Everyone does embarrassing things as a teenager. It’s like a milestone of the age group. If you’re like me, you crashed your dad’s car the night before your seventeenth birthday and you held house parties that soaked so much tequila into the kitchen rug that your parents immediately busted you as soon as they got home and realized the whole house smelled like a margarita. Case in point: teenagers are dumb. My brain was only about halfway developed at that point, and there were a lot of things that I thought were super cool or amazing that I’d never consider doing now. That includes things in the romance department.
Staying up all night sexting a guy who was saying how much he’d like to *gasp* see me in a bra used to be considered the absolute height of romance. What could possibly be more of a turn on than describing what you wanted to do to someone’s body back when texts still had a character limit? This was back during the time of curfews and sneaking out, when risking getting in trouble with your parents was the ultimate sign of devotion to someone else. If you were doing something you knew you’d get in trouble for, you were doing something right. Now, most of those things are either irrelevant or somehow transitioned in my mind from exciting to completely distasteful since adulthood. Thanks for nothing, maturity. Here are some of those things that used to be considered the height of exciting romantic endeavors, and now just seem like they’d make me want to kill myself.
Staying Up All Night Talking On The Phone
There are so, so many things wrong with this one. First of all, who has actual conversations over the phone anymore with anyone except their mom? Secondly, I remember a time when I would quite literally stay up all night, on a school night, talking about nothing with the person I was into at the time. I once didn’t sleep at all—just gabbed about nonsense for EIGHT hours, and then it was time to get up and go to school. This was back when fights about phone bills were common and vicious. Now, the thought of doing this makes me want to vomit. I can barely function through a day on eight hours of sleep total at this point, let alone zero. But back then, the buzz of horniness could get me through just about anything, sleep or no sleep.
Sex In Random Places, But Mostly Cars
Back when having sex was still dangerous because you were a teenager living at home with your parents, we all got a little risky. Car sex is the quintessential image of teenage intimacy, which I’m pretty sure is an oxymoron. If you were lucky enough to have someone willing to show you their genitals and access to a vehicle, you were as close to a god as a person can ever get. If it was a large car, like an SUV or a truck, that was even better. The rest of us had to get creative in a cramped backseat on a summer night by the beach where a homeless guy sat and watched the entire time. But it was still sexy, because we were idiots. The thought of car sex now that I have an actual home to myself, with privacy and, ya know, a bed, just seems silly. Why have sex in the backseat of a Jeep when you could lay your head down on a pillow and pretend to be asleep as soon as he finishes? The adult version of romance involves a lot more missionary and a lot less sex in cars than I would’ve guessed as a teenager. Depressing, but true.
On the flip side of the car sex are the nights that were spent without any “real sex” at all. There were hours and hours spent doing nothing but making out and dry humping, and it was fucking amazing. I don’t know how someone touching my boobs for four hours was as hot as it was, but it was incredible. I could keep my pants on for most, if not all, of the night, and it was just as hot as sex, if not more so. Maybe it was the fact that this was when sex was new and seeing someone even partially naked was nearly enough to make you pass out from sheer joy. I still enjoy foreplay, as does everyone with a vagina in the universe, but after a while I want to move on to the main event. It’s not enough anymore to make out for three hours and then call it a night. Three hours? I could have had an orgasm twenty minutes in and already be asleep. Sleep in the adult world is precious, and if I can get some extra by skipping out on another fifteen minutes of making out, you can bet your ass I’m going to. Take my pants off and get down there, already.
Basically, there’s a lot that I used to consider exhilarating or sexy that I would never choose to do now that I have other options. But would I go back if I could to a time when things were less complicated, and a steamy night in the backseat was an evening well spent? You bet your ass I would. So take a page from John Cougar Mellencamp’s banger Jack & Diane, and hold onto sixteen as long you can. Soon, you’ll be a boring adult who needs to sleep more than they need another half hour of foreplay, so go put some footprints on the ceiling of your car while you still can without pulling a muscle. Thank me later..
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