I didn't blog last night.
Gasp.
It's awful, I'm aware, but I didn't even know. I had a super busy day, waiting to be released from scoring essays until almost 5 and then had to make an almost 300-mile drive that of course I got lost on because I'm the most incapable person in the world when it comes to directions, and I had no data, and, therefore, no gps. While going the wrong way on the expressway could have set me back only a half hour if even that because I called my guardian angel aka Griffin to look up a route for me from his laptop, it turned out to be way longer because it fortuitously brought me to Ybor City where I stopped for some vegan pho and an eiskaffe, which was one of the best coffee drinks I've ever had. I didn't even get on the road until almost 8, which means I didn't even get home until right around 11; I still had to run, and I don't think I've told you this, but BTJ and I have been talking since I sent my NC-17 text, and he was coming to my house which means I was going to be seeing him for the first time since that Sunday in the beginning of June, so blogging wasn't really on my mind.
Anyway. I'd like to talk making out.
For my entire life up until tonight sometime around 5:00, I considered French kissing to be making out. Like, to me the two things were exactly the same. I'm not sure my mind has completely changed, but I can say that I'm now aware this isn't necessarily what everyone thinks*.
*For the purpose of this post along with everything I ever say or do for the rest of my life, when I say kiss, I mean French kiss. If I mean something else, you'll know.
I've mentioned before, people who read my blog, that I love to kiss. It's not something I ever thought I had to make clear, but when I say kiss, I mean what I've always thought of as making out, and while I'm aware not everyone loves kissing as much as me, I totally thought it was something almost everybody does. I have a friend who doesn't--saliva grosses her out--and I've always thought it was the craziest thing. Once when she said something jokingly about us getting married, I told her I could never do it because she doesn't like to kiss, and while there are a lot more reasons that marriage isn't in our cards, it's true. I could never have a happy sexual relationship with someone who doesn't like to kiss.
Which brings me to last night.
I told you BTJ came over when I got home. I also told you we kissed a lot the other times he came over, and I mean kissed kissed, like real kisses, not the pussy pop kind--for fuck's sake, he bruised my tongue. So imagine my surprise when after our first time having sex and I was all over him trying to make out, he laughed at me and said something about me searching for his tongue, prompting a conversation that led to his revealing that when he kisses, he doesn't like to use his tongue.
Dude.
But it literally said on my Bumble profile making out is one of my loves.
Yeah, but making out doesn't have to be with tongue.
What? Yes, it does. It totally does.
I consider any kind of open mouth kissing to be making out.
What? No. If it's not French kissing, it's not making out.
Tongues are just gross. They make me think of octopus tentacles crashing together. I can feel the bumps on a tongue. What are they called?
Taste buds?
Dude.
I feel like I've been duped.
Duped!
And maybe you think I'm being petulant and making an unnecessary big deal, but I swear I wouldn't have had sex with him if I'd known his kissing stance. There's also no way I'd have felt as into him as I did because there is no way I could ever be seriously into anyone if I knew beforehand my tongue was going to be forced to languish in the confines of my mouth when I want to make out.
Anyway.
Today I decided to look up making out. See if BTJ was wrong about what constitutes making out or if I was. You know what? It turns out we both were. According to a bunch of sites and public opinion, making out isn't just kissing, French or otherwise, but kissing plus beyond. Making out, according to the Internet, includes, in addition to kissing, some or all of the following things: petting, heavy petting (which differs from plain only petting because the former is above the waist and the latter is below it), dry humping, and really just about anything related to sex that isn't actual fucking.
Maybe BTJ and I were both wrong, but he was definitely more wrong. All the things above normally occur, I have no doubt, alongside the presence of a not-relegated-to-the-bottom-of-the-mouth, equated-to-a-mollusk fucking tongue.
Fucking duped.
Gasp.
It's awful, I'm aware, but I didn't even know. I had a super busy day, waiting to be released from scoring essays until almost 5 and then had to make an almost 300-mile drive that of course I got lost on because I'm the most incapable person in the world when it comes to directions, and I had no data, and, therefore, no gps. While going the wrong way on the expressway could have set me back only a half hour if even that because I called my guardian angel aka Griffin to look up a route for me from his laptop, it turned out to be way longer because it fortuitously brought me to Ybor City where I stopped for some vegan pho and an eiskaffe, which was one of the best coffee drinks I've ever had. I didn't even get on the road until almost 8, which means I didn't even get home until right around 11; I still had to run, and I don't think I've told you this, but BTJ and I have been talking since I sent my NC-17 text, and he was coming to my house which means I was going to be seeing him for the first time since that Sunday in the beginning of June, so blogging wasn't really on my mind.
Anyway. I'd like to talk making out.
For my entire life up until tonight sometime around 5:00, I considered French kissing to be making out. Like, to me the two things were exactly the same. I'm not sure my mind has completely changed, but I can say that I'm now aware this isn't necessarily what everyone thinks*.
*For the purpose of this post along with everything I ever say or do for the rest of my life, when I say kiss, I mean French kiss. If I mean something else, you'll know.
I've mentioned before, people who read my blog, that I love to kiss. It's not something I ever thought I had to make clear, but when I say kiss, I mean what I've always thought of as making out, and while I'm aware not everyone loves kissing as much as me, I totally thought it was something almost everybody does. I have a friend who doesn't--saliva grosses her out--and I've always thought it was the craziest thing. Once when she said something jokingly about us getting married, I told her I could never do it because she doesn't like to kiss, and while there are a lot more reasons that marriage isn't in our cards, it's true. I could never have a happy sexual relationship with someone who doesn't like to kiss.
Which brings me to last night.
I told you BTJ came over when I got home. I also told you we kissed a lot the other times he came over, and I mean kissed kissed, like real kisses, not the pussy pop kind--for fuck's sake, he bruised my tongue. So imagine my surprise when after our first time having sex and I was all over him trying to make out, he laughed at me and said something about me searching for his tongue, prompting a conversation that led to his revealing that when he kisses, he doesn't like to use his tongue.
Dude.
But it literally said on my Bumble profile making out is one of my loves.
Yeah, but making out doesn't have to be with tongue.
What? Yes, it does. It totally does.
I consider any kind of open mouth kissing to be making out.
What? No. If it's not French kissing, it's not making out.
Tongues are just gross. They make me think of octopus tentacles crashing together. I can feel the bumps on a tongue. What are they called?
Taste buds?
Dude.
I feel like I've been duped.
Duped!
And maybe you think I'm being petulant and making an unnecessary big deal, but I swear I wouldn't have had sex with him if I'd known his kissing stance. There's also no way I'd have felt as into him as I did because there is no way I could ever be seriously into anyone if I knew beforehand my tongue was going to be forced to languish in the confines of my mouth when I want to make out.
Anyway.
Today I decided to look up making out. See if BTJ was wrong about what constitutes making out or if I was. You know what? It turns out we both were. According to a bunch of sites and public opinion, making out isn't just kissing, French or otherwise, but kissing plus beyond. Making out, according to the Internet, includes, in addition to kissing, some or all of the following things: petting, heavy petting (which differs from plain only petting because the former is above the waist and the latter is below it), dry humping, and really just about anything related to sex that isn't actual fucking.
Maybe BTJ and I were both wrong, but he was definitely more wrong. All the things above normally occur, I have no doubt, alongside the presence of a not-relegated-to-the-bottom-of-the-mouth, equated-to-a-mollusk fucking tongue.
Fucking duped.
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