Almost-Sex, First Kisses, and Real Sex (first two pages of Chapter Five)

I met Nate and Xavier around the same time. Only I don’t remember the first night I ever met Xavier – I only remember the first night we almost had sex.

We all used to hang out at a place called The Pavilion on the boardwalk. It’s where the freaks gathered – the outcasts and lonely and forgotten and stoners and druggies and musicians and anyone else who didn’t fit in to the nice, rich, surfer theme of Ocean City. We scared kids and were the people your parents warned you about. We had blue and purple and green and pink hair and wore trench coats and had piercings we had done ourselves. I met Xavier there.

We had an instant connection. I remember being completely smitten with him, so when he invited me over one night I jumped at the chance to sneak out. Of course, he only wanted sex, but I was so obsessed I was willing to give it to him. So I snuck out and walked the approximately ten blocks to his house in the middle of the night, and met him at his front door. His parents were heavy sleepers, I guess, because he always had people in and out in the middle of the night. I was fourteen and he was sixteen, and had spiky red hair. Come to think of it, I don’t think he wore any colors but red and black for the first few months I knew him.

He invited me in and we started making out on the couch. One of his friends, Mikey, was I believe staying there that night, too, so he asked him for a condom and kicked him out. And I would have lost my virginity that night, hairy vagina and all, only it wouldn’t go in. Eventually we gave up, which was for the best because my actual losing-my-virginity story is much better.

And that’s the story of the beginning of one of my first loves. The other is much more complicated.

I met Nate at that party Chris Gillen and I both attended. A friend named Sarah was having a small get-together before freshman year started and Nate and I were both invited. He was wearing a bowler hat and eating a box of munchkins, which are really just donut holes. He didn’t say a word the entire night, which I later found out was because he was stoned, but we both noticed each other. I was wearing a tight orange shirt and baggy blue pants. It’s funny how I can remember small details like that but not much of the next time we met.

The night of the party I ended up hooking up with someone else – Mike. Mike has a part in this story later on. But for that night Mike and I hooked up and he thought we were dating and it took me a week or so to finally get rid of him. A few weeks after that I was walking or riding my bike down past the Tabernacle, the local church where, for some unknown reason, a bunch of us used to hang out. Nate was also walking or riding his bike (I don’t remember which of us was doing what). One of us was with Gillen. I also don’t remember what we said to each other, but somehow after that we started hanging out. Every. Damn. Day.

Nate fell in love fast, and hard. I wasn’t quite as willing. It took six months for me to finally agree to date him exclusively, after I dated his best friend and he dated mine. But I do remember our first kiss.

We were on the middle bench in the left row, closest to the outside edge. My head rested in his lap as his hand caressed my stomach; he were facing the ocean and I was facing him; his eyes focused on me while I studied a gray button on his shirt.

He bent his body down towards mine. His vampiric teeth bit through the black jelly bracelet on my wrist, which he lifted in your mouth as he straightened his back, slithering the broken strand of soft plastic off my skin and dangling it inches above my lips. Taunting was always his strong suit.

Confession: I’ve Been Telling the Truth

People have become so conditioned to keeping important shit bottled inside that they now hesitate to believe anyone who talks openly about their bad experiences.

*  *  *  *  *

My stepdad used to sleepwalk into my room, naked, and sleep in my bed when I was little. I mention it a lot. It kinda screwed me up.

My stepdad also used to attempt to have sex with me when I was a teenager. I explode and scream the truth at him whenever we get in a fight. I try to talk to my friends about it. It did screw me up.

But because I talk about it, the people closest to me have started to overlook it.

Continue reading

No Strings Attached

I got some feedback on my recent post about Nate and I being in an open relationship. It seems many people still believe that women cannot engage in sex without ‘catching feelings’; there is no such thing as friends with benefits, or no strings attached. Men are sexual creatures and women are emotional creatures.

Here we go with me not being a woman again. Then again, I’ve recently come across a slew of other bloggers who have the same views about sex as I do, so maybe I am a woman and society’s views are just outdated?

Continue reading

Oh.

Nate and I have an agreement of sorts. Like an open relationship.

He was sentenced to 15-30 years, and he’s been gone a few months shy of 3 years. It’s been nearly 3 years since we’ve had sex.

His prison — actually, the state where he’s imprisoned — does not allow conjugal visits. So even if we were to get married while he’s there (which very well might happen), we still wouldn’t be able to hop on the good foot and do the bad thing. Until we’re in our late 30s, at the earliest.

Continue reading

Pressured to Perform, or Make Excuses

By now I’m sure you’ve all heard of the sex spreadsheet a husband made documenting his attempts at lovemaking and his wife’s responses (usually shutdowns) that went viral. (Pish-posh to the things that ‘go viral’ nowadays, amirite?)

Sex? ...or sex not. A spreadsheet

At first I saw it while scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed. I didn’t click on the article, but I read the ‘excuses’ from the thumbnail and had a little laugh. Then I realized hey, I say those things a lot. (Well, said because there’s currently no hanky-panky going on in this house.)

And I thought those reasons aren’t excuses, they’re real-life true reasons for not being in the mood to be fondled and have your junk all exposed and pawed at.

Continue reading