An ode to making out

Less than two weeks away from my annual holiday visit to HomeTown, planning has already begun for various reunions and bar nights. This talks, of course, lead me to reminiscing-- thoughts of lunch hours, sleepovers, camping, house parties... and making out.

Making out was different back when it was the end goal, rather than just a brief stopover on the way to another destination. There is something about the furtiveness, the franticness, even the awkwardness that I almost miss-- tangled shirts, undone buttons. 

There was so forbidden about it, as though you always had to be vigilant to the sound of footsteps or a knock at the door, but you would still let yourself get a little more caught up and carried away than intended.

Sure, as a girl, you were forced to remain especially attentive to the whole situation and how it progressed. You'd have to keep it at the forefront of your mind what "the line" was, blocking his hands with yours or murmuring "We'd better stop". You'd have to prepare yourself for the puppy dogs eyes, the whispering pleas and promises, or even the lines of desperation (who can forget blue balls?), shake your head, stand your ground, reluctantly or not. 

Still, there was something enticing about those moments when you weren't too sure how much you could resist, when you could get that swept up despite having all of your clothes on.