I was in the processing of writing Part Two of my dating experience with Jay when I started thinking about some of my earlier experiences with boys. I wish I could say "I cannot imagine a world without douche bag men," but I can't. I'm cursed with the ability to be loving, kind, forgiving, compassionate, and optimistic so I believe there's a non-douche bag man meant for me living somewhere in this world. Even so, some of my earlier experiences with boys should have clued me in that men can be jerks.
When I was in elementary school, my parents moved around a lot. Being the new kid in school almost every year, I didn't have many friends. No, I wasn't one of those kids who sat in the corner, sucked her thumb, and rocked back and forth to comfort herself - that was the girl in my seventh grade calligraphy class. But, in the fourth grade, I had a friend named Paris. Paris had brown hair and blue eyes; he was shorter than me. Funny name for a boy, but I thought it was cool. One day during recess, I was jumping rope with some girls. My tube-top dress (hey, it was the 1970's) worked its way down a bit. My breasts were exposed briefly before I pulled my dress back up. Yes, I had breasts in the fourth grade; they were huge by the time I hit fifth grade. Giggling, Paris confessed that he'd gotten a quick peak at my breasts. What was I supposed to do with this information? I laughed nervously and changed the subject. I'm sure shifty eyes on my behalf were also involved. Then, on the last day of school, the thing to do was spray people with shaving cream so he sprayed shaving cream all over my hair. Those fourth graders were hardcore, man. Unfortunately, that would be the last time I saw Paris; I went to a new school the following year. Too bad, because I would have liked to have reported to Paris that my hair was so soft from all that shaving cream. This was perhaps the best and most wholesome encounter I ever had with a boy, sans a few good dates or encounters here and there much later in life.
When I was in elementary school, my parents moved around a lot. Being the new kid in school almost every year, I didn't have many friends. No, I wasn't one of those kids who sat in the corner, sucked her thumb, and rocked back and forth to comfort herself - that was the girl in my seventh grade calligraphy class. But, in the fourth grade, I had a friend named Paris. Paris had brown hair and blue eyes; he was shorter than me. Funny name for a boy, but I thought it was cool. One day during recess, I was jumping rope with some girls. My tube-top dress (hey, it was the 1970's) worked its way down a bit. My breasts were exposed briefly before I pulled my dress back up. Yes, I had breasts in the fourth grade; they were huge by the time I hit fifth grade. Giggling, Paris confessed that he'd gotten a quick peak at my breasts. What was I supposed to do with this information? I laughed nervously and changed the subject. I'm sure shifty eyes on my behalf were also involved. Then, on the last day of school, the thing to do was spray people with shaving cream so he sprayed shaving cream all over my hair. Those fourth graders were hardcore, man. Unfortunately, that would be the last time I saw Paris; I went to a new school the following year. Too bad, because I would have liked to have reported to Paris that my hair was so soft from all that shaving cream. This was perhaps the best and most wholesome encounter I ever had with a boy, sans a few good dates or encounters here and there much later in life.
A few years later, I had a crush on the blonde haired, blue eyed, athletic A.S. whom I'd never met. Yet, I dared myself to knock on his front door, and then ran down the street screaming bloody murder when his younger brother answered it (see May 10th post), but that wasn't really a boy thing; that was a me thing.
When I was in ninth grade (still in junior high), I found out through the grapevine that I was voted the girl with the "second biggest breasts on campus." Erin won the votes for biggest breasts. I didn't even know boys noticed me, yet they were voting on the size of my breasts. Man was I clueless, or what? Humph.
In the tenth grade, the boys were even more fascinated with my breasts so I wore a white sweatshirt to keep them covered at all times, regardless of what I was wearing underneath. I'm still convinced that my mom took my beloved and protective white sweatshirt away from me and burned it, and she wouldn't buy me a new one so I think it was a ploy to get me more comfortable with my body. Anyway, my friend David and I had P.E. together, and we were getting ready to run laps. He stood in front of me, put his hand on the zipper pull of my white sweatshirt (I forgot my t-shirt, so I only had on my bra and the sweatshirt), then asked me "What would you do if I pulled this down?" I just laughed and swatted his hand away. A week later, I was on the swim team. There was no way I was running in front of boys, not with my boobs bouncing all over the place for their amusement. Plus, my breasts were quite large and it hurt to run. As it was, when I was playing baseball in ninth grade, my bra broke while I was running bases. My left boob nearly struck me in the eye. I didn't want a repeat of that in high school. I shared this story with my swim teammates and one of them dubbed me "B.E." for Black Eyes. For the most part, being on the swim team was great. Sometimes David would watch me swim, which didn't bother me. But when we practiced during lunch time, a regular P.E. class would come in just as we finished practice and the boys would steal my towel so I wasn't able to cover my breasts. Boys can be insensitive buffoons.
I met David in junior high. David had long brown hair and brown eyes; he was a little taller than me and was half-Italian. He marched to the beat of his own drum - he was part goth, punk, and hippie. Even though I'm pretty sure he took part in voting on my breasts, we became friends in tenth grade. We walked home from school together, and occasionally took detours to get Chocodiles at the convenience store. We were 15. One day close to the end of the school year (May 15 to be exact - and I remember that because the next day was a very important day in my life, and it's an anniversary I still celebrate with my mom), we went to David's house after school. We watched VH-1, he showed me his pet rats, I met his dog, and we talked. I was sitting on the edge of his bed, and he put his hand on my chest and pushed back so that I laid down. While we were laying side by side on his bed, he ran his hands across my chest and then my breasts. I froze, like the quintessential deer in headlights. What the heck was going on? I thought "I guess this is the day I learn to kiss someone." He had a girlfriend before so I'm sure he was experienced. I, on the other hand, was not. We were fully clothed, but he maneuvered himself on top of me. I didn't object but I'm sure he could feel my heart pounding through my chest. He told me that he liked it that I was pretty and "not a ditz," like other pretty girls he knew. Thankfully, I didn't learn how to kiss that day. I wasn't ready for that stuff. At the end of the next school day, I was waiting outside the side entrance to our high school. David asked me who I was waiting for and I answered honestly "my mom." He nodded and smiled, and continued on his way. I felt like an asshole, but I had other things to deal with that afternoon and my mom was on her way. After that, we didn't walk home together and we didn't talk much. Maybe I wounded his precious ego by unintentionally dismissing him? Who knows? David, I suppose. But I still liked him enough that I wanted to lose my virginity to him. I didn't see him over the summer, and during the next school year a friend of mine took it upon herself to write David a letter telling him that I liked him. That didn't go over too well. I remember crying. David and I would look at each other - sometimes he would stare at me during class - but we didn't speak much again. It was too awkward.
For my 16th birthday, my friends and I went to Disneyland. I met Eddie. Eddie had brown hair and blue eyes, and was the same height as me. I don't remember where my friends were, but Eddie and I hung out and went on various rides. We stopped by a fence that separated us from a ride, and he romantically asked if he could kiss me. My first kiss! I cleverly said "I've never kissed a boy before. I haven't kissed a girl either." I guess even then I was open-minded. Eddie and I kissed - it was so slimy and weird. At the end of the day, we exchanged phone numbers. His family was from Florida, and they were in Southern California on holiday for two weeks. He called me the next night and asked if I could come to the beach with him, but my parents said no. Eddie and I never spoke again. Our relationship was doomed from the beginning, given our geographic barrier. Oh well.
My best friend (the same friend who wrote a letter to David - damn her) and I were 16 when she acquired a boyfriend named Bill. Bill was a few years older than us, and seemed nice enough but there was some buzz that he wasn't that great of a guy. One night he came over to my home, under the guise of wanting to speak with me about his relationship with my best friend. We chatted for a while, I showed him my architectural drafting designs (I wanted to be an architect), and then I called his girlfriend. While I was on the phone with her, he thought it was perfect time to whip out his penis. While I didn't approve, I couldn't help but look at it because I hadn't seen a penis before, other than the time I accidentally saw my dad's when he was standing naked under the door jam during an earthquake but that was different and I certainly didn't want to stare at my dad's thingy. Ewwww. The head of Bill's penis looked like a mushroom top, and the shaft had veins! What's a girl to do? I poked it and quickly petted it, but then asked him to put it away. He did. Aren't men great?
I met John in high school; he was a combo of goth and punk who wore eyeliner and nail polish. He had dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and was the same height as me. He always wore Levi's with holes in the knees so I gave him the nickname of Mr. Holy Knees or MHK for short. We liked each other and always said hi when we saw each other, but I'm guessing the whole "not cool to be with a smart girl" thing got in the way. Or maybe it was more about dealing with the aftermath of his crystal meth overdose. Regardless, we dated for a week or two right after we graduated from high school. We hung out, listened to music, and went to different places like the movies or the county fair. One night, we got partially naked. He ate me out and then told me seductively that he couldn't "be the only one giving." John and I stood naked from the waist down, listened to The Cure, and embraced each other while kissing. But when his penis started rubbing on my clit, I completely froze. He was perceptive and noticed that I wasn't "ready." I guess as a 17 year old high school graduate, I should have been a lot farther along in the sexual education department, but I wasn't. I'd been felt up, kissed, and touched a penis, but that was it and I wasn't ready to become more knowledgeable yet. After that night, we stopped dating. Surprise, surprise. I guess boys want to spend time with girls who will fuck them, but we remained friends and I got him a job at the pizza place where I worked.
Then there was Dean. Dean was my dad's friend and was 10 years older than me. He had dark brown hair and blue eyes. I'd known Dean for at least 10 years, but when I was 17 (he was 27) there seemed to be some sexual tension between us. Sometimes he would stay with us for months at a time, and I always liked it when he was there because he was funny and liked weird music. He also taught me a lot - like how to parallel park a car. I still thank him when I have to pull my car into a tight spot. After an evening with John, I strolled in around 4am. Dean was in the living room watching television, so I perched myself on the sofa next to him. After asking me about my night with John, Dean smacked my pubic area and told me to be a good girl with my "pee-pee." I assumed he meant vagina. On another night, Dean gave me a seemingly innocent back rub while I was resting my back on his chins, but then he started caressing my chest, letting his hands go further down my blouse. I was confused. Why was he touching me in this way? I wasn't sure what to do, but then there was a creak on the hardwood floor, so he withdrew his hand. Phew. On another night we went jogging; he told me his favorite part of a woman's body was the spot between her vagina and anus. Then, as if I didn't know where that spot was on my own body, he reached between my legs from behind and pinched me there. Did I mention he had a girlfriend? Even at age 17, I was already attracting weirdness into my life.
Eric and I met at the pizza place where I worked. We liked each other and were boyfriend and girlfriend for a few of months. Eric was tall, had short blonde hair and blue eyes. We held hands and kissed, went to Knott's Scary Farm, went camping with my family, had dinners with his mom and step-dad, and even met his elusive dad for dinner - all was good. And he didn't pressure me for sex. He was still in high school and I had recently graduated, so he was a year younger than me. My first "younger man." Hee hee hee. John started dating an older woman so I teased him about it, and he teased me about dating a younger man. Anyway, I had long, naturally white blonde hair that Eric loved, but a couple months after I turned 18, I had it cut above my shoulders in a much more sophisticated style. I still remember Eric's expression when he saw my much shorter hair: like someone had just killed his puppy and made him eat it for dinner. He was so sad and disappointed. I didn't know he was thinking "Now I have to break-up with her; what's the best way to do this?" I didn't see him for a couple of days, but it was around Christmas time and we were both busy. I was working extra hours at a record store and he was still working at the pizza place, so I didn't think anything of it. Then, while I was away for Christmas, he put my Christmas gift through the mail slot of my front door. When I called to thank him for the gift (a beautiful, silver bracelet), he broke up with me. I wasn't particularly heart broken that our relationship ended, but I was dumbfounded that he broke up with me because I cut my hair. Over the years, my hair has gotten darker so even if I hadn't cut my hair way back then, and even if we stayed together for a several years, he probably would have dumped me when my hair got too dark for him. He later found a girl at his high school with long, blonde hair, and he dated her. I say again, aren't men great?
And then stuff gets weirder. To be continued...
When I was in ninth grade (still in junior high), I found out through the grapevine that I was voted the girl with the "second biggest breasts on campus." Erin won the votes for biggest breasts. I didn't even know boys noticed me, yet they were voting on the size of my breasts. Man was I clueless, or what? Humph.
In the tenth grade, the boys were even more fascinated with my breasts so I wore a white sweatshirt to keep them covered at all times, regardless of what I was wearing underneath. I'm still convinced that my mom took my beloved and protective white sweatshirt away from me and burned it, and she wouldn't buy me a new one so I think it was a ploy to get me more comfortable with my body. Anyway, my friend David and I had P.E. together, and we were getting ready to run laps. He stood in front of me, put his hand on the zipper pull of my white sweatshirt (I forgot my t-shirt, so I only had on my bra and the sweatshirt), then asked me "What would you do if I pulled this down?" I just laughed and swatted his hand away. A week later, I was on the swim team. There was no way I was running in front of boys, not with my boobs bouncing all over the place for their amusement. Plus, my breasts were quite large and it hurt to run. As it was, when I was playing baseball in ninth grade, my bra broke while I was running bases. My left boob nearly struck me in the eye. I didn't want a repeat of that in high school. I shared this story with my swim teammates and one of them dubbed me "B.E." for Black Eyes. For the most part, being on the swim team was great. Sometimes David would watch me swim, which didn't bother me. But when we practiced during lunch time, a regular P.E. class would come in just as we finished practice and the boys would steal my towel so I wasn't able to cover my breasts. Boys can be insensitive buffoons.
I met David in junior high. David had long brown hair and brown eyes; he was a little taller than me and was half-Italian. He marched to the beat of his own drum - he was part goth, punk, and hippie. Even though I'm pretty sure he took part in voting on my breasts, we became friends in tenth grade. We walked home from school together, and occasionally took detours to get Chocodiles at the convenience store. We were 15. One day close to the end of the school year (May 15 to be exact - and I remember that because the next day was a very important day in my life, and it's an anniversary I still celebrate with my mom), we went to David's house after school. We watched VH-1, he showed me his pet rats, I met his dog, and we talked. I was sitting on the edge of his bed, and he put his hand on my chest and pushed back so that I laid down. While we were laying side by side on his bed, he ran his hands across my chest and then my breasts. I froze, like the quintessential deer in headlights. What the heck was going on? I thought "I guess this is the day I learn to kiss someone." He had a girlfriend before so I'm sure he was experienced. I, on the other hand, was not. We were fully clothed, but he maneuvered himself on top of me. I didn't object but I'm sure he could feel my heart pounding through my chest. He told me that he liked it that I was pretty and "not a ditz," like other pretty girls he knew. Thankfully, I didn't learn how to kiss that day. I wasn't ready for that stuff. At the end of the next school day, I was waiting outside the side entrance to our high school. David asked me who I was waiting for and I answered honestly "my mom." He nodded and smiled, and continued on his way. I felt like an asshole, but I had other things to deal with that afternoon and my mom was on her way. After that, we didn't walk home together and we didn't talk much. Maybe I wounded his precious ego by unintentionally dismissing him? Who knows? David, I suppose. But I still liked him enough that I wanted to lose my virginity to him. I didn't see him over the summer, and during the next school year a friend of mine took it upon herself to write David a letter telling him that I liked him. That didn't go over too well. I remember crying. David and I would look at each other - sometimes he would stare at me during class - but we didn't speak much again. It was too awkward.
For my 16th birthday, my friends and I went to Disneyland. I met Eddie. Eddie had brown hair and blue eyes, and was the same height as me. I don't remember where my friends were, but Eddie and I hung out and went on various rides. We stopped by a fence that separated us from a ride, and he romantically asked if he could kiss me. My first kiss! I cleverly said "I've never kissed a boy before. I haven't kissed a girl either." I guess even then I was open-minded. Eddie and I kissed - it was so slimy and weird. At the end of the day, we exchanged phone numbers. His family was from Florida, and they were in Southern California on holiday for two weeks. He called me the next night and asked if I could come to the beach with him, but my parents said no. Eddie and I never spoke again. Our relationship was doomed from the beginning, given our geographic barrier. Oh well.
My best friend (the same friend who wrote a letter to David - damn her) and I were 16 when she acquired a boyfriend named Bill. Bill was a few years older than us, and seemed nice enough but there was some buzz that he wasn't that great of a guy. One night he came over to my home, under the guise of wanting to speak with me about his relationship with my best friend. We chatted for a while, I showed him my architectural drafting designs (I wanted to be an architect), and then I called his girlfriend. While I was on the phone with her, he thought it was perfect time to whip out his penis. While I didn't approve, I couldn't help but look at it because I hadn't seen a penis before, other than the time I accidentally saw my dad's when he was standing naked under the door jam during an earthquake but that was different and I certainly didn't want to stare at my dad's thingy. Ewwww. The head of Bill's penis looked like a mushroom top, and the shaft had veins! What's a girl to do? I poked it and quickly petted it, but then asked him to put it away. He did. Aren't men great?
I met John in high school; he was a combo of goth and punk who wore eyeliner and nail polish. He had dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and was the same height as me. He always wore Levi's with holes in the knees so I gave him the nickname of Mr. Holy Knees or MHK for short. We liked each other and always said hi when we saw each other, but I'm guessing the whole "not cool to be with a smart girl" thing got in the way. Or maybe it was more about dealing with the aftermath of his crystal meth overdose. Regardless, we dated for a week or two right after we graduated from high school. We hung out, listened to music, and went to different places like the movies or the county fair. One night, we got partially naked. He ate me out and then told me seductively that he couldn't "be the only one giving." John and I stood naked from the waist down, listened to The Cure, and embraced each other while kissing. But when his penis started rubbing on my clit, I completely froze. He was perceptive and noticed that I wasn't "ready." I guess as a 17 year old high school graduate, I should have been a lot farther along in the sexual education department, but I wasn't. I'd been felt up, kissed, and touched a penis, but that was it and I wasn't ready to become more knowledgeable yet. After that night, we stopped dating. Surprise, surprise. I guess boys want to spend time with girls who will fuck them, but we remained friends and I got him a job at the pizza place where I worked.
Then there was Dean. Dean was my dad's friend and was 10 years older than me. He had dark brown hair and blue eyes. I'd known Dean for at least 10 years, but when I was 17 (he was 27) there seemed to be some sexual tension between us. Sometimes he would stay with us for months at a time, and I always liked it when he was there because he was funny and liked weird music. He also taught me a lot - like how to parallel park a car. I still thank him when I have to pull my car into a tight spot. After an evening with John, I strolled in around 4am. Dean was in the living room watching television, so I perched myself on the sofa next to him. After asking me about my night with John, Dean smacked my pubic area and told me to be a good girl with my "pee-pee." I assumed he meant vagina. On another night, Dean gave me a seemingly innocent back rub while I was resting my back on his chins, but then he started caressing my chest, letting his hands go further down my blouse. I was confused. Why was he touching me in this way? I wasn't sure what to do, but then there was a creak on the hardwood floor, so he withdrew his hand. Phew. On another night we went jogging; he told me his favorite part of a woman's body was the spot between her vagina and anus. Then, as if I didn't know where that spot was on my own body, he reached between my legs from behind and pinched me there. Did I mention he had a girlfriend? Even at age 17, I was already attracting weirdness into my life.
Eric and I met at the pizza place where I worked. We liked each other and were boyfriend and girlfriend for a few of months. Eric was tall, had short blonde hair and blue eyes. We held hands and kissed, went to Knott's Scary Farm, went camping with my family, had dinners with his mom and step-dad, and even met his elusive dad for dinner - all was good. And he didn't pressure me for sex. He was still in high school and I had recently graduated, so he was a year younger than me. My first "younger man." Hee hee hee. John started dating an older woman so I teased him about it, and he teased me about dating a younger man. Anyway, I had long, naturally white blonde hair that Eric loved, but a couple months after I turned 18, I had it cut above my shoulders in a much more sophisticated style. I still remember Eric's expression when he saw my much shorter hair: like someone had just killed his puppy and made him eat it for dinner. He was so sad and disappointed. I didn't know he was thinking "Now I have to break-up with her; what's the best way to do this?" I didn't see him for a couple of days, but it was around Christmas time and we were both busy. I was working extra hours at a record store and he was still working at the pizza place, so I didn't think anything of it. Then, while I was away for Christmas, he put my Christmas gift through the mail slot of my front door. When I called to thank him for the gift (a beautiful, silver bracelet), he broke up with me. I wasn't particularly heart broken that our relationship ended, but I was dumbfounded that he broke up with me because I cut my hair. Over the years, my hair has gotten darker so even if I hadn't cut my hair way back then, and even if we stayed together for a several years, he probably would have dumped me when my hair got too dark for him. He later found a girl at his high school with long, blonde hair, and he dated her. I say again, aren't men great?
And then stuff gets weirder. To be continued...
No comments:
Post a Comment