A Lost Art

I miss making out. Not just because I don’t have anyone physically in my life at the moment to make out with. I have someone with whom I would very much like to in point of fact, but that current circumstances prevent such delightful intimacy. It’s not just that though, it’s the fact that even within the context of a romantic relationship at a certain point I think we kind if stop making out. Once we have “grown up” and have had a few partners it seems, in my experience at least, that any initiation of kissing and petting just leads to sex. It’s almost a foregone conclusion, like we somehow get into the mindset that it has to go all the way all of the time.
I get that to a certain extent. When you’re younger, making out is your baby steps, how you learn the wonders and joys and in some cases mortifying embarrassment of sex. It’s that first toe so to speak in the deep and mysterious waters of being with another person, exploring an uncharted, unknown continent with nervous, sweaty, fumbling hands. There were limits, because either you, or your partner, or both weren’t ready yet to just dive in. There were also practical reasons, like adults being around and frowning on the same things they used to get up to for some reason I’ve never been able to understand. All of that though kind of goes away after a while. We all get to that point where we get at least somewhat comfortable with our desires, we know what we want and roughly how to go about doing it and so, when there is opportunity and we’ve confirmed everyone is willing, there’s no need to stop. Why make yourself suffer that agony of boiling, nearly violent frustration when you have someone perfectly willing to give and get that release right?
There’s something to be said for that. I mean, I remember very clearly spending HOURS in my bedroom with my first girlfriend, laying on my bed, lips chapped, jaws aching, various bits rubbing together and possibly getting rub burn. By the end of one of our marathons, no matter how sublimely enjoyable I would, walking her home, have to walk very, very delicately to in no way show how much pain I was in from having an erection for what amounted to half a shift of a work day without it serving its intended purpose. Now, here is where I’m going to point out, I’m not trying to garner any sympathy with this, I’m just relating the facts, it bloody fucking hurt like I’d been kicked in the groin. I’m sure my girlfriend endured similar discomforts, was aching just as badly, but I can only faithfully report my particular symptoms. Bottom line being, while making out was definitely a great deal of fun, it did get us both worked up and wanting more and why put yourself through that when you don’t have to?
Because it is fun, that’s why. Because it does leave you wanting more, and that anticipation can make any future coupling that much more intense. Because sometimes it is still such a wonderful thing to let your hands roam over your lover’s body without urgency, just loving the feel of them, savoring it without that finish line of fucking barreling down on you. It has kind of made me both sad and wistful over the years that just making out kind of gets put aside with all the rest of youth, often gets viewed as something childish and not becoming of an adult. I think we get it into our heads that once we are grown ups, we have to be that all of the time and that something like making out almost becomes beneath our dignity.
That’s such a shame to me though. I love the thought of laying on the couch with my girl, a movie on so we can at least pretend we were watching, kissing with just that perfect amount of tongue, the kind of kissing you can keep up forever, no sprinting, all long distance, the air full of the soft sounds of wetness and lip smacking and the whispering rustling of hands over clothes and clothes against each other. Something languorous, lazy, sensual, even playful. It could lead to more, or it could just settle back down into cuddling, only to start back up again, or it could just as easily lead to falling asleep together. That to me is my idea of heaven.
Unfortunately, at least in my relationships, once that ball got rolling it inevitably ended up being naked and needing to clean up. I am not going to speak for anyone else out there, but in talking with others of like vintage to myself, this seems to be a fairly common state of affairs. Well, I for one think making out should in fact be re-instituted to its rightful place in the roster of adulting fun and games. If you’re lucky enough to have someone to do it with in your life right now, give it a try. There is something to be said for reclaiming a bit of lost innocence and delayed gratification.

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