In Defense of the Makeout Session

I haven’t had a decent makeout session in ages. I’m talking the proper makeout session; the sort you have as teenagers before you get the idea (or the courage) to bump your genitals together. Sloppy, lips on lips, tongues swishing against each other, clumsly fumbling, “if I touch her boob, will she notice, and if so will she hate me”, fully-clothed makeouts. The kind of fooling around where your junk doesn’t even see the light of day.

What happened to the makeout session? Do you turn a certain age and all of a sudden intimate sessions with another person become a few minutes of french kissing, one to 30 minutes of foreplay/various forms of manual and oral satisfaction, and then some bumping uglies? Is there something that goes off in someone’s head that makes you put your junk on or in their junk (or some other variation depending on the type of junk involved)?

It’s been a little while since I’ve hooked up with someone (actually I can pinpoint the date, but I’m not telling anyone that). It’s been absolute years since I’ve had a decent makeout session.

Maybe I try a little hard to achieve this. The last time I had any kind of cuddle session (that unfortunately didn’t escalate to makeouts) I quite possibly ruined the mood on the way back home by trying (and failing) to quote Ramona Flowers from the Scott Pilgrim movie: “I don’t want to have sex with you, Pilgrim. Not right now. It’s not like I’m gonna send you home in a snowstorm or anything. You can sleep in my bed. And I reserve the right to change my mind about the sex later”. It might have been a little creepy (but I blame a number of tasty high-gravity beers).

I guess it all goes back to my first teenage makeout session. Yeah, I remember most things about that like they were yesterday, though they were a decade and a half ago.

I was fifteen. I’d never been kissed.

A friend of a friend was having a birthday get-together at the mutual friend’s house. I got a call to go  over there one night and hang out and watch a movie (his family lived down the road from mine, and his mother is still best friend to mine, so there was no problem at all with this).

I turned up there and found the two guys, their girlfriends, and a random girl who was friends with one of the girlfriends. Random Girl (her name is the only part of the story I can’t recall with perfect clarity) was an exchange student a Church College (the Mormon school) from South Africa.

We all lazed around my mate’s room, one couple on the couch, another on one side of the bed and myself and Random Girl on the other and watched the South Park movie (to date a film I still love, and can sing along to perfectly). I lay and watched the movie, totally conscious of the feminine form next to me, and unaware that her hand was brushing against mine on purpose.

Once the movie finished someone decided to get up and turn the lights off, and within seconds I was surrounded with the smacking of lips and tongues slapping against each other. Totally high school movie.

Me being the total stunner I am at talking to women tried (and failed) to make some small talk with Random Girl. She wasn’t having anything of this, instead asking “do you want to start”, and when I responded in the affirmative, even though I didn’t know what she was talking about, she jumped on me and stuck her tongue in my mouth.

Boom. There I am, instantly a big fan of the makeout session (as well as discovering a strange turn on whenever I hear a woman with a Afrikaner accent).

This post was brought to you by The National -High Violet, and Modern Times Fortunate Islands with Grapefruit Zest hoppy wheat ale

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