Sometimes I find myself sitting alone thinking about how Mac's lips feel when they are pressed against mine. It has been over five years now and we have kissed so many times, so many ways, hours, literally hours of our tongues entwined. And I know that there is no part of my mouth that Mac has not explored. He knows it intimately. As I know His.

Yet I am still enchanted, captivated, enraptured with even the idea of His kiss. It can still weaken my knees and cause goose-bumps on my skin. His kisses wipe my mind of all coherent thought and make me feel all melted, like warm wax, in His arms.

I remember once, a while back, I asked Mac what I tasted like when He kissed me. It was a real girl question, asked at an odd time. Usually when I throw a girl question like that at Mac, He gives me a safe smartass answer that leaves me unsure if I should smack Him or kiss Him, but this time He said that when He kisses me, I taste like Sarah. I thought it was a beautiful answer. He grinned and said that He could have been poetic, saying that I tasted of rainbows or some such nonsense, but the truth was, He just tastes Sarah. He got some extra kisses because of that.

The other night I was snuggled up to Mac on the couch. I should have been watching the television, but instead, I stared up at Him. After a while He looked down at me.

"Wot!" He said.
"We don't kiss enough." I said.

Mac said what He always says when I tell Him we don't kiss enough. "Women can never be too rich, too thin, or kissed enough."
"I can live without the money and I can cope with some flab." I said. "But I still need more kisses." I nodded most emphatically.

He gave in. I got kissed. For a long time, we kissed. And it still fills me, with love, with lust, with Him.

Simple, isn't it?