I missed the cut-off for Kink of the Week, but hey, I’d already written the post, so Fuck It.
I miss the innocence of love bites. There is something very nostalgic about them. They hark back to another time in our lives. I was going to say a less complicated time, but if my memories of teenage relationships, allegiances, and dalliances are remotely typical, it was far from simple.
Drama and heartache aside, the passionate encounters of our teenage years hold a place in our memories for good reason. Those early sexual experiences put us on the road to becoming the horny perverts and filth-merchants we are today. Those were the days where we agonised about precisely how far we were prepared to go, how far everyone else was going (or claimed to go) and painstakingly deconstructed every encounter with the objects of our affections. Or maybe that was just me…
Once we go beyond a certain point in our lives, we become accustomed to the idea that after a few dates with a new person of interest, sex becomes inevitable. You like them, they seem to like you, so it’s just the next step. It’s accepted enough that 90’s sitcoms would refer to the “third date” with a knowing wink to the audience. Everyone knew what that meant, what the expectations were. Of course, it wasn’t compulsory, and I hope everyone involved consented with enthusiasm. I wonder do at the change though, from our adolescent selves. When we snogged on buses and in cinemas, fondled and groped at parties, and became the object of gossip and giggles because of something as innocent as a love bite.
It’s also an awesomely cheesy rock ballad by Def Leppard.