“So, we were laying on the bed, making out with each other,” my eighth grade self lamented to my best friend, “and I could like, feel his dick through his pants. Honestly, we were basically having sex. We were like horizontally grinding on each other, but I could feel everything. I seriously think it almost went in. But like. Through my clothes.”
It didn’t “almost” go in, I now realize as an adult, but I wasn’t wrong about it being pretty sexual for a 13-year-old.
“Okay, and then, like, I don’t know. Something happened. I had like 30 seconds of this feeling I’ve never had before. I don’t think it was an orgasm, because it didn’t ever *explode* you know. It just sort of floated away. But it was honestly the best feeling I’ve ever had in my life.”
“Oh my God! I know that feeling! That like…thirty seconds.”
“Yes! Just *imagine* how good ACTUAL sex is going to be if we got this without ever even seeing a penis.”
My best friend agreed. “Thirty seconds” as we called it then was incredible, and actual sex had to be just that much better. As it turns out, it wasn’t. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy a good penetraysh. It’s just not *as* much better than, you know, not having sex as it should be. And sometimes, I’ll admit it, I miss dry humping.
I love making out. I love rolling around in a bed and feeling like a teenager before I get to what everyone else says is “the good stuff.” And unfortunately, that’s not a thing that happens any more. My days of not having sex are behind me, and it feels like a travesty.
When was the last time you *just* made out with a guy? And honestly, how long did it last? Chances are, not long enough. You used to live your life JUST. KISSING. for hours. Actual hours. There was once a time in your life that you legitimately *could* go all night. Now, that sounds like torture.
Once you start having sex, it’s all the same every single time. You make out for five minutes, he pulls your pants down — it gets awkward for a second at the ankle, and you have to kick them off yourself. Within moments, you can expect to catch a finger, and then he’ll head south, lick you like a tootsie pop (re: not long enough to get to the center), you maybe give a two-minute “thank you” blowie, or you maybe don’t, and then he dives in penis first.
It’s fun, and it feels good, and everyone gets laid, which is lovely. But there’s no mystery. You know what was fun about “hooking up” in your early teenage years? You never knew what was going to happen next. For minutes, or maybe hours, you made out aggressively, grazing each other’s private parts through your clothes, and wondered to yourself “Oh my God. Is he going to finger me? When’s it going to happen? Do I even want him to? No, I totally want him to.” And every time his hand grazed the waist of your shorts, you got excited. And nervous. And a little more turned on.
Nothing in the grownup world compares to that. Because even if you prolong foreplay a little, you still know how this game ends: with you saying “Cum for me,” because you’re ready for it to be over, but you still want to seem sexy. You never wanted an aggressive makeout sesh plus dry humping to be over, because it was just the preview, and I’m willing to say that just like appetizers and the pregame — it’s the best part..
Image via Shutterstock
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Veronica Ruckh
Veronica (@VeronicaRuckh) is the Director of Total Sorority Move for Grandex, Inc. After having spent her undergraduate years drinking $4 double LITs on a patio and drunk texting away potential suitors, she managed to graduate with an impressive GPA and an unimpressive engagement ring -- so unimpressive, in fact, some might say it's not there at all. Veronica has since been fulfilling her duties as "America's big," a title she gave to herself with the help of her giant ego. She has recently switched from vodka to wine on weekdays. Email her at [email protected]
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