And the years go by.

I haven't participated in on of Mama Kat's World Famous Writing Prompts in a while now, but that's not to say I don't read them all the time. Something about this one caught my eye: "Dig out your high school yearbook and share a message a friend wrote that stands out to you." 

Uuuhhff.

Call me masochistic but I thought it would be interesting to dust off the old book and take a quick nostalgic trip down that tumultuous high school lane, but it turned out to be much more than that. It was full of love. Or rather, memories of love once felt by a special person in my past, and for a brief moment in my life, I reciprocated his love. I had forgotten that he wrote this - it's been so long. But even now, after all these years, I feel warmth, affection and love when I read it... and that's a wonderful thing.

Dear Steph, Well here I am writing and where shall I start, because is has been such a fun time knowing you. We started out not knowing each other's names and we ended up having such a good time - for example that fantastic Halloween to that exceptional Christmas, with many things said, which I might add were meant then and now nothing. Who knows, in another time and place there might be two people just like us that end up together. As the time has gone we have both changed - it could only be expected. With everything said and done, I've had a great time and I wouldn't change my time knowing you for anything. In that time I have changed for the better and because of you, I view things in a different light. It is not easy remembering all the good times we had together and writing about them because they make me feel so happy but equally sad. And you know why because all the things we love come to an end eventually, which is the hardest thing to face but it will slowly get easier in time, but never forgotten. One other thing is that you frustrate me at fuckING times and don't forget to drag out the "ING" when you say it. You drive my insane, woman! But all joking aside, no matter what we do, or how far away we travel, or how old we get, my memories of you shall always be with me. I could have written forever. All my love, L

C'ouch Sex

If this doesn't scream 'love', I really don't know what does...

Lady: There's nothing on TV tonight.
Husband: Wanna fuck?
L: Well, when you say it like that... Yeah!
He starts taking off his clothes right there.
  Oh, you mean down here?
H: Yup. That OK?
L: (giggles) I guess.
I start taking off my clothes while he goes to lay down on the carpet, naked and staring at me like he's the cat that just ate the canary. I look down... full cock and barrel salute.
H: I'm ready.
L: I see that!
We start some rolling around and the carpet was getting a little scratchy. And the toy train that stabbed my ass didn't help.
  Want to move to the couch?
H: Sure. Want me to kneel in front of you?
L: Sounds good. Is that OK?
H: Can you shimmy your ass a bit further forward on the couch?
L: How's that?
My ass is 2/3 off the couch and every muscle in my butt, arms and thighs are beginning to throb. I'm fucking out of shape, yo!
H: Better.
Now? There is a stabbing pain in my left ass cheek - cramp. CRAMP. CRAMP!
L: Oh my god. Oh my god. Owe! Ass cramp, hun!
H: I'm almost done, hold on! Hold on!
(Time lapse approximately 6 more frantic pumps)
  Ahhhhh.
  Wow. That was terrible.
L: You really know how to talk sexy to a girl.
H: Ha! Sorry... it was awkward. I didn't like it.
L: Yes, your sperm seemed highly disappointed.
H: Bah. You know what I mean.
L: Yeah. So... you going to walk the dog?
He's re-dressing but I'm still on the couch, naked.
H: Yes. Did she crap at 5 o'clock?
L: Uh huh. She'll just need a pee before bed.
H: OK.
L: I'm going to go upstairs and finish myself. If you come back in time, you can help me.
H: Na. I'm good.

Yes, that.

When I Got Popped

My first half of grade 12 was strolling along nicely, I was doing OK but then just after mid-terms I started feeling incredibly tired... all the time. This wasn’t the normal tiredness that often afflicts teenagers – it was a super-natural force of anti-energy and I was powerless to fight it. My mother was on my case for a couple weeks and then even she couldn’t ignore that it wasn’t like me to be this way. She took me to the doctor and he concluded that I had a pretty bad case of Mono (Glandular Fever). All I could really do is stay home from school and sleep. 

Hummm... I think that can be arranged! I did get some of the important assignments sent home for me to do, but for the most part, it was just me, my pyjamas and Days of Our Lives.

Anyway, after the month was up, I went back to the doctor and apparently I was fine to go back to school, but my spleen was enlarged. This is a common symptom of Mono, but mine was really, really swollen. It was actually noticeable through my body – so gross! My instructions were simple – go to school, but that’s it! No sports.

No basketball.
No hockey.
No volleyball.
Noooo sports! 
He stressed it about 3 more times before I left his office. Thanks! I think I got it; no sports!

When I got back, it was nice seeing all my friends again. A month in high school time was a like an entire season of 90210 – I missed so much! I talked to a few on the phone, but it definitely wasn’t the same. At lunch break, I finally got to see Justin.

Oh, Justin.

He was 6’11” of pure hotness with crystal blue eyes and a smile that set my pants on fire. I would have gladly contracted my Mono from him, but sadly my sexual liaisons with Justin occurred only in my head. We were really close friends, of course - story of my fucking life. He was not hard to miss since he towered over most people at school; I saw him near the gym doors at the end of the hall. I yelled for him before he entered the gym. “JUSTIN!”

He looked over and shot me one of his million dollar smiles. “Heeeey! Look who’s finally decided to come back to the land of the living!” He ran towards me and swept me off my feet, literally. He gave me a bear hug and then threw me over his shoulder, into the fireman’s hold. A few of the other basketball guys were there and they all thought it was entertaining. Of course, I loved every second of this hands-on attention. He opened the doors that led outside and tossed me into a tall snow bank. We both had a good laugh and then we went inside together. I sat on the bench and watched them – since I was forbidden to play.

I started to feel uncomfortable later that afternoon and by the time I got home, I was hunched over it absolute agony; I could hardly walk. My mother arrived home to find me curled up in the foetal position and screaming in pain, so she took me to the hospital. I was still crying and wincing when they put me on to the gurney.

My doctor was there; he pursed his lips in disappointment, “You were playing sports, weren’t you! I knew it. I knnnnnew you wouldn’t listen to me.”

“No! I promise! I haven’t... Owwww! I didn’t... Ahhhhh!”

“THEN WHAT DID YOU DO TODAY?”

I really couldn’t concentrate long enough to think about what I did... and then it finally hit me... Justin’s bear hug. I told the doctor and he rolled his eyes profusely. My spleen was like an over-inflated water balloon and when Justin hugged me, it popped.

Well... in reality, it was more like a tear. I had to be admitted into the hospital but at least they didn’t need to operate – luckily. I stayed doped up on pain medication (maybe a bit more than I actually needed) and there I was... for yet another week off school... although this time I got daily phone calls from Justin (fuelled by guilt no doubt, but his concern for me was heaven) and the second best part? 

I was back watching Days of Our Lives, which I must say, whilst high on Demerol, was marvelously more entertaining .

Justin's note for me on the back of his school photo ;)

Turd is the Word

This is probably one of my stories that was in the Top 5 most difficult to reveal - or even to actually have it physically written down since I began writing this blog. I'll never forget this, ah-hem, event, but that doesn't mean that it's a good thing.

-------------------------------

I had a relationship with a guy when I was 17 that was more comfortable rather than passionate... more like 2 best mates that also had sex, a lot. We would try different things and often discuss it afterwards; what we could differently or try in the next round. 

He had exceptionally boney hips, and it got to the point where my inner thighs were so bruised from sex that it hurt to walk. The suggestion of having more missionary sex at that point made me cringe at the sheer thought of pounding against those aching wounds. We switched to doggie-style for the next few days and then the inevitable question was proposed.

“Wanna try...you know...up the arse?”

“Well, OK, but we’re going to have to use lots of lube, and go REALLY slow and be gentle!”

I should also add that his older brother’s nickname was ‘Horse’ and that similar genetic features were strong in his family, which didn’t appease my fears with what was about to happen. We got the lubricant out and even though he was very gentle, after about 3 thrusts in about 5 seconds, THAT WAS ENOUGH!

GET IT OUT! OWWWW-EEEEE!

So, take the sensation of the most painful shit you’ve ever had, and then double it. I had gathered a lot of people enjoy that feeling, but it wasn’t for me. Don't get me wrong - I do enjoy a good shit, but that's because it's coming OUT of me in an entirely non-sexually euphoric kind-of-way. Apparently, there is a G-spot somewhere up there too. Umm, yeah. I will gladly be leaving mine up there, alone and undiscovered.

Also? My boyfriend was uncircumcised.

As he was cleaning the lubricant off himself, he discovered a tiny chunk of turd under his foreskin. He jumped up like he was on fucking fire and proceeded to run around the house naked whilst squealing like a terrified little girl - very loudly. I was mortified, since it was, in fact, my turd, but I surprisingly dealt with it by laughing hysterically at the utter spectacle that he was making of himself. In hindsight, I don’t see why he was so shocked, considering where his dick had just been.

If you go digging in certain holes, you’re bound to find some dirt.

Quelle Surprise

How Good Intentions Can Blow Up in Your Face

I had a strange relationship with a particular guy through the majority of high school. We never actually dated, or even kissed, but there was always an unsaid tension between us and whenever I started dating someone else, he usually had a snooty fit with me for a week or two. I think it was the classic symptom of him not wanting me, but didn’t want anyone else to have me either - a male trait that is fairly common.

I always felt like I was probably the only person in the school that understood him and valued him as a friend. His male ‘friends’ (I used that term loosely) didn’t really care about him. He wasn’t out-going enough so he usually got ignored and forgotten when it came time for after school socializing and other events; he was never invited to the big parties. Most of them were certified, card-carrying members of the jock asshole club, and for one reason or another, he wanted so badly to be a part of them – he was like their neglected puppy dog that followed them around. He was slightly awkward but sweet, humble and kind – all opposing qualities from those guys he considered his buddies.

I watched this cringe-worthy dynamic all though the years and it only got worse the older we got... and soon it was time for my friend to have his big 19th birthday. I knew I wanted to do something extra special for him – I don’t think he had anything special done for him by anyone else, ever – besides his own family, anyway. Every year, from grade 9 to grade 12, I had baked him a cake for his birthday and put it in his locker – but for his big ‘One-Nine’ I wanted to do more.

I had planned to take him out for dinner and then I organized for all the assholes to go to the local night club and we would surprise him. I’m sure it would have made his decade... if it went as planned.

I printed up a classy invite for the dinner portion and even his mother and younger sister was in on my scheme. I was actually very close with the sister as well – I considered her my adopted sister. They were very appreciative of my plan for him and agreed that he needed someone do this for him – and I was more than happy to do it.

As much as I despised the jock jerks, they also agreed to the plan – all they had to do was keep their mouths shut and show up to the club. I thought it would be easy, since they ignored him anyway and would probably have ended up at the club regardless – so I wasn’t asking for the moon.

Then his birthday arrived. After 5 years of being neglected, he finally had had enough and gave in to his insecurities. He pestered the jocks all morning about what plans they had that night and then one guy (my least favourite one, of course) caved to the pressure and leaked the plan to him.

Now, what do you think he ‘should’ have done?
Been touched by the plan and gone along with it... right?
No.

He found me at lunch and told me that since he knew the plan, he was just going to go straight out with the guys and NOT have dinner with me. That was the fucking ‘thanks’ I got – not even for just that day, but also for everyday for the 5 years prior to that moment. I felt like he just spat in my face; I was crushed.

After school, I even got a phone call from his little sister. She was angry with ME and told me that I was making HIM feel bad;
I was ruining his birthday. Are you fucking kidding me?
Click.
That effectively ended the relationship with my ‘adopted sister’ as well.

I ended up going with a friend to the club anyway; I probably shouldn't have – but I was pissed off AND heart-broken – not a good combination for me to deal with. I ended up getting drunk and having a great time making out with a hot older guy on the dance floor (that had previously attended our school, so everyone knew him) for the majority of the night. It wasn’t me at one of my most admirable moments, I know that, but I’d like to think that it annoyed the fuck out of my 'friend' (he hated seeing me with other guys, remember). I don’t care what anyone says about "rising above", sometimes revenge feels fantastic!

The funniest part was that about 6 years later, I saw his mother at the local shops and this woman (whom for a long time considered me her ‘eldest daughter’ and I didn’t even have to knock to enter their home) scrunched up her sour face and gave me the-dirtiest-look-ever! Seriously? Wow.

A Promise to Keep

A young couple lay in bed together one night; nothing special about this night, just a regular week night; it’s Wednesday. The wife is 33 weeks pregnant and tired. She has to get up early for work in the morning. Her husband is resting his head on her round belly and talking to his unborn child. His wife wishes he would stop so she could go to sleep, but is equally touched by this tender moment, so she lets him continue.

He keeps his hands on her belly and looks up at her. “I know we think it’s going to be a boy, but just in case it’s a girl, promise me you’ll name her Stephanie.”

“It’s a boy.”

“But still, seriously, I mean it; promise me!”

“What is up with you? We can make these decisions together, so don’t stress!”

“I’ve always thought that Stephanie is a pretty name, so if it’s a girl, that’s what I want her name to be, OK?”

“OK! But it IS a boy.”

“Buuuuuuut, if it’s not?”

“Right, OK, geeze! Stephanie it is. I promise, cross my heart.”

“See! Was that so hard? Thank you!”

She smiled as he kissed her once on the lips and again on her belly and then they went to sleep.

In the middle of the night, he awoke and went into the kitchen. He was usually a sound sleeper so when he left, it woke up his wife. She rolled out of bed and found him in the kitchen making a giant sized sandwich.
“What are you doing up? It’s 2am!”

“I have no idea! I woke up absolutely starving. I feel like I’m going on a long journey and I need to stock up.”

“A journey? What the hell does that mean?”

“Again, I have no idea. All I know is that I wanna eat this wicked 'wich, and then I’ll come back to bed; don’t wait up.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” 
And she went back to bed.

The alarm clock screamed in their ears for the fifth time on snooze rotation; they had over-slept. They frantically got ready in their tiny apartment, trying to make up time and constantly fumbled around each other. As usual, she was ready first and dashed out the front door to catch her bus. She had hobbled half way down the hallway of their apartment building when her goofy husband burst out their door and into the middle of the hallway wearing nothing but his underwear and his toothbrush hanging from his mouth. He took it out and waved it in the air like a wand while proclaiming, “Baby! Have a good day! I love ya, sweet cheeks!”

She rolled her eyes and laughed in both admiration and embarrassment, “Love you too... now for God’s sake, go put some clothes on!” She turned back to leave and get into the elevator; she could still hear her husband’s pathetic singing voice muffled off in the distance, “Llllooveeeee yoouuu!”

She was able to catch the bus and even got a bit of sleep on the 1/2 hour commute. When she got off at her stop, her mother was waiting at the front steps. She wasn’t overly close with her mother and the sight of her waiting at the place where she worked gave her a sudden and overwhelmingly sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Sweetheart, I need you to be calm.”

“What’s going on? Tell me now! Why do I need to be calm?”

“It’s your husband. His dad went to pick him up for work and found him in the bathroom... on the floor. He tried everything to revive him but...”

“OK. Did he have a seizure? He hasn't had one in forever, but still...what's the big deal?”

“Honey, he’s at the hospital now; they are waiting for you... but... darling... he didn’t make it.”

------------------------------------------------

This post is in memory of my father, who passed away 33 years ago this week. This is a true recollection of the night before and the morning of his passing, according to my mother. I was that baby girl and my mother kept her promise to him and named me Stephanie. I was born 6 weeks later, on what would have been his 25th birthday.

Bruised - Violence Against Women

Black, just like the sexy dress she wore out for dinner.

Blue, as deep as the sapphire that is encrusted with diamonds.

Purple, similar to the Gucci handbag that matches her shoes.

Red, like the lace on the card that reads “I love you! I'm sorry.”

Yellow, glowing like the gold earrings that dangle above her shoulders.

Green, a lighter shade than their private estate.




She will
           never
                   leave him.

Sticks and Stones

My first long-term relationship and I guess my first love, although I use that term hesitantly, was in grade 11. We had met through some mutual friends at a party, but we didn’t go to the same school. If we had, there would have been no way we would have got together. I was shy, a bit of a book nerd and I did very well in school; he was the class clown, a jock and probably averaged ‘D” grades, mostly because school was the last thing on his priority list.

I guess at first I got caught up in the fact that Mr. Cool wanted to go out with me. He was nice to me at first, but the transformation was so gradual from nice to ‘not-so-nice’ that I don’t even remember when it changed. There were constant underhanded comments, which I know now were flat out insults, but he did it so smoothly that sometimes I didn’t even notice. Here is a classic example, “You know, in this light, you actually look almost pretty.”

I never stood up for myself, so he kept dishing it out, day after day. I often wondered how far he would have gone if I had stayed with him for longer than I did... which was already far too long.

His parents were divorced; he lived with his mother and visited with his dad every other weekend. After about 8 months, I had got to know his mother very well but I had never met his father. I finally asked him, “Do you think I will be able to meet your dad? We’ve been together for a long time and I would really like to meet him.”

He looked at me, repulsed, as if I asked the most horribly shocking question possible and replied, “NO. My dad expects me to be dating a super-model or captain of the cheerleading squad or something – You are not pretty enough. He would be disappointed with me.”

It was astonishing that in the time it took him to say those words, he had successfully managed to obliterate the last few remaining fragments of my self esteem. The worst part was that I didn’t say anything and I even stayed with him for another 2 months! It wasn’t until a good friend of mine finally had had enough and spoke up, “Why are you with him? He treats you like complete shit!” Thankfully, she managed to snap me out of his spell that I had been under for far too long and I broke up with him.

Dying for Love

Usually these stories are first-hand accounts, but this is a story about my best friend, Beth. She cannot tell it herself because she died a long time ago, when she was 16. We had been friends since kindergarten and I knew her as well as she knew herself, so I am pretty qualified in assuming what was going though her head that night, and the moments leading up to the accident.

6 months before that night, she fell head-over-heels for a guy at our school that was 2 years older than us. She really was infatuated by this guy. I would say that we hung out with a bunch of pretty well mannered girls – we didn’t get into trouble or do anything extra rebellious. This guy threw a wrench into our group. He was the typical clichéd bad boy and I really saw through him, but not Beth. She didn’t really have any experience with guys, usually too shy to initiate anything, so when this guy took interest in her, she melted at his every word. After a few months, she had fallen deeper and deeper – it was affecting our friendship a little bit, and definitely affecting her school work. She was a straight ‘A’ student, but had started failing a couple tests. The more she loved him, the less he loved her back. I told her on numerous occasions to not be so needy, but she got angry with me and told me to mind my own damn business.

By the time this ill-fated night approached, he was really over her and she was panicked about it, like their relationship was hanging off a cliff and she was desperately digging her nails into the ground to try and save it. It was apparent to a few of us that he was just using her for an easy date on the weekends. He didn’t really want anything to do with her during the week or at school anymore.

This Saturday night, he asked her to go along with him to a party and she jumped at the invitation. I had a part-time job and was working that night, so I didn’t go with them. They had stopped at one of his friends’ house first and he had had a few drinks. They were there longer than originally planned – this quick stop lasted a couple of hours. Beth’s mom had called her at about 10.30pm to see where she was. This wasn’t out of the ordinary – like I mentioned earlier, she was a good girl, had a great relationship with her mom, and always kept her mom informed as to where she was and what she was doing.

“Has he been drinking?”

“No mom! Don’t be silly. Trust me.”

“It’s not you I don’t trust, honey... it’s him I don’t trust. I can be there in 10 minutes to pick you up. You just say the word.”

“Mom! I’ll be fine. Love you! Bye.”

Her mother told me some time later about this conversation, so I can re-tell it with accuracy. I knew her so well and without a doubt this is what was going through Beth’s mind: If I tell him that my mom is coming to pick me up, he will think I’m a loser! If I don’t go with him to the party, he’ll probably hook up with some other chick, and I can’t let that happen. No way! Besides, it’s only 5 minutes up the road, we’ll be fine. It’s not like he’s stumbling; he’s only had a couple beers. Worst case scenario is that I get mom to pick me up from the party in a little while. No big deal.

What happened next? They got into his car and proceeded to the party. The stretch between the 2 houses was a favourite amongst speeders to begin with. It was a 60km zone and by the time he got to the inclining curve near the opposite end, he was up to about 120km, because that was the speed they estimated he was going when he lost control and slammed into a concrete pole. Beth was killed instantly and he walked away with only minor injuries.

He was released on probation after only serving 3 years in jail... but I lost my best friend, and her mother lost her daughter forever. If only she wasn’t so desperate to hold on to this loser, but I could sit here and write about “what if” scenarios all day. She was a smart young woman that let her insecurities over one guy cloud her judgement for a moment, and she paid for it with her life.

There is a permanent memorial wrapped around that pole and although I greatly try to avoid that stretch of road, whenever I do drive past, I always tell her that I have missed her every day since.

Bear Hugs

It’s safe to say that grade 12 is a fairly important year – more so now then when I was in school – there isn’t a grade 13 anymore to help fix any grade 12 mistakes one might have made. I was doing OK and then just after mid-terms I started feeling incredibly tired all the time. This wasn’t the normal tiredness that often afflicts teenagers – it was a super-natural force of anti-energy and I was powerless to fight it. My mother was on my case for a couple weeks and then even she couldn’t ignore that it wasn’t like me to be this way. She took me to the doctor and he concluded that I had a pretty bad case of Mono and that all I could really do is stay home from school and sleep. Hummm... I think that can be arranged!

It was usually called ‘the kissing disease’ and I got a lot of friends trying to make fun of me about it, but I hadn’t kissed anyone recently and no one else at school ever came down with it. I got to stay home for almost an entire month! I did get some of the important assignments sent home for me to do, but for the most part, it was just me, my pyjamas and Days of Our Lives.

I was exempt from 2 final exams as well and got an extra week to take them. When I did finally take those exams, they put me in an empty, un-supervised classroom... I couldn’t resist... I took out my text books to help me out. Here’s a shocker... I did awesome on those exams! Both were credits that qualified towards the 6 that were needed for university applications – Thank you Mono! Ya, ya. Cheaters never win... or some crap like that. Don’t judge me – it’s a battlefield out there.

Anyway, after the month was up, I went back to the doctor and apparently I was fine to go back to school, but my spleen was enlarged. This is a common symptom of Mono, but mine was really, really swollen. It was actually noticeable through my body – so gross! My instructions were simple – go to school, but that’s it! No sports.

No basketball.
No hockey.
No volleyball.
Noooo sports! 
He stressed it about 3 more times before I left his office. Thanks! I think I got it; no sports!

When I got back, it was nice seeing all my friends again. A month in high school time was a like an entire season of 90210 – I missed so much! I talked to a few on the phone, but it definitely wasn’t the same. At lunch break, I finally got to see Justin; he was 6’11” of pure hotness with crystal blue eyes and a smile that set my pants on fire. I would have gladly contracted my Mono from him, but sadly my sexual liaisons with Justin occurred only in my head. We were really close friends, however. We played pick-up basketball together at lunch – I was point guard and he was my center (in more ways than one, baby). He was not hard to miss since he towered over most people at school; I saw him near the gym doors at the end of the hall. I yelled for him before he entered the gym. “JUSTIN!”

He looked over and shot me one of his million dollar smiles. “Heeeey! Look who’s finally decided to come back to the land of the living!” He ran towards me and swept me off my feet, literally. He gave me a bear hug and then threw me over his shoulder, into the fireman’s hold. A few of the other basketball guys were there and they all thought it was entertaining. Of course, I loved every second of this hands-on attention. He opened the doors that led outside and tossed me into a tall snow bank. We both had a good laugh and then we went inside together. I sat on the bench and watched them – since I was forbidden to play.

I started to feel uncomfortable later that afternoon and by the time I got home, I was hunched over it absolute agony; I could hardly walk. My mother arrived home to find me curled up in the foetal position and screaming in pain. She took me back to the hospital – she called ahead and my doctor was waiting there when I arrived. I was still crying and wincing when they put me on to the gurney.

He pursed his lips in disappointment, “You were playing sports, weren’t you! I knew it. I knnnnnew you wouldn’t listen to me.”

“No! I promise! I haven’t... Owwww! I didn’t... Ahhhhh!”

“THEN WHAT DID YOU DO TODAY?”

I really couldn’t concentrate long enough to think about what I did... and then it finally hit me... Justin’s bear hug. I told the doctor and he rolled his eyes profusely. My spleen was like an over-inflated water balloon and when Justin hugged me, it popped.

Well... in reality, it was more like a tear. I had to be admitted into the hospital and the only space they had was in the I.C.U. That part was a bit depressing, but at least they didn’t need to operate – luckily. The just had to keep me comfortable and wait it out to see if my spleen would stop internally bleeding on its own and scab over the tear. I stayed doped up on pain medication (maybe a bit more than I actually needed) and there I was... for yet another week off school... although this time I got daily phone calls from Justin (fuelled by guilt no doubt, but his concern for me was heaven) and I was back watching Days of Our Lives, which I must say, was marvellously more entertaining whilst high on Demerol.

This is what Justin wrote on the back of his school photo for me.

Scene of the Crime

The first time I had sex, yep, I remember, although it is something I would like to forget. So there I was, 14 years old and in a “real relationship” with my boyfriend (When you’re 14 and in a relationship for 6 months, that’s “forever”). So we decided that it was time to do the deed. We were responsible about it; we talked about it and we waited for a bit. My friend and her older sister (who was friends with my boyfriend) were having a party. Perfect… I could tell my parents that I was sleeping over at Diana’s house. It wasn’t exactly lying; it just wasn’t telling the whole truth.

So there we were – young, drunk and in love; it was time. We picked a dark room upstairs, found the bed and starting making out. I have to admit, he was a nice guy; he asked if this was going to be it and I answered ‘yes’. He had a condom and we were ready! He even made sure I was ok at the beginning and during; like I said… nice guy.

What I remember about the feeling of the first time was: OUCH! It wasn’t pleasant. I just kept thinking “this can’t be it; this isn’t what I heard and read about... we must not be doing it right. It must get better, just wait!” It didn’t get better – it got worse. When it was over, which was quickly, I wondered if I bled. I heard that the first time when your “cheery gets popped” you bleed. I didn’t feel anything “pop” so I put my hands down there to feel around. It was wet everywhere and slimy. Yuck! He didn’t seem to notice. He wanted to get up and get a drink, so I said that was ok and I’d get cleaned up and meet him downstairs. I had to stay and see what happened without him being there. When I heard him walk down the stairs, I jumped up, shut the door and began searching for the light switch. I found it, turned it on and saw what looked like a horrific murder scene! Brownish-red blood was everywhere; all over the sheets, all over me and worse, all over the mattress. I looked around and quickly realized that we were in my friend’s sister’s room. I totally just stained her sister’s bed with my ‘first time’ blood and fluids. Oh, shit! I was mortified.

My first instinct was to hide the evidence. I used the already disgusting sheets to clean myself up, got dressed and went into the hall in search of the linen closet. The whole time I was worrying that if anyone was to come upstairs, what would I say? I was scared and my heart was pounding. So I began to strip the bed; it was saturated. I thought if I were to flip the mattress that maybe no one would notice! I couldn’t flip it - that didn’t work. I decided to soak up as much as I could with the old sheets and some towels and then I remade the bed. It looked like nothing happened on the surface; it was a perfectly clean and tidy room, except for the heap of bloody towels and sheets in the corner. I couldn’t find the damn laundry hamper.

I had to leave; I couldn’t take the guilt any longer. My boyfriend was also probably wondering where the hell I was, so off I went. I was expecting to walk into a room with everyone looking at me and whispering. Thank god that wasn’t the case! The party was going on as normal; everyone doing their own thing. My boyfriend and his friends were in the pool, so I knew that they probably knew by now. I told my close friends, but left out the bloody details, literally. I never told anyone about the gory aftermath. I went home early the next morning, as to avoid the sister at all cost. I don’t think I could have hidden my guilt if she asked anyone what happened. I hoped she found somewhere else to sleep that night.

To this day, I am SO sorry for the mess I left. Come on! I was only 14, but even still, I’m profoundly sorry for tainting your sister’s childhood room.

Tale of the Turd

I had a relationship with a guy when I was 17 that was more comfortable rather than passionate... more like 2 best mates that also had sex, a lot. We would try different things and often discuss it after. He had exceptionally boney hips, and it got to the point where my inner thighs were so bruised from sex that it hurt to walk. The suggestion of having more missionary sex at that point made me cringe at the sheer thought of pounding against those aching wounds. We switched to doggie-style for the next few days and then the inevitable question was proposed.

“Wanna try...you know...up the arse?”

“Well, OK, but we’re going to have to use lots of lube, and go REALLY slow and be gentle!”

I should also add that his older brother’s nickname was ‘Horse’ and that similar genetic features were strong in his family, which didn’t appease my fears about what was about to happen. We got the lubricant out and even though he was very gentle, after about 3 thrusts in about 5 seconds, THAT WAS ENOUGH! GET IT OUT! OWWWW-EEEEE!

So, take the sensation of the most painful shit you’ve ever had, and then double it. I guess a lot of people enjoy that feeling, but it wasn’t for me. Apparently, there is a G-spot somewhere up there too– I will gladly be leaving mine up there, alone and undiscovered.

My boyfriend was uncircumcised, and as he was cleaning the lubricant off himself, he discovered a tiny chunk of turd under his foreskin. He jumped up like he was on fire and proceeded to squeal like a terrified little girl. I was embarrassed, since it was my turd, but I dealt with it by laughing hysterically at the spectacle that he was making of himself. I don’t see why he was so shocked, considering where his dick had just been. If you go digging in holes, you’re bound to find some dirt.