I miss making out. Not that I don’t do it anymore, but not the way I used to. I mean that I miss kissing that’s unaccompanied by sex, or thoughts of sex, or thoughts of a relationship, or thoughts of anything other than just — making out.
That’s the best part of being a teenager – you can kiss without having to worry about all the stuff that comes after. I guess that’s not true anymore, really, is it? But it was when I was a teenager.
You know that kiss that isn’t going anywhere, but might? Unhurried, undistracted. “Long, slow deep wet kisses that last three days.” You know that line had to come from a movie, because no actual man ever said that and meant it as anything other than a pick-up line.
That kiss where you know your partner’s tongue as well as you know your own? The kind that starts our a little frantic and then you get each other’s rythym and eventually you almost feel like the same person, until you realize your foot fell asleep and you really need to move?
I imagine myself kissing women all the time.
I wanted to be Batgirl. I wanted to kiss Wonder Woman.
I wanted to be Dorothy. I wanted to kiss Glinda.
I want to be Buffy Summers. I want to kiss Willow.
I want to be Gillian Anderson. I want to kiss Jodie Foster.
I really want to kiss Holly Marie Coombs, but if I were Holly Marie Coombs, I’d want to kiss Shannen Dorhety.
Gina Gershon has me all twisted up in knots. I want to kiss her and be her at the same time.