Posts Tagged ‘making out’

I saw you come into the bar and give the bouncer the hugest hug. I love it when men are affectionate with each other, so I noticed you instantly. You had scruff and a flannel shirt and the best dance moves. I was watching you, but we never spoke or danced together.

Apparently you noticed me noticing you. You told me later that’s why you asked for my number.

We texted a bunch here and there but never got around to hanging out until months later.

We finally went out for an epically long date, though I wasn’t sure it was a date the entire time. You are witty and fun and we got along, despite the fact you are super religious.

We awkwardly half kissed goodbye in a pretty non-sexual way. I’ve been told so many times that I come on too strong, so I was sort of letting you take the lead in this situation. I assumed you wouldn’t contact me ever again.

But two weeks later, we hung out again. I went to your house and we had relatively awkward sex. Certainly not the worst, but not the best either.

And that was it. I think if I texted you, you would politely invite me to go out dancing. But I think if I didn’t text you, I’d never hear from you again.

I cannot figure out what just happened, even a little.

Maybe you just aren’t that into me.

But we seemed to get along, and you kept pursuing me. The next day you told me it was fun and we vaguely referred to future hang out times. I feel like if you just wanted to hook up, you would have approached it differently.

It makes me inclined to think that maybe you just aren’t that into ladies.

But maybe that’s just because I’m used to boys who are feminists.

Maybe you think I’m too fat.

You are really into working out.

Maybe it’s that we became facebook friends and now you think I’m whorish.

But probably you just aren’t that into me.

For what it’s worth, I’d totally hang out with you more if you wanted to figure it out.

Or we could just become dance buddies, which I suspect is what you wanted all along.

Read Full Post »

We were roommates. You are my favorite person to snuggle with in the entire world. I loved coming home from work at 2am and you’d be on the couch watching infomercials or PBS and I’d just curl up next to you on the couch for a good snuggle. Perfection.

There has never been anything between us.

You came to town and needed a place to stay. Naturally you could just sleep in my bed. I had work in the morning, you went out. I gave you the keys. You came home at 4am.

You took off all your clothes, wet with rain from the bike ride home, and left them outside my door. You got in my bed saying you were fucked up on coke & super drunk. You half slept and half chatted with me until you sleepily started making out with me.

I know you didn’t want to cheat, so I wanted to protect you from yourself. I know we would never date.

But the thing is, I would totally make out with you. Why not? It wouldn’t ruin anything and we wouldn’t fall for each other.

I couldn’t let you decide that drunk, so I told you I had to go to work and you fell asleep.

I really wonder if you remember. We will never discuss it. I hope you don’t feel rejected, because in that sense, I would never reject you. I would do you dead sober.

Read Full Post »

can i tell you that you have been on my mind this morning?

standing in the train on my way to work…the image of you was running in my head…i am no maniac, but i keep on seeing your face and your naked body…i am craving to touch and feel you again…though i know as you told me already, it is not possible…i feel a little pinch in my being now…it is called regret…

why didn’t i let go of everything when i was with you? i want you so close to me again…to grab you and your behind to pull you so close to me…to go down on you and to devour every inch and centimeter of your sex…to taste everything that is about you…i should not have minded the feeling of being tired that day with you…if i had known it was the first and last day with you, i would not have slept for even one second…i want to feel your weight on me again. pressing my face on your sheets as you bite my nape like a cat…

yes, we live in different continents…but for 20 hours we were together that day and i was in your territory…and we spent 14 hours making and breaking and creating love…stolen moments behind the souvenir shop on top of that magical cathedral and in every wing of the gallery…and the languid afternoon delight we spent in your kitchen…and up the stairs to that wicked bed of yours…in between wine and panna cotta…

and now i’m back in my far eastern world…alone again…all of them who will come after you are ghosts…they do not know how to touch me the way you did. they don’t know how i melt and die at the touch of your breath on my back. they don’t smell like you after hours of foreplay. their mouths don’t have your flavor. our flavors mixed together in your lips and your tongue. creating a distinct taste i can never have again…

when i met you for the very first time in person…that morning, outside my hotel, in an unfamiliar city…i did not pause to think. there was no fear or doubt in me. you could have been a serial killer for all i care…i let go of all my inhibitions and i enjoyed every dart of pleasure…all of our words and letters came alive that day. all of our potent threats to each other’s needs became tangible. i never thought it was possible for us to be together that day but it happened. period.

…and now you tell me now that it is impossible to happen again. now you answer my yearnings with cruel cruel words. you tell me that to desire is better than to have. but i am not a masochist. i am a 31 year old woman in need of a man. it just so happens this man is you. and our needs do not meet anymore…

Read Full Post »

i don’t know if it’s better to keep it to myself or say it out loud, but i feel like we’ve already crossed this line in a million tiny ways that what the fuck.

i know you obviously have a bazillion and ten things going on and certainly don’t need extra confusion, but i just feel like it’s only fair that i am totally clear that i would make out with you in a second. not just like when we talked about it before and i acted all casual about it, like, yeah, i would do that again if you are up for it. but more like, i just want to. of course being friends with you is far more important than making out and i value your friendship so fucking much it’s ridiculous. so i don’t want to jeopardize that and i feel confident enough in our friendship that i don’t think this email will, regardless of how you take it. and please know me well enough to know that it also doesn’t matter and won’t impact me or us if you just say um, no. or if you disregard this entirely.

so that’s quite enough embarrassment for one email.

don’t ignore me at school tomorrow.

*editors note: this does not qualify as an “unsent letter.” sent it word for fucking word. i’m just a glutton for public self-shaming, apparently.

Read Full Post »

You and me. We’re like a hot, bright firework.

It doesn’t matter that the hot part is over, and was over more than 10 years ago now. The hot part where we just shot into the sky and fucking exploded and fell in love way too quick and both got really scared about how intense it was. How we were saying it to each other wide-eyed and incredulous, writing it to each other on paper making it real. We would get in your bed and stay up literally all night making out. We couldn’t stop. We’d fall asleep for a couple hours with our faces pressed together and our hearts and eyelids fluttering and our tattoos smushing together into new designs and our breathing in rhythm all too-perfect-like. I’ve kissed a lot of boys and I still remember your kisses. If they hadn’t been so vivid and volcanic and all over me and impossible the next part might not have happened.

That’s the part where the firework is still happening but it’s losing its heat. It’s still sparkling and shimmering and still there…but the real explosion is over. All the little stars are moving away from each other but the idea of what was there still exists, filling out the shape. That’s the part that happened after you smashed my heart. You got more scared than me. You moved thousands of miles away. But then you came back. And you kept coming back into my life for years. We kept going through the motions as much as other relationships and life would allow. Sometimes we’d see each other every day. Our bands played shows together. For a while we were even neighbors. I never stopped wanting to kiss your face. Every single second we spent together getting coffee, watching movies, lounging around outside, talking about stupid shit like robots and our bands and our lives and relationships and how we wanted everything and nothing and were never satisfied…I could barely look at your neutron star eyes that I kept falling into for years. We both knew it and didn’t know it. You apologized for everything from forever ago. Said you were wrong, scared. Our hearts were both bloody on our sleeves but we didn’t want to ruin each other’s lives…though we came so close so many times…every time you threw pebbles at my window or put your head in my lap when we were sitting on a bench or showed up drenched in a rain storm at my door. Every time we hugged so tight and so long when we parted, your face buried in my long hair, your eyelashes flicking my cheek. I think you held me like that to keep our lips as far apart as they could reasonably be in an embrace. My heart would pound so hard I thought it might knock you over. We shimmered and sparkled around and outside ourselves.

I got married. And that’s the part where we turned to ash. You told me once you thought we’d have ended up together for good if I’d never met my husband and I still agree. We’re grown up now. The universe still keeps cleverly throwing our daily orbits together, over and over again. But it’s cool now. I run into you often. I don’t have a heart attack anymore. I’m just happy I still get to see your face while the ash whirls and falls around us and quietly settles on our cheeks and eyelashes, in our hair, on our hands, on the ground.

Read Full Post »

You told me you had a girlfriend, but it blew my mind because you ALWAYS told me about how much you hated her, and how annoying she was. It just surprised me.

You called me late at night telling me you loved me, and you couldn’t wait to break up with her. Then one night we were playing 20 questions, and I said, “What’s the worst thing about me?” and you quickly replied, “That you might not like me any more.” Honestly I thought I was over you, because I went months without talking to you. I thought I didn’t need you, until you showed me why I fell in love with you in the first place.

Now that you guys are broken up, you barely talk to me. I mean we have lunch together, and everyone in our whole high school can tell that we have chemistry. We are just alike, attractive and funny. We are the cutest couple, and everyone says so. And two weeks ago when you came over to my house, you kissed me, and then you didn’t talk to me, until today, the first day of school, when we sat with my friends at our normal lunch spot.

On our way out to the buses, you told me that you wanted me to sit with you tomorrow and that you wanted to randomly start making out. I love you, and I don’t want to wait for you to get the balls to ask me out. I mean im not the dork I used to be. Im going to move on, and find someone, who will give me all of their love. I don’t want to wait, when you don’t want anything, but sex.

Read Full Post »

Once upon a time all the magic I was hoping for totally messed up and arrived all on one night. You made me believe that.

I was a tiny college child. I was infatuated with you, but not in any creepy way…you were sort of this muse who popped in and out of my life and my line of sight while I fell in love with other boys and frolicked about. I didn’t even know your name. I called you Cute Boy. We were thrown together by college things from time to time, and once you said you liked my socks. But who cares about socks!? I just wanted to do you. I had to read Daphnis and Chloe for class and decided you were the Daphnis to my Chloe…so I called you Daphnis instead. Then I stopped and called you Cute Boy again. But never any of this to your fucking cute face. I just wrote poems about you instead.

One night I went to see the Flaming Lips with another boy. I left to walk home convinced I was made of music and glitter and flowers and fake blood and cigarettes and vodka. It had been the most special and awesome show of my life thus far and I couldn’t shut up about it. I left a trail of confetti all the way through the city to my doorstep where I sat at 2am with that other boy and smoked rainbow cigarettes and giggled about how pissed my roommate would be when we went upstairs and made a ruckus before passing out in my tiny dorm bed. Something made us stay outside instead of going inside to snuggle.

I was mid-drag on my hot pink cigarette when you walked up my steps and sat next to me. I thought maybe someone had slipped me something at the show because I was clearly imagining this. You said Hi. You knew my name. You said we should hang out, that it was long overdue. You gave me your number on this small scrap of yellow paper. You said you hoped I would call soon, kissed me on the cheek and took off into the night. The other boy could not believe it – he knew about you, how I felt about you, had even seen you before. We were just friends and he proclaimed that night to be the most magical night.

So I called you. And we went out. And we made out. A lot. I told you everything about how I had thought you were cute for so long but too shy to do anything about it, and you told the same things back to me. That it was the same for you. You had the deepest darkest sparkling eyes and your bed head destroyed me. One night during a crazy lighting storm you told me you thought you might love me and I believed you. Until the next morning when it dawned on me that that, was probably the end.

And it was. I think your proclamation of love scared you. We saw each other a few more times to make out and listen to music and smoke cigarettes. We left for the summer and chatted online a few times but never saw each other. The next fall we made out a couple of times and went record shopping, and that was that. I wasn’t disappointed because I knew the magic had peaked that first night. My friend even said.

Read Full Post »

Has somebody written about this already? Does anybody else want this? Would you do this with me?

I want to make-out to a mixtape of my favorite make-out songs. While it plays for half an hour or more.

I want to make this tape with you or for you. I want some songs to be from when we were teenagers (because we are the same age and grew up in the ’80’s and ’90’s) and some songs to be ones that teenagers listen to now. Because I’m older, lots of times passion happens with mad strong kissing and grabbing of body parts. Quickly getting down to it. Rolling and sweating in the bed. Two strong flexible people. I like that too.

I want the discipline of a make-out session where you keep your clothes on and there’s some drool involved and concentration. Ebbs and flows. Some embarrassment. Hesitant tongues.

I want to be 15 years old again in that way. Do you want that?

Read Full Post »

I remember making out with you on the green couch in my parents house. It was late and you were laying on top of me and the clock would not stop ticking. I felt like it was ticking so loudly, the whole world could hear the seconds go by. But then I could probably hear it because everything else was so silent. Silence and your lips on my lips. Silence and the smack of wetness between teenagers. Winterfresh gum. Aqua Blue. Smack smack, tick, tick. Winterfresh smack. Winterfresh snack.

It was too late for other noises, so my parents must have heard those wet tongues, awkward touches and occasional… moans? Part of me wanted you to touch me and part of me wanted you to behave. What would it even have felt like if you had tried to feel me? Probably not so Winterfresh. That couch was so uncomfortable and that clock was so loud and that gum got sort of stale. There comes a point in kissing when it just starts to feel weird. You start to think about what you are doing with your tongue. Where to put your hands. How your neck is getting sore. Why you are being crushed under a sweaty teenager.

So you went home. At least I didn’t get in trouble for missing curfew.

Read Full Post »

%d bloggers like this: