Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Young Love.

When I was fifteen, my twenty-one-year-old boyfriend told me he loved me. In hindsight I still believe it. It wasn't a very mature and healthy love, certainly (I tried to run away with him, it ended in missing person reports and restraining orders), but I really don't think it was a lie. He was my best friend and he was a giant creep, but he wasn't a liar. I loved him. Goofy fifteen-year-old "me an mah bf is soulmates!" love, but it felt real.

When he broke up with me (three months after the drama, no mere court order can keep a teenage girl from her Twoo Wuv), it was possibly the most humiliating moment of my life. I screamed, I threatened suicide, and I tried to seduce him into staying with me. It was Crazy Chick Greatest Hits. He had to literally pull my hands out of his pants and push me away to break up with me.

I met back up with the guy once when I was nineteen. We spent a weekend together in bed and then went our separate ways again. We didn't mention the love or the craziness at all the whole time. I didn't get "closure" (fuck, I still faintly miss him; it doesn't make me cry at night but now and then I think that I'd still take him back any day), but it didn't make me feel worse. At least we got to part on amicable grounds with a nice hug and kiss instead of hideous histrionics.

Am I over him? No, or I wouldn't be posting this. I'm dating other guys and I'm getting on with my life, but... man, I still believe it was love. There was a lot of sex mixed in (we took each others' virginities and fucked like crazy bunnies every time we saw each other for the next nine months or so) (he had a goddamn NINE INCH COCK), but I don't miss that. The guys I'm seeing now are more skilled and sophisticated about it anyway. The only thing they can't do for me is tell me they love me. And there are good, sane reasons for this--Jon is just a fuckbuddy, Brandon has only known me about three months--and I don't really want them to love me. I just want to be loved.

Wah wah wah. I also want to be a doctor and have kids and buy my own house, and I'll wait for love and work up to it just like I'm working up to those things. Love is one of the big rewards in life and shouldn't be quick and cheap. At my age I have no more right to cry about being unloved than I do about not owning a corporation.

Why is all this going in my sex journal? I promise the next two entries will be nothing but steamy fucking with nary a girly whine. By way of apology.


  1. Oh ya big goof! If you can't say something like this in a sex blog then why have one at all? Seriously! Even if it wasn't about your early sex life or about how you dodged getting put off sex for life by a guy who was pushing 30% older than you. It's like... in music the silences between notes are as important as the notes themselves.

    Anyway this is like the 4th time since Friday I've gotten a hint about people's expectations of what "sex blog" means. And to be honest, whatever that is -- just talking about humping or something? -- it doesn't sound like much fun. To write or read.

    What you're doing? I like all of it. Just one part or another would get old because it would be just one side of you. Whole people are lots more interesting.


  2. Guys with big cocks are often one trick ponies.

    1. How is a big dick a trick ? If it would be a big trick dick, we could talk one trick dick, but it is just a big dick, no trick.

      I couldn't resist writing this^^