I Am Becoming An Illegal Pervert

Have you ever heard that thing about how a guy reaches his sexual peak in his late teens, and a lady reaches hers in her mid-30s? Well, I’m pretty sure that’s true because I am a 33 year-old lady and am quickly becoming an illegal pervert. Not like I’m doing illegal things, such as licking neighbor’s mailboxes or dry humping spare tires in the Sears auto department, but I’m getting there. I recently broke up with someone and minus a few hot kissy times, I have been a party of one in my pants. At first I was coming at my newly single status all like “whoo hoo, freedom!” and now I creepily stare at the eyes and lips of any attractive person who talks to me for more than five minutes in hopes that they accidentally put their tongue in my mouth.

I can remember a time when it was so easy to transition from sitting in a house/apartment/car/parking lot/ bush with someone, probs drinking some Boones Farm and talking about feminism or something to rubbing on each other’s privates. And now it’s like I hang out with a person for 10 hours and am sitting there dumbfounded when, after the 8th Netflixed episode of Gossip Girl, we’re still not naked and “doing the grownup.” I have always been of the opinion that sex and hot makeouts just happen naturally, but an ongoing argument with a good friend via text message has given me pause on the matter. Where I have always assumed that an unknown, perfectly mixed and beautifully mysterious combo of elements caused love to be made (ugh, I hate myself right now), my friend suggests that “moves” have to happen. But who’s in charge of making them because I sure as shit aint gonna start talking about how you look in the moonlight. I guess the moral of the story is that if you want to touch some boobies, you’ve gotta do some sort of emotional/verbal PowerPoint Presentation. But I’m not gonna do that because it’s less special if I have to make the first move. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

With very little transitioning, I’m gonna start talking about something completely different now.

There is a singer who lives in Canada who I’ve been having near constant sex dreams about. I should probably email her out of the clear blue and tell her about them, even though we’ve never really talked, but have only had some minor interactions at her shows. This is a good idea right? Is this a good “move?” If I could be completely honest all of the time, and not have to craft non-stop trickeries and monologues in order to get by in life, a sample sentence of something I’d say to someone who’s lips I wanted to touch with my lips would be: “you make me want to barf a lot less than everyone else does.” I’m just gonna start saying this when I think it and hope for the best. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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