Horny Teenagers

A while back, I was a judge for my school's district level History Day competition. During a break, I excused myself to use the restroom and stumbled upon some tongue locked, groping teenagers (who I had just interviewed about Japanese Internment camps). These kids were in the hallway outside a bathroom, not terribly romantic. He was just happy she was letting him touch her. She was ignoring his BO and imagining what it would be like if they were on a bear skin rug in front of a hearth in Aspen and (subconsciously) basking in her power over males. But on top of it all was almost palpable desire. They were horribly embarrassed (so don't make out next to the teacher's bathroom, idiots!). I wasn't embarrassed so much as giggly and silly. They were so awkward and spastic and desperate. I remember public make out sessions when I was 16. And the thing about it wasn't that it was necessarily a sensual smorgasbord, but it was exciting and new. Each little step along the path toward the inevitable losing of virginity was part of discovering the unknown. Add that to out of control hormones and those teenage years become just a crazy randy blur.

Now I'm all grown up, if you use years as a guide. The hormones are much more stable and I've been there/done that when it comes to the spectrum of more traditional sex. So, the anticipation of wondering if he'll try x, y, or z and/or if I'll let him, or of trying to make time for trying anything during the 20 minutes between getting off the bus and parents coming home -- that's all gone. And it's not coming back.

It's sort of depressing. And it's funny to remember how serious everything was back then. How it all meant the world when, really, all it was was a couple of horny teenagers seeing what they could get away with.

I look back on this because I think this is part of the escape of romance novels. Whether the heroines are innocent virgins or courtesans discovering love for the first time, it always has that passion and anticipation that is part of a new relationship. That is not saying that I want a new relationship, but escaping into someone else's psyche, even for a few pages of a book, helps me relive the days when I shaved my legs regularly, just in case. The protagonists in the romance genre have such a strong chemical attraction that they can't keep their hands off each other. His burning gaze ignites a fire in her belly. Her every intake of breath makes his self control quaver. That is Romance novel passion: it's also teenage passion, and, as I sit here in her sweat pants and bleach stained maternity tank top (my last pregnancy was over 4 years ago), I remember. The leading lady is not wondering whether she's ovulating or embarrassed about her cesarean scar -- she just aches to have him touch her breast. He's not worried about the mortgage or the fact that he just had his burger animal style, he wants to taste the rose-petal and honeyed softness of her skin -- and she's so consumed by passion that she's not self conscious or wishing she had bathed first. Romance is an amazing escape from the mundane. It helps us remember the idealism of passion from when it was new.

Perhaps the passionate scenes in Romance novels should be written by horny teenagers who are so starry eyed in love and in lust that their inexperience has them convinced of the magic of passion. Or course, it would only be a paragraph long.