So let's talk about my experience with men. In high school I was socially and physically awkward so I only had one boyfriend when I was fourteen and pretty much got overlooked by boys the rest of the time. When I went to college after graduating, I suddenly found myself in an environment full of 20-something guys who had no idea who I was, which was perfect for me (even though I didn't know it). They didn't grow up with me in my deteriorating hometown and they had no idea that I studied too much and had never had sex. They just saw me as a girl/woman and that was that.
So the first guy (can't remember his name, sorry first-guy) lived on my dorm-room floor. He was shorter than me and was in to horseback riding, but he was nice and we became what I thought was friends. It wasn't that I didn't want a relationship, I just felt no attraction to him. So one night we were watching a movie when he asks to see my class ring, which was really just an elaborate ploy to try and hold my hand. I politely told him I wasn't really interested in starting a relationship right now (even though I was). The next day was Friday and he was going home for the weekend, so I wanted to set the record straight with him before he left. I took him to my dorm room, sat him down, and gave him the Friend Zone talk every man dreads. He listened to me while I reassured him that I thought he was great and I enjoyed hanging out, but I just didn't have feelings for him like that. I hoped he would understand, and he said he did.
Sunday comes around and he doesn't swing by to say hi to me like usual. Nor does he the next day, or the next week, or ever again.
Fast forward two years and I'm walking to class... and I see this kid. By that time I was dating my husband already and so deeply in love that I gave absolutely zero fucks about any other man -- but he acts all happy to see me and comes over to say hi. He asks if I remember him and I say with deadpan enthusiasm: "Yeah I remember you. You had a crush on me freshmen year and when I very politely told you I didn't like you that way, you never spoke to me again."
Needless to say, he wasn't expecting that response, and made some excuse about being late to class so he could scurry off like the coward he apparently still was.
/Lesson #1: boys don't want to be friends.
Second guy was the sort of "cool" guy who was probably way out of my league but for some reason showed interest in me one night during a party in my dorm building. It was super late and a bunch of us were hanging out and he was laying his flirt game on thick, but I was loving it. Unbeknownst to him, I was a sad little virgin and had no idea that he was just trying to fuck me. After returning to my own room to go to bed (because it was damn near morning), he knocks on my door. I'm in full flannel pajama pants -- definitely the least sexy ensemble imaginable. I think they were blue plaid, even. Anyway, he tries really hard to get me to come hang out with him some more, but I'm persistent in how badly I needed to go to sleep.
So the next day I go to search around for him thinking that we could maybe hang out some more and see what happened. I found his room and he agreed to watch a movie with me (rather unenthusiastically). I think we laid on the floor and he might've touched my back, but that was it. I got this overwhelming vibe that he was only hanging out with me to be polite, and when I ended up going back to my room once more, he didn't try nearly as hard to convince me to stay. I don't think I ever saw him again.
/Lesson #2: fuckboys.
My first college boyfriend was a metalhead a grade above me. One day he saw me working the cafeteria counter wearing a black t-shirt and an actual chain around my neck and cupid just shot him in the ass, I guess. I had no idea who he was. He came looking for me one weekend when I was away with my parents, then tried again the next weekend and finally we connected. I think he was super direct and just straight up asked me if I wanted to go to some movie with him and a few of his friends. He was tall, blue-eyed, and didn't seem like a serial rapist, so I agreed. I remember epically defeating he and all his friends at air hockey while at the movie theater waiting for our show to start. I had a lot of fun. The second time we hung out was on his futon in his dorm room, where we sat for like 3 hours and had a really awesome, deep conversation about Life and the Universe. We talked for so long that my mouth got dry and my throat got sore.
Now, this metalhead of mine was a perfectly nice guy, he was just super wrong for me (and me for him). I was incessantly clingy and he was more independent. I wanted to be around him as much as possible, but he only needed to be around me a few times a week here and there. He most likely wanted a physical relationship, but after 18 years of indoctrination, I believed I would catch on fire if I had sex outside of wedlock. He knew that about me and was always very respectful of that. He never tried to pressure me into anything I didn't want to do, and it wasn't until years later that I learned what a novelty his behavior was. The problem was that I was super horny all the time and I must've unintentionally teased him until he had blue balls regularly. After all, I was 18 years old and my body was just sort of waking up.
He was my first sexual encounter. One night I spent the night with him and things got heavy and suddenly he just couldn't take it anymore, I guess. He carried me down the dorm-floor hallway bridal-style to the recycling room at the end, which was closed up for the night, so we could be alone. I proceeded to give him probably the worst hand-job of his life in that room, although in my defense, his dick was the first I'd ever touched, so I had quite literally no idea what I was doing. I remember feeling so surprised by how velvety soft his skin was -- I thought it would be disgusting touching a guy's dick, but it was actually sort of magical, in a way.
Eventually we broke up when we realized we were more like friends than romantic partners. He was always really nice to me even after that, and I continued to enjoy talking to him at parties. He was smart and spoke in fluent, dark sarcasm, which remained delightful even after he wasn't my boyfriend anymore. I see him on social media sometimes and wonder how he's doing. Over the years I've wondered once or twice what it would be like if we bumped into each other randomly in some grocery store or on the street. Maybe we'd laugh about that God-awful hand-job I gave him and I would thank him for being as honorable a guy as a 19-year-old could be. Maybe we'd exchange an awkward hug before going about our separate ways.
But I'll probably never see him again.
/Lesson #3: Touching a real dick.
Stay tuned for Part 3: Stalkers.
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