The Thin Side

Jan 30, 2010

Although I spent many nights wishing I was born with a completely different body (and there was many, many nights), there came a day that I realized that those born with those rake-thin bodies that I dreamed of didn’t exactly have it easy either. I had developed a really close friendship in grade 12 with Rachel; she was about 5’10 and probably 125lbs soaking wet.

She had a beautiful big smile, natural blonde hair and a great personality to match. She had recently done some modelling (big surprise) and she showed me the proofs. The ones where she was wearing a pink sweater and smiling looked absolutely fantastic, but of course, those weren’t the best ‘model’ shots. She had done some in black and white – they had put dark rings under her eyes, slicked her hair back, wearing a skimpy black outfit, and had her crouched in awkward positions. I guess they fit the stereotypical ‘depressed starving model’ look, but I thought they didn't flatter her at all. I tried to stay positive, but it showed on my face. She already had some less-than-kind remarks from others and accused her of looking anorexic. This upset her a lot, and I understood why; I had seen her eat – like a friggin’ horse on a regular basis – she was NOT anorexic. The lucky bitch was just born that way! I think I gained weight by just watching her eat. It was unfortunate that the modelling industry held more value in those depressing photos than the ones where she looked healthy and naturally stunning.

She came to me in tears one day because apparently the disgusting modelling agency told her that she needed to lose 5-10 pounds! Where did they think that could come from? Unless she amputated her foot, I don't even think it was possible. She was upset but had enough self worth to tell them that they could shove those 5-10 pounds up there asses; I was so proud of her.

We had a very interesting experience when it came time to go shopping for our prom dresses. At first, I was a bit reluctant to go with her, as I knew it would give my already negative body image a bit of an envy injection, but I agreed anyway. The funny part was that she had just as much trouble shopping for dresses as I did – just the opposite end of the spectrum. I hated dresses that were sleeveless or had capped sleeves, as they made my arms look huge. She hated those dresses on her because it made her arms look concave and made her look too skinny. I wouldn’t wear anything at or above the knee, because I had tree trunk calves and disgustingly scarred knees (from sports). Again, she had the same length-of-dress issue because it made her calves look like sticks that were attached to 2 boney knobs where her knees should be.

I was really glad that we experienced that together. It’s not as though I took pleasure in witnessing her struggle with her own insecurities, but rather because it showed me first hand that the grass wasn’t always greener and perfect on the other ‘thin’ side. For so many years I made myself believe that it must have been, because I was so miserable on my ‘fat’ side.

Dinner Theatre

Jan 27, 2010

I had gone back to overseas for my second half of my 3rd year and first half of my 4th year of university. This year was exceptionally more relaxed than the first time I had been a student there. This time, I was not under the thumb of any club, board, or host parents; it was just me and my best friend who came with me. We rented a shitty but cheap and liveable flat close to the city and she worked while I went to school. I also managed to get a part-time job ‘under the table’ working two nights per week at a completely bizarre dinner theatre. One of my closest mates from the high school I went to had worked there – I forget how the hell she began working there, but she got me the job. It was totally hilarious and utterly ridiculous all at the same time. Although it was run by some higher-ups, the staff really consisted of the 4 stars of the show, 4 gay guys that made up the waitstaff and bartenders, one terrifying ex-marine chef, a dreadfully rude New Zealand girl and my mate and me.

The New Zealand girl was even scary to look at – kind of like she wanted to kick the crap out of me at every glance, but also looked so malnourished that she would probably faint if she exerted herself enough to throw a punch. Whatever she lacked in a physical threat, she made up for with her mouth. A toxic load of shit constantly flowed from this woman’s mouth; her entire life was a sob story that we unwillingly had to listen to... at great lengths... with no shame or limits as to what she would reveal. She would tell us how she had to eat dog food because she was so poor, but then 10 minutes later she would ask one of the waiters when she could purchase a bag of weed off him. She was one of ‘those’ people! She also despised me because apparently I was infringing on her territory as the resident ‘fag hag’. My mate hardly ever worked there, so it was really just myself and ‘misery bitch’ that competed for the title. I had to admit, I did get along fantastically with homosexuals, but it’s not like I was going to steal them away... hello... they’re gay! I think she just like being a queen bitch and I had come along and pissed on her flag poles.

Besides having to deal with that annoying cyst of a bully, I had a great time. I had always gone to musicals growing up. I had seen Phantom of the Opera live about 4 times, Les Miserables twice and many others. The show that played at this theatre was a parody show of all musicals – right up my alley. A musical soaked with sarcasm – it was made for people like me! I knew the words and cues to every act by the end of my 4th shift. While the show was on, we didn’t really have much to do – it was only before the show, during intermission and after the show that we actually ‘worked’. During the show, we would mainly hang out in the lobby and smoke like chimneys and have a laugh. The guys would make fun of me because even after being there for a couple months, I still would peak in and watch the show and laugh at it. My gay manager would dramatically ask me, “Honey, are you sick of it yet? I can’t bear to even think about those songs anymore! They give me nightmares!”

My answer was always, ‘No!’ I never got sick of it. I was also fascinated with the singers – as much as us waitstaff were dysfunctional riffraffs, they were actually all professionals – having performed in many of the actual productions of the ones that they were now parodying. I often would talk with them before and after the shows, although I must admit that I was a little star-struck and acted a bit retarded around them – I had no control. Then it happened... the one lead woman got the flu and she lost her voice last minute. There was no under-study and they really didn’t want to have to cancel the show at such late notice – it would mean a lot of refunds!

One of the waiters had an idea, “Jessie can do it! She knows every damn second of the show down to the last twirl! Just get her to lip-sync it.” O MY GOD! My heart began to pound with excitement – my big chance to take center stage! It was true that I had a voice that resembled more of a dying cat, but the rest? Theatre? Center stage? Oh Ya Baby! The owners and other cast members took it into consideration as a serious option; I really did know every part of the show and they did have a back-up voice track for every skit.

We went back stage and they had me try on some of the outfits. There were a couple that fit fine – like the giraffe costume for The Lion King act, and the tea cup from Beauty and the Beast, but there were some that worried me. The girl that normally played these parts wasn’t a stick by any means, she was probably a size 14 or so, but I was more like an 18. The dress for Les Miserables barely fit; I just couldn’t do it up at the back – and then there was the dress for Miss Saigon. That was a tight-fitting traditional Chinese-style dress and I couldn’t even get it up over my arse. Everyone was disappointed, but no one as much as me. Nobody said anything – there were a few sighs and tisks of frustration, but I knew what they were all thinking: If only she was a couple sizes smaller. Yes, if only! They ended up having to cancel the show that night – all because my arse was too big ;)

Cruising

Jan 25, 2010

I had gone on a cruise with my parents shortly after I turned 19 – it was to be the last ‘family’ vacation that I was go on with them. It was a fantastic cruise ship – my parents aren’t ones to hold back when it comes to their vacation destinations. The problem I had with being on the cruise ship was that I was stuck there – with my parents. We shared the same family suite cabin and the same table for dining, and so on. I understood that it was meant to be a ‘family’ experience, but I thought it was just lame. I saw them every damn day! The idea of being confined to their company on a ship like this was annoying, especially when I was technically an adult.

The shittiest thing was that although I had been legal for quite a few months by this point, the ship was in ‘international water’ which meant that the legal drinking age for liquor was 21. Crap! It was like having to give back a really cool gift – it wasn’t fun. I was allowed to drink light beer – if I wanted to – yuck, I’ll stick with my soda, thanks.

There were a lot of young people on the ship – probably about 23-24; they were in large groups and always looked to be having the greatest time... and there was me, sitting quietly with my family. Yawn. A couple times, my mother would say, “Why don’t you go and make friends with them?” Ya, ok, Mom... because we’re all in grade 1 on the LaLaLand ship and I will go and play with them! (Sense the heavy sarcasm?) Obviously, it didn’t work that way, and neither did I have the courage to even contemplate that idea, as bad as it was.

It only took 2 days before I was bored with my parents, and I tried to find a place where I could escape, even for a quick smoke, or something... anything! I had found a tiny lounge bar at the opposite end of the ship and I found a small table near the window. I ordered one of the disgusting light beers, only so to look a little older than I was. I thought ordering a Coke would be a giveaway. Every few minutes, I would take a big gulp of it to force it down while trying to minimize the disgusting after taste. There were only a couple people in this lounge, mostly empty, and there was someone playing the piano at the front of the room. He was very good, and he had caught my attention, so I switched my gaze from the vast horizon line to his playing.

Since the room was practically empty, it didn’t take him long to realize that he had a small audience. Even from behind the piano, I could tell that he was very tall – close to 7ft. He had a smoothly shaved head and was very dark and good looking. I could barely understand him through his thick Jamaican accent but I gathered that he was asking me for songs to play. It turned out that he was the keyboardist/pianist in the Calypso Band on board the ship. We had a few laughs and before long, I was sitting beside him, playing Heart & Soul (the only song I could play on the piano). We didn’t really talk too much, but still enjoyed each other’s company.

About an hour had passed and he told me that he wanted to go back to his cabin... and take me with him. Dense me – it took me a few seconds to register what he meant. Ahhh... oh, yes, ok! Wow, I was excited. I followed him out the bar and though some double doors that said “STAFF ONLY”. We were going down a couple flights of stairs and down a long corridor and passing a lot of open rooms with staff members everywhere, just hanging out and relaxing.

I felt like ‘Baby’ in Dirty Dancing – all I was missing was that damn watermelon!

We had got to his room, which he shared with one other guy. It was so tiny and there was a bunk-bed in which his was the top – of course. As soon as he shut the door, he took off his shirt and pants and kissed me. He was so toned and every inch of his body was perfectly chiselled. I was wearing a dress that buttoned all the way down the front, so it was easy for him to start undressing me. We were both down to underwear when he gestured for me to climb up into his bed. I was horrified at the thought of him seeing my ass wave in his face as I climbed onto the bed, especially since I didn’t exactly have on a pair of Victoria’s Secret, so I told him to go first. I was wearing my standard ‘granny panties’ as hooking up was about the furthest thing from my mind when I got dressed that morning.

We finished undressing each other when we got up on the top bunk. There was no more than 3 feet of space from the bunk to the ceiling, so we had to do all the foreplay on our sides, facing each other. When it came time to have sex, he awkwardly shimmied on top of me. We had filled the tiny rectangular space to its limit; my legs were in the air with my toes just touching the ceiling and his long legs were against the far wall and he was using it to push off from, and to go deeper into me. Wow! It was a completely non-ideal place to have sex, but we were making it work somehow. I was not naive in thinking that I was the first girl he had tried this with, especially when he had a drawer fully stocked of condoms. It was intensely hot, and it sure beat the hell out of playing bingo with my parents!

After that afternoon, I didn’t really think I would see him again, which was fine with me. Besides, I barely could understand what he was saying to me. All I knew was that he was gorgeous and wanted to have sex with me – score! That is what a holiday fling is all about, right? Well, the complete opposite happened! He called my family’s cabin at least 5 times a day for the next 2 days. My mother was wondering who the hell this guy was! I just told her that some guy had a crush on me.

I finally agreed to meet up with him and he told me that he loved me and eventually wanted to move to my hometown to be with me.

What the fuck? 

It was the last thing I had ever thought was going to result from having sex with this guy. I had to let him down gently, but it really wasn’t something I was used to doing – usually I was the ‘breakie’ and the guy was the ‘breaker’. I told him I had just gotten out of a long-term relationship and wasn’t ready for anything – which was a load of crap – but it was the only thing I could think of. Who knows! Maybe it was all an act to try and pull a green card scam on me, or perhaps he genuinely wanted to be with me. Either way, it was totally bizarre.

The Town Drunk

Jan 21, 2010

I wasn’t exactly going to be the Prom Queen when I was in high school, but on this particular day I was even less attractive – and that was the day Danny asked me out. I was on the city bus, coming home from the dentist, having just had a root canal. My mouth was numb and stuffed full of bloody gauze. I was in a lot of pain and couldn’t really talk when he came up from behind me on the bus to try and chat me up. At first, I thought it was some cruel joke – like a dare from his friends or something. I tried to get him to leave by telling him, “UK OO”, which was the best I could do with my stuffed mouth. He laughed at my agitation and continued to be very persistent – I noticed there was something pathetically genuine in his eyes.

He finally wore me down and I said, “O-A! I ill agee oo go ow ish oo ish oo omise oo eave e a-own eyet ow!” (Translation: OK! I will agree to go out with you if you promise to leave me alone right now!) I guess he understood and was pretty proud of himself. I don’t know why – I wasn’t exactly first prize that day.

Danny was on the local hockey team that was hosting the dance to which he invited me to go as his date. Obviously, my mouth had recovered by that night, and I was feeling a bit better about myself. Everything was pretty much within walking distance in our town, so he called ahead of time to let me know he was on his way to get me and we would walk to the arena from there. Of course, all my siblings jeered and snickered when he called – as I didn’t often get calls from boys. They were so annoying!

The dance was really fun and for the most part, we had a great time together. He was definitely a goof, but innocently charming in a sweet and bumbling kind-of-way. The only weird part was that his parents were there, chaperoning the dance. His father was nice enough, but his mother looked me up and down with a disapproving frown which only got worse when she spoke, “I can see you mustn’t be Italian. Are you Catholic?” To which my answer was, “No.”

Danny piped in to attempt to defend me. “MA! Seriously?!” And his father added his stern two cents as well, “For God’s sake, Maria!” Well, it didn’t take me long to understand the family dynamic that he had to deal with, but I couldn’t exactly criticize.

When we walked back to my place, I suggested that we part ways before we arrived, but he insisted on coming in. I wasn’t exactly proud of my family, so I hesitated, but he was already half way through the door. There was my mother, three sheets to the wind and on the phone; she seemed upset and completely disregarded the fact that I had just brought home a strange guy.

“Oh, I’m glad your home honey! Someone’s gotta go to the pub and get yer father – he’s gone and got himself passed out again! Your brothers are both out though! If no one goes to get’im, they’re gonna call the cops and throw’im into the drunk tank for the night!” She finally paused her intoxicated rant and focused on Danny and then continued, “Saaaaaay, you look like a big, strapping fella! You wouldn’t mind poppin’ over to the pub to help us out, would’ya?”

OH MY GOD! ARE YOU FOR REAL? I wanted to curl up into a ball and die in a corner somewhere – anywhere but there. My first date with this guy and he is going to go bring home my alcoholic father who’s just been kicked out of the local pub. He quickly replied with a huge smile on his face, “SURE!” Apparently any drama that was different from his own repressive home life was extremely amusing. Well, always glad to entertain!

One other thing I need to mention was that Danny actually worked part-time at this pub as a bouncer, which was another reason he had no issues completing this task. On the way to the pub he asked me, “What’s your dad’s name anyway?” I replied: “Donald” He kind of looked around for awhile in silence, as if the act of thinking made his brain hurt and then his eyes widened, “DONNIE? YOUR DAD IS DONNIE SMITH?! He’s our favourite dr....” He stopped mid-word.

“No, it’s OK. You can say it... he’s a drunk! THE TOWN DRUNK – yep, that’s my daddy dearest!” Once again, he thought the entire situation was hysterical, whereas I wanted to cease to exist. Over the years I had gotten use to the fact that both my parents were drunks, but at that moment I realized that it wasn’t normal and I was deeply ashamed.

I don’t remember much about actually collecting my father, but I remember the long walk home. Talk about a train wreck ending to a first date! I walked beside Danny in mortified silence as he carried my passed out father like a baby (he was a small man at 5’3” and easily weighed less than 150 pounds). I just wanted that night to be over. I wasn’t even religious, but I remember even praying on that walk home for something to put me out of my misery. I guess I worried too much, because not only was Danny amused by the entire situation, he actually called back the next day for a second date. I don’t know how we were going to top that one!

The Sweater

Jan 20, 2010

In grade 11, I had a briefly lived friendship with Scott, a guy in my graphics class. Of course, I would have wanted more, but even being his mate was good enough for me. He was very cute, but also a little odd, which is why I guess I was drawn to him. He was a ‘member’ of the cool guy squad at our school, although only about middle-management, meaning basically that he was a puppet to the ‘higher-ups’.

It took me until this incident to realize that although girls were always pegged to have serious peer-pressure issues; guys weren’t that different after all. In order to have any kind of relationship with one of these guys, whether platonic or otherwise, the ‘higher-ups’ would have to approve, or some stupid shit like that. I guess the verdict came in that I didn’t make the cut.

Scott and I really got along well; we had a lot of similar interests and I just found that I was comfortable talking to him. Shortly after we first started talking, he started to wait for me every morning at the top of the hill from our school and we would continue together from there. He usually skateboarded to school, so he would either weave around me and talk or just get off and carry it when we walked together. Either way, I really enjoyed our morning chats and looked forward to them.

During school, he didn’t really acknowledge our blossoming friendship, especially when his mates were around. That part I understood and it didn’t bother me too much – I was well aware that most of them were complete douche bags.

Our friendship had gone one step further and he invited me to his house after school a couple of times. I had met his mum and even had dinner with them. Of course, being the curious person that I was, while we were hanging out in his room, I had gone through some of his wardrobe drawers. We had a good laugh when I found a few old items and I also found a really nice black sweater. He said he hated it and that it was a bit ‘faggotty’ for him but I really liked it. He said I could take it, if I wanted to – so I did, and I wore it the next day to school.

He met me that next morning, as usual and everything was cool between us – until lunchtime. I still have no idea how the ‘guy squad’ pieced together that I was wearing Scott’s sweater – it was a pretty generic all-black sweater – but they found out somehow. I guess that let the cat out of the bag, and from there on in, I could only speculate how things went down. I am guessing that they confronted Scott about me and they must have been extremely disapproving or made fun of him, because the next thing I knew, they were all approaching me – like a swarm of hyenas surrounding an injured gazelle. Then Scott yelled at me, “Hey, you stupid bitch! Are you a klepto or something? What they fuck are you doing with my top?”

I really wasn’t sure what was going on, and I didn’t answer for a couple seconds; I was completely terrified. Then, one of the upper-management assholes took over, “Answer him, Klepto Bitch! What the fuck are you doing with his shit?” I didn’t even think that trying to defend my honour would have served a purpose. I just kept leering at Scott, like I was telepathically begging for his help or something, and he didn’t even flinch from his stare of hatred that he reciprocated back in my general direction. Luckily, I was wearing a T-shirt underneath that stupid sweater, and I quickly pulled off the sweater over my head and threw it back at him. The only thing I drummed up the courage to say was, “You can take your stupid fucking sweater, assholes!” And then I ran away, so as to save myself from getting my arse kicked by a bunch of guys, which I wouldn’t have put past them, and also so that Scott wouldn’t see my tears of pure rage that began to burn down my face. I could hear them yelling and taunting me as I ran away as well as them victoriously high-fiving each other.

The next couple months felt like an excruciating eternity. They called me ‘Klepto Bitch’ for the longest time! I tried to ignore it, but it really drove me a little insane. I tried to avoid them whenever possible and if I did see them travelling in a pack, I just cringed and got ready for the insults to be flogged at me. Of course, they were fine when it was just one of them; it was the herd that I had to fear. As for Scott, I didn’t even try to approach him about the situation. It was clear that his role as a ‘puppet’ was far more important than any scrap of friendship that we had developed. If I was forced to come within close range of him in class, he pretty much ignored my existence. It was so disappointing. I hated him and missed him at the same time.

Eventually, their squad started to ignore me in the halls – I guess the joke got old, even for them. It did take quite a while, but it did come to an end and it was so gradual that I barely noticed when it had been weeks since any of them taunted me. Those locusts likely had moved on to someone fresh and new to devour. I usually was out-going, but for once in my life, I welcomed obscurity!

Cherry Poppin'

Jan 17, 2010

PhotobucketI had been in lust with a guy from school for about 4 months. Historically, I had a terrible habit of becoming “great pals” with guys that I liked... and then it would become too late to pursue anything romantically. My timing really sucked, but THIS guy was extra special, and extra hot! We really hit it off from day one, and spent a lot of time together. My stomach never stopped doing back-flips every time he would hug me goodbye. Even when he stole my cigarettes right from my mouth, I would get turned on. I wanted to jump him so badly; it became my all-consuming goal, like I was a lioness and he was my elusive gazelle that kept escaping my clutches. Meee-oww! Sometimes I felt like I needed someone to spray me with a hose to snap me out of it! It was bordering on addiction, and I knew it, and didn’t give a shit what anyone else said.

One Saturday night we ended up at a party for a friend of mine from another school, so we really didn’t know very many people there. We got good and drunk – but in that perfect “clumsy but everything is still funny” kind of drunkenness. It was getting late and we thought it would be fun to go outside for a pee break (the toilets were totally packed). Even though I was on my period (the heaviest day, too), I didn’t care at this point. We went behind a huge tree that was on a small incline, sheltered from most lines of sight. After he had finished, he came over to me while I still had my pants down around my ankles. We were both laughing and as I stood up, he started kissing me. WHOAAAA! I WAS SCREAMING ON THE INSIDE – SO DAMN EXCITED. I couldn’t believe it was actually happening. We shimmied slightly away from the pee area and fell back down on to the grass. I told him that I was on my period and he said, “I don’t care, I want you now!” Well hell, he didn’t have to say that twice! I pulled out my tampon and flung it towards the adjacent sports’ field. We didn’t have a condom, which we also didn’t seem to care about. I think this is one of those “heat of the moment” bad decisions that Degrassi Junior High warns you about. I’m not going to lie; it was incredible sex! A lot of passion, and pent-up sexual tension was all let out at once. I didn’t care about the after effects, the consequences or anything. All I cared about was that after 4 long months of pining away for this guy, I actually got him!

The next morning, I realized what happened. A part of me was, of course, still so happy, as I really felt deeply for this guy! But then the mortification sunk in... YUUUUCK! He must have been completely covered in blood from the waist down, because I was too – from my bellybutton down to my knees. So totally disgusting! I finally got to express my true feelings for this guy and now I will never be able to look him in the face.

We never spoke of it after that night but stayed together for a long time; so he must have been OK with it... more OK than I was! Luckily, I didn’t get pregnant. Of course, it WAS high school, so everyone found out (about the sex, NOT the period part) and it turned out that it was his first time! SAY WHAT NOW? He was super hot and I knew a lot of girls that he had fooled around with, so I assumed he was a “veteran”, but apparently, it was always only the first couple “bases” that he did with anyone. Some of his friends patted me on the back and congratulated me on “popping his cherry”. Funny how they phrased it that way – if they only knew how right they were.

My "Double Garage"

Jan 14, 2010

I had been sleeping with this guy that had a rather huge penis; the sex was hard and dirty and great. The relationship had taken its natural course after about 3 months and then we had gone our separate ways. About a week or so later, I had a unique opportunity to briefly re-unite with an old flame (one that I still harboured some pretty intense feelings for). It was such a pleasant surprise and I was excited at the prospect that we would be having ‘reunion sex’... until it actually happened.

Turned out that my lady parts had been stretched out like a ring of taffy from the previous guy. I had never experienced what a difference it would actually make... until that moment.

APPARENTLY A LOT OF FUCKING DIFFERENCE!

When he got inside me, I could barely feel him. It was like he was parking his scooter inside my double garage! I was totally ashamed.

Everyone’s heard the on-going comment that guys like it “tight”, so I would assume that he noticed, but he still appeared to be enjoying himself. I let him continue and I pretended that I was enjoying myself as well. I was constantly trying to squeeze together my pelvic muscles to see if that made a difference. All I kept thinking to myself was: “I’m a fucking loose whore! Tramp. Skank. Slut. Strumpet. Floozy.” I felt pretty gross about myself, to tell you the truth, not to mention that it ruined what was supposed to be a special moment with this guy.

The moral of this story is: Do your Kegel exercises on a daily basis!

He’s totally The One (Part 1)

Jan 6, 2010

I don’t know why a group of adults thought it would be a good decision to place a 16 yr old virgin girl in a home with 2 teenage boys (16 & 18), but that’s exactly what they did. After a few weeks of getting to know the family, I had grown pretty close with the older son. We had practically everything in common; it was weird in a perfect way. We would stay up until 1 or 2 am every morning, just talking about anything and everything. We would joke around with each other during the day and it became progressively more of a “contact” sport.

We were coming home from a basketball game on a Saturday night, and we ended up holding hands in the back seat of the car. All the hairs on my neck were tingling and my heart was racing. When we got dropped off, we were the only 2 at home. We decided to watch a movie and then 5 minutes in to it, the usual mercy fight began. I ended up underneath him on the floor; he was straddling me, pinning my hands above my head. He then let go, ran his hands down my arms and lifted my top over my head. The kisses started at my bellybutton, and then followed slowly all over my chest, and then up to my neck. It was the most wonderfully painful anticipation I’d ever had in a make-out session, up to that point in my life. He finally gave me a deep and hard kiss. It was incredible!

After a while of rolling around on the floor, he kept saying, “What are we doing? What are we doing?” And then he would answer himself, “Who cares, it’s so fucking right.”

And it was right... if the situation was ANYTHING but the one we were in. It was like a fucked-up modern-day Romeo & Juliet story. I wasn’t supposed to get involved with anyone on my placement, let alone a member of my own host family!

Two days later, we planned to meet up at lunch and take the afternoon off school, together. He had just got out of the shower when I got home; still slightly wet, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist...Yum! We went up to his room and he laid me gently on his bed, taking off my clothes. I was SUPER self-conscious about my body because I had acne on my chest, shoulders and back. He looked me right in the eyes and calmly whispered to me that I looked beautiful– that definitely helped me relax– he was so sweet! He took out a condom and gave it to me...

Umm, Yeah... And...?

I was scared out of my mind! I put one on a banana once, a couple years before in health class, but that was it! Luckily, he helped a little and it went on the way it was supposed to. I even managed to remember to leave room at the tip!

I always heard that the first time hurts a lot, but here’s the thing... there are factors to that. Your masturbation habits, fore-play, and the size of the guy’s penis. So, I had the first factor taken care of; I think I had been “exploring myself” since I was about 8 years old. Secondly, the fore-play was great, and lasted a good while. Lastly, he was a good ‘average’ size (Which I really had no basis for comparison at that point). If the guy is hung like a horse, it’s going to hurt whether it’s your first time or 100th time, so if it IS your first time, it might be unfortunate for you. My experience? It was OK; it didn’t hurt at all. However, I was more focused on what was actually happening between the two of us, emotionally, rather than the act itself. After that moment everything changed for me. I fell profoundly in love with him that day, fast and hard.

Considering our situation, it was only going to end one way– badly.

 
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