Young love is nothing if not passionate. Having no awareness or responsibilities outside of trying to control your hormones justttt enough to not have a high school baby or get kicked out. We were no exception. We officially met in our freshman spanish class, but didn’t pay each other any mind for some years to come. Half because I was obsessed with the senior guy who sat behind me, half because dude (aka future long term bae) used spanish class to indulge in a weed induced coma.
It took us 2.5 years, many hardcore shows, and a random encounter at my now work place to finally speak. He was everything. Walking in, he wore a shirt that read, “God’s are man’s worst creations”, mixed with his full beard and shaved head. It was enough for me to declare love. I couldn’t help but watch him from the back of the kitchen, not even realizing he was the same long haired skater I used to sit next to.
When he left, I spent 15 minutes complaining about how I should have given him my number. To my surprise, he felt the same way. My MySpace home page now hosting a new friend request. He was also the first to initiate actual contact. Starting simply with a hello, an acknowledgement of my day at work, and a statement along the lines of “I spent 3 hours looking through my friends, friend list to find you”. It was the most romantic gesture anyone had done for me and before we knew it, we were at the beginning of what would become a 4 year relationship.
Spending hours on AOL IM, email, MySpace, and the phone, doing literally anything we could to perpetuate our connection. Even if it just meant listening to each other breath. It was disgusting really, especially thinking about it now, as an adult. The infatuation so real, it left us clinging to each other like two baby sloths doing everything we could to remain inseparably intertwined. Everything but have sex, that is.
It had been 3 months since the start of us dating and being the “fast moving” girl I am, I was ready to “do it”. I had only slept with one person other than bae and I was curious to learn more. Not stopping for a moment to anticipate that maybe, just maybe, bae had some objections or concerns regarding our impending merge. It was a day like any other, his mom and siblings at school or work while we laid together on the futon in his room. We were watching a Jeffrey Dahmer documentary and I had worn my favorite Elysia shirt for “good luck”.
After a while of laying in my most “seductive”, ass pressed against your groin, position, he kissed me. Just the move I had been waiting for. He held my face with one hand while the other was in my hair. I pressed my body against his, making sure he felt every womanly feature I had to offer. (This was younger me, of course) As his hands began to venture my body, while still staying above my clothes, I decided to make my move. Smoother than I should've been for my age, I unbuttoned his pants and started to work my hand in.
Excited to touch his dick for the first time, I start to explore it, imprinting it's feel and size in my hand, and memory. Finally breaking my gaze from his member, I glance up only to see his face filled with both satisfaction and horror. It didn't take more than a moment to diagnose the reason for his panic as my stomach starting to feel warm and wet, my shirt now stuck to me. “You came on my shirt,” “I know! I'm so sorry!” he mumbled, clearly embarrassed. “Do you want a different shirt?” he asked. As if that was even remotely my current concern. When I got home, my dad was standing outside. “Were you wearing that when you left?” He asked, voice coated in skepticism. “No, something spilt on it, this is bae’s.”
We didn't try having sex again for about a month and unfortunately, it was pretty much just as disastrous. Eventually, we found out our footing and could finally sum up our adventure as “successful”. This was with no lack of effort or practice though. Learning early that despite the assumption that women can be prude, uncomfortable, awkward, etc., men can be too.
Moral of the story is, don't make assumptions based on gender, sexuality, or appearance. Communicate with the people you sleep with. It'll turn out better. That is all.