Driving to work this morning I was overcome by a sudden urge to make out like a teenager.  Because my intimate moments are at the very tip of what is bound to be a very long stretch of time in which the role of the opposite sex will be played by my right and left hands respectively this type of urge is not surprising.  The raging hormone filled make out sessions of high school aged teenagers seemed like a perfect analogy for my own overly stimulated desires.  This thought might have ended here with nothing more than a mental picture in my head to perfectly describe my state of being, but that wouldnt make a very good story now would it?

Without warning several 2x4 pieces of lumber broke free of a flatbed truck several cars ahead of me.  All but one of these chunks of former trees bounced clear of the roadway thus keeping the vehicles on the road in front of me free of damage, but this sigh of relief ended abruptly.  In a scene right out of Final Destination II (minus the screaming, blood, death, explosions, cool sound effects and minus about twenty cars) that last 2x4 careened into the window of a Chevy Lumina which in turned swerved viciously side swiping a newer model Ford F150.  Yours truly had slowed down a bit in case sudden acceleration and deft maneuvering were in order to avoid obstacles so I got a clean view of the thing.  Much to my dismay I was also the only witness to the accident thus making my participation in the pending emergency call and police involvement a necessity.  In addition to having plenty of time to ponder my rotten luck, it got me to thinking about my initial thought of the day as well.

I first thought back to the days of my teenager years and recalled with a frown how hard it was to find a girl to make out with.  Being a late bloomer with a voice that constantly cracked and a face full of pimples did not help ones self esteem.  There were times when my awkwardness shined through and I always managed to say the worst things and the worst possible times.  The resulting looks of disdain and dismissals left my teenage lust in limbo more often than it resulted in an outlet.

Once I could finally find an outlet the relief of having a female form to lock lips with was short lived.  Performance anxiety flooded any relief away in a tsunami of fear.  Possible situations each more embarrassing than the last peppered my brain.  What if my breath stinks?  What if we bump heads?  What happens if I have my eyes closed and end up kissing her nose instead?  When is an appropriate time to head for second base?  What do I do if I get a boner?  With all these questions bouncing around in my head like a bingo machine gone mad, the results of actual make out sessions were not always up to expectations.  There were long moments of unpleasant silence that always seemed to break when both parties thought of something to say and the exact same time.  Sweaty palms, clearing throats and uncouth attempts to move closer together made the attempts to hit pay dirt all the more complex.  And what happens when one of us finally gets the urge to make a move?  We clonk foreheads together and inevitably I miss her mouth and end up licking the side of her cheek or worse yet sticking it in one of her nostrils.  For two hours of work often yielded little more than a few minutes of make out time and if I was lucky I got to grab a boob.  This is also when I finally understood first hand what it meant when a friend would advise me, man that girl gives me blue balls.

There has been a rash of older men sexing up under eighteen teens and reports of young girls becoming sexually active at ages where I was still playing with G.I. Joes.  Personally I have noted a ton and occasionally viewed a string of Barely Legal and Just Eighteen pornographic videos.  My high school had these girls hidden in some secret class room because I never saw chicks that looked like that.  There were always rumors of slutty girls but even the sluts had standards.  The vast majority of teen aged girls (even the sluts) are far removed in proportions to those that grace the covers of the afore mentioned sex videos.  When given my druthers during these years I would go for the girl that wasnt fat, didnt have bad acne, wasnt a horse face, sported perky breasts and had the perfect ass.  Sadly and truthfully do to the biological changes that take place during these precious years finding a cute girl that was packed, racked and stacked was an impossibility; even the cute cheer leader types had to grow into their breasts.

Finally who could forget the ultimate nemesis in the way of your average teenage make out artist; braces.  Before technology allowed for clear plastics and hybrid polymers a brace faced teen sported a mouth full of tetanus inspiring metal.  In fact so rudimentary were some of these devices that poor families would often rent the mouths of their slumbering children as traps to catch small animals in order to make ends meet.  Anyone who has had a close encounter of the orthodontic kind can relay stories of sliced lips and cuts in some rather uncomfortable places.  A make out couple both sporting these devices is like a suicide bomber in Baghdad; its not a matter of how or why but only a matter of when.

You will forgive me, dear reader, if upon further review I decide to use an all together different euphemism to colorfully describe my urges and instincts to have a hot and bothered make out session with the opposite sex; making out like a teenager just doesnt seem all that it is hyped to be.

Authors Note: The initial attempt at a substitute catch phrase was met with mixed results.  I guess there are just certain types of people this would appeal to so I guess I will curb this terminology as well.  I mean seriously, sucking face until I collapse a lung just doesnt have the same kind of ring to it now does it?

Up next: Making out like a Porn Store might not be nearly as fun as it sounds.