If you haven't done this in a while, listen up ...
I’ll admit, I haven’t really spent a whole lot of time making out since … say … college.
Certainly not since the beginning of my relationship with Marilyn (which, of course, was in college.)
I remember the first time I made out with a girl — in high school, in the basement, while my parents had guests over upstairs. Guests who were well aware that me and my new girlfriend were going downstairs to make out, and who made a point to talk loudly every time they passed the basement stairs, making as though they were going to come down. Giving us that jump to separate sides of the couch moment.
That night we “watched” two movies, but made out until our lips were sore in the dim flickering light of a 20 inch tube television.
When we grow up, we get distracted, don’t we. Especially as swingers, we tend to make out for a few minutes, but then hands are here and there, and before long tongues are in anuses.
Or is that just me? Maybe I skipped a few steps in there, but I think my theory is sound.
Because making out is a fucking blast.
I’ve had a few swing partners who have really loved kissing, and since I love it too, I’ll spend more time making out with them than others, but still nothing compared to what awaited me upon exploring polyamory and relationships.
When I first started looking around for poly girls to date, I went out one night with a former swing playmate, but on what I thought was likely a poly date.
I’ll admit, it’d been roughly twelve years since I last had dates that didn’t have expectations of sex, or at the very least, Dirty Sanchez-es. (I kid, of course, nobody likes the Dirty Sanchez.)
Because of this long hiatus, and because of a pretty successful couple years of swinging, I’d really forgotten how non-sex-dates go. I’d forgotten how to do the build up — forgotten how to adjust the barometer of relationship that doesn’t stampede down the sexual brick road.
All the above being said, it’s not like I’m immediately thrusting my dick inside my dates. I’m skilled at a long and detailed foreplay, it just rarely involves extended making out without … other stimulation.
For the first time in twelve years, I made out until my lips hurt. What a glorious thing. To spend the hours kissing and mingling tongues. To return to those moments of fevered groping outside the clothes, to experience that fleeting connection through two layers of jeans.
We forget about this. And it’s a shame.
So I’m trying to relish it across the board — with Marilyn again, with my swing partners who enjoy the art of the kiss, and with my girlfriend, who will kiss for hours ... before grabbing me by the dick and pulling me down the hall to the bedroom.
I encourage you to slow things down for a night, be high schoolers again, make out and have some heavy petting.
It’s a glorious experience that connects us to our youth, to ourselves, to our partners, and to a point in our life where we weren’t all jaded cynics who aren’t even surprised by the words “anal fisting.”
Yep. ANAL fisting.
Listen now: Cooper gets the night off from Life on the Swingset: The Podcast as Ginger makes herself available to Dylan to discuss his attraction to breasts, and his fear that they are the focus of WAY too much of his attention and energy.
This article was originally published at Life on the Swingset. Reprinted with permission from the author.