Running the Bases

As a young girl, I could not wait for my first kiss. A kiss, a real one, not one from mom or dad or grandma or grandpa, but a bonafide lip parting, tongue sharing kiss - like the ones in the movies - meant someone loved you or at least liked you a whole lot. I really really wanted someone to love me or like me a whole lot. I envisioned how it would happen, what he would look like, how it would feel, EVERYTHING. Then, I waited. In sixth grade I liked my next door neighbor, but he never kissed me. In seventh and eighth grade I had a thing for my junior high's resident delinquent. He kissed a lot of girls those two years, but I wasn't one of them. Ninth grade, I set my sights on a guy five years older than me. He didn't really notice my existence, so needless to say, I didn't get a kiss from him either. All around me other girls were getting kissed left and right. They had long since made it to first base and were on second, contemplating stealing third. Hell, a few of them had managed to make it all the way to home base, before I even had my first at bat. Finally, the summer after my freshman year of high school, it happened. I had my first kiss. After all the anticipation and build up it can best be described as an anticlimactic disappointment. A few days after my 15th birthday I got kissed behind a tree by a boy I just met at an outdoor concert featuring the Boys Choir of Harlem. It started with a goodbye hug and turned into 5 seconds of slobber and sucking. I instantly regretted it. My first kiss was supposed to be special and it wasn't. I didn't kiss again for a long time. That kiss meant nothing, but kissing still meant something, at least to me.
Back then, kissing was a big deal in and of itself. Anything on top of kissing was damn near groundbreaking. Well, maybe because it was. In 8th grade I was best friends with the AquaNet Addict. She always had a boyfriend, so I lived vicariously through her because I never did. We would sit in her bedroom, talking in hushed tones and she'd confide in me about the latest relationship milestones she and her boyfriend had reached. She told me about the first time they kissed, the first time he felt her up - over the bra of course. One day she was particularly excited to tell me that she had put her hands down his pants. These confessions didn't tumble out one after the other. There was always a significant length of time between each of them. Once AquaNet Addict made it to first base (kissing) she stayed there for a while before moving on to second base (the feel up). When she eventually made it to third, she planted herself there, not wanting to make the trip to home plate at the age of 14. I can't say that I blame her. While there were girls who had made it back to home several times with several different pitchers, they were in the minority. For the majority, making it to first was more than good enough.
I don't know what happened, but somewhere along the line kissing stopped being sufficient. Honestly, I can't remember the last time I just kissed a guy. And I'm not talking about the type of kiss that starts on the mouth, moves to the neck and winds up all over your body. I mean a nice long kiss that's sweet and sexy without being sexual. A kiss that only leaves you yearning for more kisses, not multiple orgasms. I haven't kissed like that in I don't know how long. Now, kissing is always the precursor to more. It's the necessary evil you've gotta rush through to get to the good stuff. Even the good kisses are like this. Instead of holding at first base, and just enjoying being there, I find myself sprinting right past it then wondering how in the hell my clothes fell off (and I am asserting right now that it is possible to wind up naked and have no clue how it happened).
Not only is kissing no longer sufficient, it's no longer special. Unlike junior high or high school, a kiss no longer means, "I really like you," but more likely means, "I'd like to fuck you." Since it doesn't mean what it used to, there's also no need to hold out for it. When I was a teenager, the first thing my girlfriends and I used to ask each other after going out on a date was, "Did you kiss him." Sometimes the answer was yes, sometimes it was no. But in our minds that was the carrot we dangled (at least initially). Now when my friends and I talk about our dates the first thing we ask is, "Did you sleep with him?" The kiss is a given. Let me tell you that a simple no does NOT suffice. Even though sex (only one type counts) doesn't happen, a lot more than kissing did, and my friends KNOW this. What they are really asking is, "How much clothing did you lose before you regained your senses and stopped."
Sometimes I wonder why we stop running the bases as we get older. Each step was a milestone, something to look forward to. Now we speed right through them...hell some of us even skip over a couple. I want to go back to how it was when I was younger and have everything mean what it used to. I really want to hold out for that special kiss and then revel in it for while before proceeding. I want to get back to the point where a kiss ALWAYS means, "I like you," at the very least. I've told myself a million times that I'm gonna go back to the bases system, but it hasn't happened yet. Last summer when I was going through a bit of a wild phase, not even touching the bases, Chesty LaRue wanted my advice. For some reason I was managing to get serviced without having to ask or do any servicing myself. She wanted to know how I had accomplished such a feat. I couldn't give her a reason, but Chesty became convinced it was because I was holding back the ultimate prize. Who knew that being naked with a guy's face between your legs could ever be considered holding out? My mom would be so proud.