Thinking about it recently I’ve realised that when I talk about missing having sex, its not actually the penetration that I miss the most, it’s everything that leads up to that.
Mainly it’s kissing that I miss.
Sometimes I hark back to the days of being a teenager, when sex wasn’t the final destination. Spending the evening snogging a guy with a little added heavy petting was all that was needed to satisfy me.
There was once this guy, we went to school together and when we came back from summer to start year 10 that’s when I first started to really notice him.
The year before he had been short with large glasses and a brilliant shock of orange hair but this year he was different. He had really filled out over the summer, coming back taller with broader shoulders.
For the space of about three weeks, at lunch time after we had both quickly eaten our food, one of us would secretly signal to the other that it was time to leave, we pretended to everyone that nothing was going on between us. We would meet up on this raised walkway between the maths block and the gymnasium and we would spend the rest of the lunch hour just kissing. He may have slipped his hand under my top a few times but never moved it up to my breasts. It was just simple and innocent.
I don’t even remember how it started or how it ended. What I do remember is how I would go back to class my lips a little sore, my knickers slightly damp and feeling lighter than air.
That is the feeling I miss the most.