So I have full lips. I inherited them from my father. They're not well defined, but they're in a state of perpetual pout. I was always teased about them as a child, since they were rather out of proportion with the rest of my face. My elementary school nemesis would roll down his bottom lip and stick his tongue out over the top in a rather effective parody. To compound my horror, when I was in third grade, my mother took me to our dentist out of concern for my fleshy embouchure and he suggested lip therapy...
What was this exactly? You will hardly believe. Every day, for at least half an hour, I had to practice lip exercises. My first exercise consisted of rolling my bottom lip up over my top twenty times... my repetitions ever increasing. Then I had a long string upon which I had to place increasingly heavy weights with which to lift up with my bottom lip and tongue into my mouth until I had lifted the weights all the way up. Then I would have to go in to the dentist and he would measure the increased strength of my lips. It was degrading, but my progress showed improvement on my little chart. Every month my sphincter strength was charted by measuring my resistance as he would have me place a disc inside my lips and pull...
Aside from making me more hyper-aware of my prominent mouth than ever, I developed madly strong lips... I have no doubt that all those exercises probably increased my oral fixation all the more.
Finally, some time in early high school, completely on my own, I decided I liked my lips after all, regardless. I vowed that I might as well draw as much attention to them as possible. They were quirky, they were odd and I liked them... I decided I didn't care what others thought, they were mine... I went mad for lipstick, the darker the better. My favorite is M.A.C Dubonnet...the perfect red. I buy lipsticks like some women buy shoes...
Lo and behold, a change began to take place. No more persecutions, not even from my enduring, chicken-lipped nemesis. Eyes weighing heavily didn't pause on my girlish torso, but on my blow pop twirling maw... I became acutely aware of the faraway look I could induce from eating a peach in front of a prospective beau. A table full of boys in my dorm, I found, regularly followed me down to dinner just to watch me eat a popsicle...
Having full lips means you have much more surface area with which to feel what you delicately or voraciously apply them to. Very fine soft things, like silk velvet are held thoughtlessly to my lips to be felt so much more sensitively than with fingertips...Lips like mine adore grazing the curve of an ear lobe. They encircle a nibble upon the flesh of another in warmth and softness. They require an unabashed tongue to lick them. Having full lips means kissing another with the same is an inexplicable pleasure.
Big lips go in and out of vogue, but they are voluptuous... sexy... useful. I guess my mother knew what she was doing after all... in kissing my father.
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