The Story of a Heartless Girl Who Fucked Her Neighbor

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.