Isn't There A 12-Step Program For People Like Me?

Isn't the first step admitting that you have a problem? So, OK ... here goes.

I admit it. I'm powerless. I have a problem. My name is Martini, and I'm a smooch-a-holic.

As callous as it sounds, I don't think I would ever date, much less "settle down with" someone that is a bad kisser. After going without it for so long, I've made that an entry in my "must have" column. Why? Because in hindsight, I noticed a marked decline in passion during my marriage. Not just the usual "comfort zone" you slip into where you slowly lose the stolen moments, but a total "off the cliff" decline in those earth-shattering kisses.

You know the kind. The kind that make you just beg to be thrown against a wall and made love to. The kind where they literally take your breath away. Pure, complete, total, urgent, unadulterated passion. Grab my hands in yours, pull me in against your body, and just lay it on me. Throw me on the floor, pin my hands over my head, and KISS ME like you mean it, damn it.

Conversely, there are those moments that are earth-shattering ... but in a different way. You notice a level of emotional attachment from a gentle kiss. The way someone knows just how and where to kiss you to drive you wild ... priceless. There's a certain tingle you get from the kiss of someone whom you care about. The body language of touching a face during a kiss tells what your words can (or would) never say. The gentle way he pulls my hair back, kisses my neck, and exhales a breathy "hello" on the tender skin just below my hairline on my left side. Actions speak far louder than words.

OK, back to work.

My name is Martini. And I'm a kissing bandit.