked with her tongue. She was a bit gutted as she faced rejection until some dude from Gaul (an area of Western Europe) came along. Instantly she fell in love - the curse forcing her to smack a wet one straight on his lips. From then on, this kiss became the symbol of true and passionate love. Erato cheekily chose not to mention to Zeus the pleasure she got from her "curse" and kept up the habit of the "Gallic Kiss", later christened the French kiss. This explanation is clearly bollocks but it makes a nice little story so I decided to include it.

Fascinating stuff eh? But I also have a little theory of my own, and it stems from the fact the French spend so much of their time kissing each other (I maintain it's the reason for a lot of lateness in this country - it can take you half an hour to leave a party). If you think about it - and I have - if you've been kissing your friends and family all your life simply to say hello or goodbye, this practice probably won't be sufficiently romantic when trying to demonstrate a different kind of love; there has to be a 'next level' for that special someone*! 

(*and anyone else you want to get off with (there's a nice phrasal verb to teach in my next class)

'Typcial' English boys

As a teenager in England, I would have given my left bollock to get that close to so many girls on a daily basis; it's the stuff [wet] dreams are made of. During my dark and dry adolescent years, I was left spellbound by even the slightest accidental physical contact with girls; slight shoulder-to-shoulder brushes or even the touching of feet under the table rendered me brain-dead, and I would savour the sweet perfumed smell carried by the rush of air created by a passing female (probably running away from my slack jawed, dribbiling mug). All the while my French counterparts were regularly experiencing the wonderful softness of a girl's cheek brushing their own as her lips gifted them kiss after kiss! Not a million miles away from the depiction of the void in coolness between the French and English depicted in The Inbetweeners. That kind of thing would have left me floating for months on end - due to both thoughts of romantic idealism, and the torrent of jizz that would have inevitably flooded the scene as my face gratefully accepted the attention of a girl's mouth. To say it would have set my heart racing anyway is an understatement on par with calling Andy Murray a bit vanilla. 

A 'typical' French boy

As much as the French guys must love the practice of kissing their friends, and their friends' friends etc. (you can still see the 12/13 yr. old boys' excitable faces as they realise they get to kiss yet another girl), they must have eventually become a little desensitised to the power of a woman's kiss. It's for this reason I think it only natural for French men to have come up with something a little more 'saucy' than the peck in order to get their hearts racing again. And the public display of this type of affection - with its full-on, tongue wrestling, lip smacking action - is prominent across Paris, transcending age, gender or indeed most other socio economic classifications. There's a 'Ooh... oh. what do we have here?' moment to be had on a regular basis. It begs the question; what levels of debauchery and filth will the quest for pleasure lead us to...?

 

 

Moving on...

I recall now, with relief, the first weekend I met The Real Girlfriend and the grave error I very nearly made on a London underground platform. We'd met the previous evening and had enjoyed a lovely breakfast before spending the best part of a morning and afternoon together. When the time came to go our separate ways (thankfully only temporarily), I felt a pang of sadness as we were about to part, but was also overcome by that beautifully warm and tingly feeling you get when you're about to embrace someone you quite like - I believe the technical term for it is 'a semi'. Standing before me was a beautifully exotic French girl waiting for a goodbye I hoped she would remember. Having spent a night lying next to her talking (circumstance allowed for nothing more), I was desperate to have her. But I was more desperate to show her that I saw her as more than 'a cheeky bit of weekend skirt', and had very high opinions of her. So in my most genuine and gentlemanly manner, I leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek before looking her in the eye and saying goodbye. In my head I thought I was showing her that I respected her and that I wasn't another idiot looking to get lucky. As it turned out her friends thought I was being cold and disrespectful, and couldn't believe I'd done that to her in front of them. They were horrified at my lack of mouth to mouth athletics! In fact, if it wasn't for TRG's knowledge of the reserved nature of British people, I probably wouldn't be writing this. But before you go making snap judgments about what a little bender I am, or feeling sorry for this poor girl who must've felt rejected and unwanted, also bear in mind the fact that I have since found out that I was actually the 3rd bloke she'd kissed during her short weekend in London. Brilliant. And no, 3rd time's the charm doesn't make me feel any better about it!

Either way, she forgave my frigid faux pas and invited me to see her again in Paris a few weeks later. I quickly got over my bronze medal situation too and the rest, as they say, is history! So... moral of the story? Well I'm not so sure to be honest, but my advice is this:

If she's European, and you like her, best get the tongue down her throat before someone else does. You might even pop in a digit while you're at it for good measure - really show her what an old romantic you are.

Happy Snogging.