kissing at halftime

I never made out under the bleachers. With anyone. That just wasn’t the kind of high school life I had. (I did make out with someone under a piano in a church once, but that’s a different story.) But I knew people who did; I saw them. Under the bleachers and in the stairwell and around that one corner by the elevator that only kids who broke their legs got to use, they touched and kissed and generally had much better things to do than study.

I didn’t really envy them at the time,(hell, I liked to study) but they knew something important: good sex is not all about intercourse. In fact, there’s a hell of a lot of pleasure to be had right in front of the irritated and helpless hall monitors.  Kissing, touching, leaning into the pleasures of skin and bone against skin and concrete; anticipation; possibility; the small theater of costume and dance that was the heart of the high school social scene–so much more than just tab a into slot b.

SO much more.

Remember your first kiss?  If it was any good at all, it was probably as good as at least some of the intercourse you’ve had.  Remember wanting your girlfriend or boyfriend more than anything else in the world?  Remember the thrill of….holding hands?  Come on, it must have been thrilling once, before life got busy and you became a jaded junior or senior and holding hands was kid stuff.