Public displays of affection are a common sight. Couples hug, hold hands and kiss in front of people all of the time. No big whoop. It doesn’t bother me, as long as it doesn’t stray too far from being G rated.
If you’re making out with someone in a car, parked on your local lovers lane, you are still technically in public, but you have a little more privacy. Sure, it’s a cramped space and everything, but it’s cheaper than getting a motel room and your only real problem is keeping an eye out for the fuzz.
Ah, taking a romantic stroll in the woods. What a perfect opportunity to get horizontal with your beloved. I had a high school friend who claimed that while she was having sex with her boyfriend on a pile of leaves, she ended up getting jabbed in the ass with a stick.
Oh, that’s right. This is supposed to be about me and my past sexual misadventures.
When I was about 19 or so, myself and a couple of friends put personal ads in our local newspaper. This was before the internet, so you truly were “blind” on these dates. All you had to go on was what the guy told you he looked like, as there was no such thing yet as a profile picture or Facebook. Not even MySpace.
So anyways, I was finally meeting up with someone that I had talked with on the telephone (landline, of course) a few times. He sounded like a nice guy, plus he was funny, which was an instant point in his favor. A sense of humor is mandatory.
I was sitting on a bench waiting for him. It was an afternoon date because he had to go to work that evening. Just when I was starting to think that he wasn’t going to show, a cute guy with brown hair walked up to me.
“Are you Merry?” he asked. He was smiling and seemed to approve of my appearance. Yay!
“Yes, that’s me,” I replied, breathing a sigh of relief that he was tall and appeared to have good hygiene. He was wearing some kind of cologne that made me a bit randy.
We got our tickets and found our seats. It was some lame horror movie and since my memory is slippery when it comes to certain things, I can’t recall the name of it.
I mean, I can’t even remember what his fucking name was. I’ve wracked my brain and I still got nothing.
The theater had perhaps two dozen other people in attendance. We sat in the second row, right in the middle. How odd that I can remember that small detail.
Maybe it was because the movie sucked so badly, but not too soon after it started, we began to make out.
Big deal, Mer, I bet you’re thinking. Rolling your eyes and shit.
Well, it was a big deal to me for two main reasons.
- I barely knew the guy. I didn’t even know what his favorite color or pizza topping was.
- Other people were totally watching us!!
I still don’t know how he managed to undo my bra.
I actually liked that people were aware of what we were doing, what they called “heavy petting” back in the olden days. It was a major turn on.
You know, on a first date, because why the fuck not?
After the movie ended, he said that he’d call me and we’d plan another outing. I honestly thought that he really meant it, but I never heard from him again and I didn’t have the nerve to call him. I’m not good at that kind of thing. I’ve always taken pride in the fact that I can usually take a hint.
All we were meant to share together was one afternoon of public lust and a half eaten bag of buttered popcorn. I sometimes wonder if he still remembers that day and why he didn’t contact me again.
Maybe he thought that I was a super freak, the kind you don’t take home to mother.