Since you asked for
stories, I thought I might as well give you mine. It’s rather explicit
and cold and kind of pathetic to share, but it might be interesting
anyway.
I’m seventeen, female, and living in a small suburban bubble of a
town in New England. My psyche is crazed and broken, with the orange
bottle of prescription pills in my bathroom cabinet standing as
testament. The early winter of 2012 was a landslide, dumping me in the
backseat of my Ford Taurus as I turned on the engine and sealed the
garage in an attempt to drive out the oxygen from my lungs.
Now, being the weak-willed, psychosomatic, introspective, mental
hypochondriac I am, this (obviously failed) attempt to off myself wasn’t
exactly surprising. I’m one hundred fifty pounds and brown-skinned in a
town full of model-thin blonde blue-eyed girls and their J Crew
boyfriends. My friends are all geniuses or musicians or star athletes
while I spend time searching out solace in a computer screen. My mother
is the stereotypical psychotic asian parent and my dad isn’t ever
around. And what’s worse is that I can’t even deal with the little
problems I have. I spend so much time wondering what the fuck must be
wrong that I’m such a screw up.
And this is when I met my neighbor, Lucas.
Well, we’re not really true neighbors. He’s on the street down from
ours but the back of his house is right near the back of ours. One day
my mom went over, chatted up his parents, and then came home with their
kids’ EP album because evidently they had an indie band that they
thought I might be interested in. I was. They were brilliant. So I
promoted them on my tumblr.
A few weeks later, I got a message in my ask box. It was a consoling
message to me replying to a text post I had made about some teenage
crisis or another. I replied to the stranger and in the ensuing
conversation I discovered that he was my neighbor and had found me
through the promotion of his band. We chatted, he was charming, and we
exchanged phone numbers.
Then we met in town. Lights were up in the trees and I met him in
Starbucks as my mom waited outside in the car to make sure he wasn’t
some creep from the internet. He was tall and broad-shouldered with a
nice smile and good arms. I was lost in the surreal nature of it all,
because here was an extremely attractive boy who was out to coffee with
me and complimented my grimy combat boots and told me I was cool.
He ordered me a coffee, a “Dirty Hippie” as I remember it—some sort
of secret coffee order that was infused with chai and orange. It burned
my tongue as I laughed at his stories. We then swapped favorite books
because we fancied ourselves alternative for our generation. I handed
over
A Wild Sheep Chasewhile he gave me
Looking For Alaska.
It was cute.
He then had to leave for a party. But he waited for my ride to get there before he left.
I went home. And marinated in the nerves. Was I all right? Did I make a fool of myself? I probably made a fool of myself…
and then he texted me telling me the party was boring
I was infused with new confidence.
We continued to text, touching on subjects of fear and death and
beliefs of the beyond because we were try-hard Aristotles trading
philosophy through our i-Phone 4s.
Then it was December 9th, 2012. 2 AM. We were both up and “couldn’t
sleep”. I just wanted to keep talking to him because what a rush it was
to have a boy’s attention. I was watching movies on netflix. Then he
said,
“if you want I could come over and be your movie buddy?”
(we both loved
cinema of course, being the pretentious assholes that we were)
I nervously checked to see that the lights were off upstairs and that
the rest of my family was asleep in their rooms on the floor above
mine. Feeling suddenly rebellious I said, “yes”.
He showed up in a red t-shirt and flannel pants. Pajamas. Hadn’t
bothered with a jacket either. I let him in through the sliding glass
door in the back and we crept into my room. My laptop sat on the foot of
my bed, opening sequence of
The Good The Bad and The Ugly flashing across the screen. I sat down, crossing my legs to try to curb the adrenaline rush.
I whispered in a rush how crazy it was, how I never did anything like this… sneaking a boy into the house? Insane.
He settled down beside me, leaning closer to see what was on the
screen. I could feel his body heat and tried not to focus on it.
“What’s this?”
“Oh,
The Good The Bad and The Ugly. If you want to watch something else though that’s cool-“
and then his arm, strong and warm, wrapped around my shoulders and he said
“I don’t think it really matters”
and then he was leaning in, my heart was in overdrive, and when his
lips found mine I wasn’t able to breathe or think or move. Just deer in
headlights—overheating teenage girl.
I finally, kissed him back, sloppily for sure (first kiss, I mean I
didn’t know what the hell I was doing), but he didn’t seem to care as he
pulled me on top of him. My laptop fell off the bed and I yelped as it
hit the ground but he stroked my hair and shhed me. “Don’t want to wake
anyone up”
and then he was kissing me again and I couldn’t process a damn thing
until I felt the heat of his hand under my shirt and then over my bra.
And that’s where I stopped him. He understood. I wasn’t ready and we
watched the movie. He rubbed circles into my back all the way through
it. Then he stood up to go and shyly and quickly I kissed him on the
cheek before he walked out the door. He smiled. Probably at my naivety.
I seemed a rather easy target.
I still remember the feeling of my door against my back as I
whispered “oh my god” over and over again. I was sixteen and had my
first kiss…
We continued to text. He was a senior at a different high school and
his band was growing more successful and his schedule was too booked for
dates. But then came a night where he snuck me over, holding my hand as
he guided me through his backyard in the dark, and we went down to his
basement where he convinced me to take off my clothes. We didn’t go all
the way. But he gave me a massage (inspired by some obscure film scene)
and I could feel him through his flannel pajama pants as he flipped me
to straddle him while we were kissing.
The next time he snuck me over, we watched a movie in his basement
and he spooned me on the leather couch. Fifteen minutes in, his hands
dipped under my shirt and then under my shorts. He then paused the movie
and taught me a different way to use my mouth.
Then December 26th, at 4 AM, we were on that same leather couch. I was sixteen and had my first fuck.
I’ll come right out and say it. He was using me for sex. Maybe on
some level there was a little affection for my personality, but most of
the time we spent was with us naked.
And fuck did I enjoy it.
Because you see, this is where the story gets interesting. Granted,
he was charming and enigmatic and he had me tripping over myself when I
first met him. But I’m not a fool. I could tell what he was doing, it
wasn’t too hard to see. He was bringing me over to his house in the
middle of the night and stripping me down. He could have written it on
his god damn forehead.
He thought he had me where he wanted me. That I was the naive little girl next door that he had in the palm of his hands.
I let him believe what he wanted. Suited me fine. I’m a girl that
likes to know things. And here was an available teacher. So I let him
“play” me like I wanted him too.
and I relished it.
Because let’s be honest, it was a lovely distraction. Some charade of
human intimacy I could enjoy in the hours I most hated myself.
I never thought he loved me. Romance was not in the cards for us. It was a game of lust. I played it out to the end.
But eventually I got tired of showering the smell of his skin off my
body at 4 in the morning. So I told my sister (in “confidence”) that I
was “seeing him” and she spread that around the student body with
excitement. I pretended not to know. And, like I expected, the rumor
spread through the network of private school kids and he texted me two
days later asking “why are people asking if I’m dating you when I’m
not?”
and then I said, “I didn’t tell anyone but aren’t we??” and I played
the part of the wounded girl next door because hell he thought I was
innocent and it worked like a charm. I said “I won’t bother you anymore
I’m sorry” and deleted his contact without a tear.
But without those midnight escapades I fell back to contemplating my
own worthlessness as I couldn’t go to sleep. Then on my seventeenth
birthday my friend died. I tried to kill myself again. Then I was sent
to psychiatrists and therapists and people who steeple their fingers in
rooms of “calming” beiges and ask me about my god damn feelings.
They filled me with resentment and pills.
Then, a month after I shoved him out of my life, Lucas texted me saying, “Hey, Liz, I’m sorry for being such an asshole”.
I laughed at the irony before saying, “dude you weren’t it’s all cool. we’re good”
and he said, “no I really mean it, I led you on… can we maybe be friends?”
and I said yes. Because deep down I really needed one.
We continued to talk and I discovered that his best friend recently
died in a drunk driving accident. They had made a pact. Said if one of
them died, the other had to live twice as hard. I think that’s why he
texted me.
In the end, I poured my heart out a little over text (something I had
never done before with him or anyone for that matter) and he told me to
come over that instant. He hugged me as I cried. We talked about
meaningful things for the first time.
When I finally went home I didn’t need to shower.
And that’s about all I have to share really. I suddenly trust the boy that lives next door. And I don’t trust anyone.
Hope this was worth reading.
And feel free to post this. Just do me a favor and remove my url from
the submit source or if that’s not possible just copy and paste into a
new text post.
People might be interested to hear how tumblr actually got someone laid.
But she was 
And while the spirit was jovial 
And
while she may have formally come out at the Hôtel de Crillon in 2011,
last night was the 19-year old’s professional debut. “This was my
first-ever 
It’s
something he’ll get used to as the now-nineteen-year-old plans to build
on his career as an actor. “Having something year after year to throw
myself into showed me what I wanted to do with myself.
I
always craved that artistic process.” Watching the cavorting crowd, he
reflected on wrapping a film as personal as this: “It’s beautiful and
heartbreaking. It’s totally heartbreaking. I don’t think any of us
realized until the end just how important it had become to us. But to
have it move people the way it is is the best reaction you can get.”
