Making Out

A love story

Friday, June 27, 2007 - A Craigslist post

“I need to make out. Let me restate that… I NEEEEED to make out.

Sure, I'm intelligent, grounded, well read, gracious and kind (do men know that these things really do improve how a person kisses?). At the moment, I'm also single and it's not like you can say to someone on a first date, "Ummm… You seem like fun, someone I want to see again, I’d like you to take me seriously… but that aside, I really, just really need you to kiss my face for a couple hours. Can we do that???” I'm fine with being single – not feeling the whole desperate or lonely thing – I'm not looking to have sex with someone. Sex is complicated. Date me, fall in love with me, don't make me feel like you’re wondering how long you have to behave yourself before you're going to get laid… and then we'll talk about sex… but for now, it's just a makeout. Oh, and don't feel like you need to send a picture just yet. A short couple of sentences about why you felt compelled to respond to my post is good enough to start with.”

Craigslist, back in the summer of 2007, was this beautiful space I fondly called, “The Universe’s Checkbook.” When I needed a reasonably priced apartment in New York City, I found it on Craigslist. A couch that I could afford on my $90 a day budget - Craigslist.  A job that paid decent, the list had a lot of those. There were so many dates I had thanks to Craigslist and a couple turned into relationships.

I loved the platonic section.  It was often a way to see a movie or go to a show for free.  Someone would offer up a ticket last minute and I would answer the post. I was good company, easy going, and had fun stories. It seemed like a fair trade.

My life the summer of 2007 was complicated. I had just come out of being houseless for nine months. My mom was in the beginnings of dementia which would later become Alzheimer's. I had a job working in real estate but my paycheck was also supporting my mother and there just wasn’t enough.

My home and family had disintegrated a couple years earlier when my mother had been diagnosed with cancer. “You need to get your life in order,” the doctor said with tears in his eyes. “What’s he saying?” My mom looked at me to translate his soft kindness into frankness. “Mom, he is saying you may not make it through surgery or treatment. Mama, if you’re gonna make it, you need to get your head and your heart together.”

My dad, upon hearing the news that his loving wife of 30 years was gravely ill, said, “I don’t do sick people.” And he didn’t. He completely checked out and threw himself into his work. When my mother survived the cancer and recovered from her surgery and treatments, she moved out and eventually, with the blessing from a priest, divorced him.

The family house was my home at the time. I had moved back after being gravely ill myself.  My father leaned into his Mexican machismo and declared that if I would just do the work my mother had done in the family, no one’s life would have to be impacted by her leaving, specifically his.  That’s how I ended up homeless; without a home.

One payday I just didn’t go back to the house. I purchased a pillow and blanket and slept in my car. There was more peace in my sky blue VW Bug than I had access to anywhere else. No one really knew when it happened.  I was homeless from the fall of 2006 through early summer of 2007.

Broke but with a roof over my head and a job I was good at, there was so much I carried. I craved setting it all down for a few moments of normalcy. That Friday evening in July, what I wanted was a makeout. A proper makeout. I wanted to feel my face chapped and my skin buzz. I wanted to not think about my responsibilities, to feel something besides grief.  I wanted to have some fun. Back then the internet wasn’t as immediate as it is today so after I posted, I went to bed.

“Hi, I never respond to posts because I read them like some people read romance novels, but I just want to say, I’m really rooting for you to get your makeout! Way to put it out there!! Can you keep me posted?? I want to know how the story unfolds!” - James

“I saw your makeout post. I’m not answering because I’m interested. I’m actually happily married but Craigslist is always an interesting read. Your post was so refreshing. Sex IS complicated!!! I wonder how many responses you got. I’m curious how many dicks were in there. And yeah, a good makeout is all the things you described.  I hope you find it.” - Fin

“You didn’t say how old you were. Is 18 too young because I really could use a makeout and I’m 18.” - Adolfo

This one was my favorite:

“You know, I posted something like this a long time ago, but I never got any responses. I wonder, from a girls perspective, how many more responses you've gotten?

But back to the subject at hand, I think I'm in the same boat. I really do need to make out as well. But it's not a subject you can easily bring up on a first date for sure! I can just imagine the mayhem that would ensue going down that conversational path with someone I've just met. But that doesn't make the idea of meeting someone for the first time and making out any less appealing. It’s fun, it's safe, it's not complicated, in fact it's quite simple and it doesn't require a commitment or investment, just two people coming together with a common goal of enjoying each other in the simplicity of a good long kiss.

I consider myself happy, intelligent, well grounded, laid back, and friendly. I don't date a lot, and tend to spend way too much time working at a job I really love. I love to kiss, but sadly don't get to do it very often. If you'd like to get to know me a bit more (as I'd like to get to know you some more) then feel free to say Hi back.”

To be offered fun, safe, not complicated, something simple that didn’t require a commitment or investment, just two people coming together with a common goal of enjoying each other in the simplicity of a good long kiss… it was oxygen for my soul. I answered back:

“How many responses?  200+.  And contrary to what one might expect they have actually been very well put together replies.  Some short, some longer, some more thoughtful than others, few with pictures.  None that would fall into the obscene category.  Not a one.  This wowed me.  Especially for craigslist. 

Even with such numbers I'm learning that I didn't qualify that I was looking for someone unattached.  I also didn't think I'd have the age range of 18 to 60+ responding to my post. 

I'm learning a great deal about men as a side note.  At least about the men inspired to respond.  I can't say it sheds much light on the men I've dated per say, but it's still helpful and useful information.  The biggest surprise is the pressure men feel regarding sex.  Apparently women are very quick to jump into it.  There's the somewhat standard three date rule..."I'll sleep with you after date three..."  There is little, if any making out simply for the sake of making out.  And guys miss that.  This is a surprise considering I've often felt as though the clock starts ticking regarding the subject of sex.  Like I said in my post, sometimes I feel as though there is an undercurrent of "How long do I have to behave myself before I get laid," coming from the guy - not always but sometimes.   And with only one exception, that hasn't been my experience recently.  It's refreshing to know that men do appreciate kissing. 

More about me... Like you, I have a job I love.  I do work a good amount and when I'm not working I'm making an effort not to think about work.  That's not so easy.  I do date on occasion though I think I've had one third date in the last few months and that was as far as that went. 

And kissing... I miss it.  I miss it a lot.  I miss everything that goes with it.  I miss the hands in my hair, the feeling of warmth other than my own, cradling a face in my hands, listening not to what is being said but to what is not being said.  I wish it were as easy as bring it up on the first date.  There is so much I'd like to say on a first date if it's going well that I never feel I can.  Like...

"I like you and not to be too forward, but I'd really appreciate it if you would just kiss me instead of us doing the whole awkward hug thing on a first date.  That just leaves me really confused." or...   

"I have tickets to Friday's baseball game and since you seem fun I don't want to wait around for you to call or email or whatever it is that guys like to do these days... because if I have to wait that long (I don't know what it is these days ~ 3 days?) for you to get in touch I'm going to run out of things to organize and I'll be climbing the walls..." and I can't leave out...

"Ummm... how would you feel about this... In exchange for us being able to make out without the pressure of sex... in exchange for me not having to wait a gazillion years for you to get in touch with me (because that is what it feels like in girl time when we have to wait three or four days)... I swear not to be clingy, talk about that big word "commitment," I promise to be fun and easy going, and not to ask you "where's this going" after the second time I see you…"

I don't know that I could ever say any of that without coming across as a nut.  And yet that's the kind of stuff that goes through my head as I remember to be gracious and kind and thoughtful and friendly.   

In the spirit of stepping out of my usual "wait for him to ask me" pattern, I'm going to send you my number in the hopes that you'll use it.  if you're around this evening (Saturday), I'll be up until midnight-ish.  If you'd prefer to write back instead, that works too. 

I do want to know more about you.  I'm curious about the job, only because you mentioned you love it.  And not that it matters a whole heck of a lot but how old are you? 

Looking forward to hearing from you.

It took him forty five minutes to reply.

hey! forgive the short reply i'm responding via my phone as i wait for a movie to start.  i was in the mood to see something by myself tonight.  i had a date that didn't work out to well last night so it’s alone time for me tonight. lol.  i liked your response and will respond much more when i get to a real keyboard later tonight. when would be a good time to call tomorrow since my movie won't be done till late?   oh yeah i'm 32 :-)

The word H-E-Y took eight clicks of the number buttons on his phone to type back then. Do people even know phone numbers have corresponding letters???  My mom used to send me “I love you” by typing out “143,” the number of letters in each word.

I wasn’t one bit sorry his date didn’t go well.

“Whatcha up to?” He casually asked with a mild southern accent when he called that Sunday afternoon.

“I’m making a peach pie,” I answered. And this is where the conversation went sideways because his otherwise easy going manner and tone I had assumed through his written word, turned sour. With complete disgust he asked, “Phft! How do YOU make a peach pie?”

“Ugh! What kind of question is THAT?! I’m an award-winning baker you asshat. What are YOUR credentials?!” I didn’t say that.  I could have though!!!

“Well, first I boil a pot of water and when that’s good and rolling, I plop the peaches from the farmers market in for a minute or two until they’re just soft enough for the skin to give a little. Then I put them in a water bath with ice to keep them from cooking further and once cooled off I peel the skin off…”

“Okay, okay, you know how to make a peach pie,” which while accurate, felt like an incomplete concession. He apologized for his tone and traded my grace for his story about his most recent peach pie experience.

“They took a frozen crust and made sure it had a few years’ worth of freezer burn on it.  Then they dumped a can of expired peaches into the uncooked crust.  They baked it just to get enough color on it so you’ll buy a slice and that’s it.” I didn’t believe him. This sounded like a charming telling of a really tall tale.

Years later when I drove through Weed, California like he had done on a road trip just before my make out post, I stopped by the Hi-Lo cafe on South Weed Boulevard. In the window the sign still hung,  “Homemade Pies.”  The peach pie was so gross it made me angry.  A homemade disaster to the point of being offensive.

Offending peach pie stories aside, we spent hours talking. None of it was about anything I had to overcome or recover from. We didn’t talk about me being broke, having been homeless, my mom’s cancer, that I was a cancer survivor, or that I had fallen through a glass table at 12 and severed my spinal chord. We didn’t talk how all of those things directly impacted how I moved through the world. I’m pretty sure we talked about bread making, flowers, and long drives with no real destination. The conversation just flowed. Somewhere in there I ask him if he might be interested in going to a baseball game. I mentioned I had an extra ticket and a VIP parking pass and…

“Wait, did you write that post in the platonic section as well on Friday? Did you offer up the ticket? Because the voice of the writer is similar.  I thought that was you!! Is that you?” It absolutely was me. “I’m not interested in the game but sure! I would love an afternoon with good company, so yes. But I have a question,” he continued.

“Okay…” I wondered.

“What about the make out?” he asked.

“Oh! Yeah!! The make out!!” I exclaimed.  I had completely forgotten that I had asked the universe’s checkbook for a make out. “Well, I guess if you're feeling it maybe when the seventh inning stretch happens, you can say something. And if I'm feeling it, then I'll say yes…?”

“Okay!” He agreed. We had a plan.

The following week I had already set myself up for dates on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. This man was Friday’s date and by the time the end of the week rolled around, dating felt like a job. I hadn’t thought this through and I was not enthused. I caught my scowl in the rearview mirror on the way to pick him up. At the red light of Redwood Road and Somerset I had a coming-to-Jesus talk with myself.  “You did this to yourself. Fix your face. It’s not his fault you decide to go out on dates all week. Be nice. He’s nice. Go have fun. As long as he's not a creepy ass toad you are going to say yes to that make out. You really, REALLY need somebody to kiss your face right now. You said you wanted a make out so go, go make out. Go and have fun!”

I pull into the parking lot with the top down on my convertible and I smiled my best smile. “Hi! haven’t seen you in forever…” and because he was as charming in person as in his emails and on the phone, he laughed as he hopped in the passenger side.

We got to the ballpark and once we located our seats we headed for the refreshment stands.

“What are you doing?” I asked as he gently pushed me out of the way. “Paying,” he answered. “Oh…” I said in curiosity. “Is that okay?” “Yeah, but you don’t have to…” I offered. “What?” His tone was perplexed. “You have the tickets and the parking pass and you picked me up from Bart…” He was genuinely confused and I was too. “I’m sorry, it’s not you. I’m just used to New York. Nobody ever pays for you on a blind first date there.” “I’m not New York.” No, he wasn’t.

Because I thought I was paying for my own meal and because I was two quarters away from being broke broke, I hadn’t ordered a drink.  Sitting in our seats I turned my head when I heard, “Pepsi!” Being yelled by the concession guy. “Can I get you a drink? You didn’t order one…” Before the smile finished forming on my face his hand was raised,   “Drinks! Over here please!” Later when I mentioned I loved the smell of cotton candy, “Cotton candy!” He shouted to the person walking towards our aisle. I made a casual comment about popcorn and up went his hand, “Popcorn!” to the popcorn vendor. Before I could finish a thought he would raise a waving hand to satisfy even the hint of a craving. “Ice cream please!”

The game, I wasn’t watching. I was on vacation. Talking with him was the most fun I had had in years. We laughed and chatted like we had always known each other and were just catching up. He stretched his arms to the sky and then the left one landed behind my chair like a 1950’s cliché. “So, do you want to make out after?” He smiled holding his breath. Gobsmacked, my jaw dislocated and fell wide open. My shock really surprised the both of us, “We talked about this!” He more than exclaimed. “I know!” I blurted. We had discussed this! We had! He was not wrong! I specifically had told him, “seventh inning… if you’re feeling it, just ask me…” and so here he was… feeling it… and asking.

This would explain a lot. This would be why his knee kept touching mine all throughout the game. I must have been giving him such mixed signals. The conversation flowed and was paired with me scooting over to give him space every time his knee touched mine.  Completely oblivious and apparently forgetting that I was on an actual date, I had just chalked up his need to touch my knee as manspread. It didn’t occur to me he was flirting!

“So is that a no?” His smile faded slightly as he sounded a bit disappointed and confused. “No!” I’m sure I shouted. “I mean yes!… yes.” Big breath, “Yes I would like to make out with you…” For all the cool and suave I possessed in my original post, I completely bolluxed my response.

We both recovered quickly and made our way back to his apartment. A standard bachelor pad, he pushed off of the couch a few stacks of unopened mail. We sat down and while my nerves swirled he went back to just talking to me about who knows what. Somewhere in the middle of a relaxed sentence he leaned in and kissed me. Oh how he kissed me. I lost my knees. I was sitting down and still, I lost my knees.

Midnight came and went. His hands wandered through my hair and over my back. Every now and then I would say outloud, “I’m not a hussy,” and he would gently respond, “I know you’re not.” It became my call and his response, a reminder that we had both said we were just making out. Sex complicated things and there was nothing complicated about this make out. I lost track of time. I set down all the heavy I carried. My skin was raw and chapped in the best way. I was flying and grounded all at once.

“Do you have plans tomorrow?” He asked as he walked me to the door somewhere around 3am.

“I don’t,” I smiled.

“I’d love to take you out for dinner and a movie if you’re up for it.”

“That would be great,” I blushed.

“Good, because tomorrow’s my birthday and I don’t have plans…”

A few months later around New Year’s Eve I received about a dozen follow up emails.

“Hi, I’m following up on that make out. Still looking for one?”

“Do you have make out plans for New Years? Just checking in.”

“Can I get an update on the make out story? I’m not interested in the make out, just the story.  Did you ever get yours?  I hope you did!”

I wrote back:

“I did get my make out and it was everything I hoped for. I have plans for New Years with said make out.”

The following year the emails happened again.

“I hope you don’t mind but New Years is around the corner. You up for making out? You still with your previous one?”

“Listen, I don’t mean to be a weirdo but like I mentioned last year, I read the posts like other people read romance novels. I really need to know. Are you still with him? Can I get an update on the make out story?”

Everyone loves a good story.

“I’m still happily with my original make out. We’re talking about getting married.”

When they inquired the following year, I sent word that I was engaged.

On a summer afternoon at a farmer’s market, surrounded by our dearest people and a whole bunch of others we didn’t know, I married that man. He gave me a baby that, to bring into this world, took more faith than I had. When my heart wanted a second he gave me his usual resounding yes. Every one of my wildest dreams… yes, yes, and again yes. I asked for a make out and the universe, Craig, and his list really did me a solid. Two hundred and sixty three responses and tucked in there was the kindest and best of men. People will say this never happens, but it did. It happened to me.

Thank you to my supporters who make the continuation of this work possible. I appreciate that you took the time to read my writing. My stories, art, and spirit are needed in this world. Wondering about upgrading to being a paid subscriber? The monthly plan is about the cost of an iced macha latte. Click below.