Where did making out go?

Where did making out go?

In the era of the fling, the flung, the f.buddy and fornication I have an embarrassing admission.

I’m 41 and I love making out.

From the age of 16, making out (aka. necking, snogging, kissing, petting, smooching.. you get what I mean), was the main goal in life. As a late starter I wasn’t that interested in the whole thing until I did it, (New Years Eve, my 16th birthday, Day 1 without braces, Jon) at which point I realized what  boys were good for (other than peeing on the fire when you were done making s’mores). Kissing was where it was at.

Nothing has ever been quite so heady as backing up against a wall, a car, a sofa and just locking lips with a guy you weren’t sure even knew you existed until 2 minutes ago. And then realizing that through some random selection process, your mouths fit together just perfectly. So much so that you didn’t want to stop. 5 minutes turned into 15 minutes turned into hours until your lips were bruised and your Dad was honking the horn for you to get inside and make your 9pm curfew. (Yes, I was living in a prison camp for most of my teen years).

Because sex wasn’t on the table (hey, I was a late starter), you had no other objective other than trying to drive the other person nuts with your lips, aided and abetted by your wandering hands.  Making out was really the only way to show someone what you were thinking (hey we were British) without saying anything embarrassing. It also was the dawning realization that – wow – I have all the power!
Of course things would get heated, but with an early curfew, a bike as transportation and a bedroom the size of a closet… you couldn’t get more protected sex than two pairs of jeans, a belt buckle and the sound of ‘Mastermind’ on the TV in the living room. Since sex was off the table every move and sensation was  heightened. Having your lip bitten, someone kissing the hollow in your neck, nibbling your ear… even now.. wow. Communication, touch, connection.. all kinds of wonderful.

These days, this age, we know that sex is always on the table, near the table or somewhere in the same restaurant. Any indication of attraction seems to light the nitro exhaust to the bedroom (or the sofa), and these days, making out is just a quick stop on the way to more naked pleasures. A first date peck on the cheek quickly turns into a second date fumble and before you know it, he’s wondering why you’re not making like the chick on Xtube as he takes off his socks.  You’re lucky if he kisses you at all once your bra comes off. As a formerly married person, I remember wondering why kisses had morphed into pecks and distracted 3 second smooches when we we had more time, more things to share. Kissing was the canary in that coal mine and it pretty much died after a year. Maybe its just me, but I’m sure everyone – single or married – still enjoys being kissed. Don’t you enjoy making out?

Now I love a man with a plan, a guy who takes charge and doesn’t want to talk about his feelings for  hours before copping a feel.. but lately, I can’t help wondering where making out went.
When did a quick snog become a drive by on the way to unhooking my bra? An obligatory tongue thrust before unzipping my jeans? Don’t guys lament the absence of sexual tension? Isn’t there any need to connect with the person you’re about to ‘connect’ with?

Maybe in the era of instant porn and ‘on demand’ everything, the teasing, tension laden ‘will we? won’t we’ make out sessions aren’t so appealing or maybe we’ve just forgotten. Have we become a species driven by instant gratification, or are we just too busy to kiss each other? Has our iPhone actually replaced intimacy? No? Really?

When did you last kiss someone for more than a quick minute?

For the pleasure of it?

Just because you wanted to say something, show something without talking?

My last make out session was a while ago but it sticks in my mind. Kissing, touching and more kissing. Ok, a little rolling around but all very junior. There was lots of discovering each other through touch; the joy of finding a hip bone, a lat and yes, the obligatory boner, all while having that unique conversation that is kissing. Plus since our mouths were busy, neither he nor I could say anything too stupid.
And it was delicious. Instead of lamenting what I did or he did or what no-one was able to do, I was excited for what we didn’t do. For the tension that remains, even if its never put to bed (figuratively or literally). It felt good to want something and not be able to have it for a change. And for an evening I felt 16 again. Frenzied, excited and thankfully this time, no Dad on the horn in the driveway. I don’t know who was more shell shocked at the fun that was had, him or me.

So here’s the thought of the day. Go home and kiss someone.

Just not a 16 year old.  I think that’s a felony. 

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