where the fuck is the love, huh?

oh, there it is.

so, i've been giving a lot of thought to making out vs. doing it. but it's a lot of half-assed thought; like, i'll be driving, composing sentences in my head about faking orgasms, but not really coming around to a point. it started with a question. the question was not, as one might suspect, "whyyyyyyyyyy??" it was more like, "why does making out inevitably turn into sex as soon as people get horizontal?" when you're standing up, fully clothed, at a party where you don't know anyone other than the people from the car and the guy whose face you're sucking, it's not like you slip away into the bathroom for a quickie, right? but if the party had been at your house, and you snuck (sneaked? snuck? snookied?) into your room for a smidge more privacy and a smidge less overt scandal, you would end up sitting on the bed, one of you would push the other one over, and then suddenly you'd be naked. but whatever happened to that intermediate stage of horizontal, fully- or mostly-clothed making out? i suppose it's hard to know when to stop with making out. with sex, the stopping point is generally clear: when one or more parties involved has/fakes an orgasm (see, here's that sentence i told you about), the show's over. unless, you know, the guy's been popping pills, which he warned you about, to be fair. "it always makes me take longer to bust," he said, at the bar, in front of your drunk roommate, who totally didn't even notice, even though it was such an absurd thing to say in a bar. but when it becomes obvious that "takes longer" really meant "not gonna happen," when do you stop then? do you wait for the chaffing? or do you suggest the reintroduction of clothing for a more wholesome yet hotter make-out session? it's true: the fully clothed horizontal make-out is totally the hottest, but it just doesn't seem to happen anymore.

god, these peaches are nasty. i can't handle badly textured fruit. that's why i rarely eat red apples. always so mealy, those red ones.