Sucking Face and Falling In Love

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Kissing is weird. I was watching a movie recently and the two main characters embraced and started making out. For some reason, I was struck with this thought: “Gross!” I don’t know why, something about the way it looked like he was going to eat her face, and she was trying to suck his tongue like it was a dick, shudder. It was strange, because the moments leading up to the face-suck were those classic moments in a movie where the single gals wish they had a partner, and the coupled wish their’s were more… something. All leading up to this final embrace of nasty, germy lip-smacking.

“Kissing is weird.”

When I was 17 I had this boyfriend for a while. He was smart, funny, cute—at least I thought so—and we would talk and lay around in bed making out for hours. I remember thinking I should buy stock in Chapstick because of all the tubes I went through during those kisses. Funny thing is, I think we had sex like twice. Right before we broke up. And I don’t remember it being all that great either. But we kissed. And kissed. And kissed. Through our favorite songs, through whole albums, through the night and into the morning.

My cousin visited last year. She is 47, and had been with her husband for about eight or nine years. I had been with my boyfriend around four years at the time. We were having girl time, drinking, smoking what-have-you, and she asked me, “Do you and Billy make out?”

It was funny because the moment she asked the question, I realized for a while I had been wondering what was wrong with my relationship. We have sex regularly, it is good sex, creative, but not too crazy for either of us. We are affectionate, we hug, we cuddle on the couch watching movies. But we never kiss. A peck on the lips here and there and in the middle of sex a little mouth-on-mouth action for a second, but for some reason none of the connected-at-the-hip and connected-at-the-lip fucking I think of when I think of passionate sex. Which is silly, because our lovemaking is absolutely passionate. It just lacks kissing. I thought for a second, feeling sort of ashamed that we don’t, but said, “No.”

She looked super relieved. “When Sam and I first got together, we kissed a lot, but now never. I think kissing is one of those things guys do when they first meet a girl and then later, it just seems like a waste of time, like let’s just get to the sex.”

Clearly she wishes there was more kissing in her relationship, but what she was describing, is totally how I feel about it. I mean I am all about foreplay, don’t get me wrong, but I realized in this short conversation, usually when I am in that initial “make-out” part of the lovemaking process, or in that “we-haven’t-had-sex-yet-so-we-are-making-out” part of a relationship, I am eager to get on with it so we can get to the real part.

I feel like I am not supposed to think like this, like the kissing and stroking part are the parts that mean you really love each other while the insertion part is the animal sex drive part. But I am an animal. I don’t really notice a lot of kissing when animals fuck. I feel like while kissing has its place, it is partly there to make us feel better about wanting to have an orgasm. The puritanical bullshit we are brought up with says that while touching your mouth to another person’s mouth is OK, sex isn’t.

Like anything else in bed, everyone has their own interests, and I am not saying I think it is dumb to make out or whatever, but like my 17-year-old self, I guess I think of making out as the preemptive strike, and once you cross the line of death, an all-and-all war breaks out. And it’s a lot more fucking fun than kissing.