Chapter One - Emmitt

I was the last of all my friends to be a virgin. I didn't consider 14 to be a normal age to start having sex, so I was confused about why all my friends were doing it. But you probably remember your mind as a teenager; racing, obsessive, thinking no further into the future than to the weekend. At that stage in my life, 3 months seemed like an eternity. Listening to my friends talk about their exploits over an entire school year made me feel as if I'd never find someone.

The main issue was that my friends were actually in relationships; they weren't just sleeping around. I, on the other hand, couldn't keep anyone around longer than 2 or 3 months and I was miserable and finally came to terms with the fact that waiting for "the right guy" was a fairy tale accessible to only a few. So I decided that I'd just go ahead and get it over with, with the next guy that didn't repulse me and tried to get in my pants.

As luck would have it, there was a party that weekend. I ended up getting chummy with a guy named Emmitt who was not even remotely my type. Ralph Lauren and Cole Haan and all buttoned up. Came from a rich neighborhood, went to great schools and, basically, came across as a spoiled little rich boy. Although I spent the night at the party with him, I didn't drink or use drugs (ha! at the time!), and everybody was pretty hammered. He took me up on the roof of the host's house and we talked for quite some time. I found out about his checkered past and his getting sent to boot camp and reform school and how he totally changed his life around. He swore he didn't use any drugs at all anymore, but I suspected that he smoked weed quite a bit. After all, we were at the house of a drug dealer. An 18-year old drug dealer who owned his own house and two new Mustangs. 5.0 Mustangs, too...not those stupid little 4-bangers. We fooled around a little but, mostly, I just wanted to sleep.

He borrowed his friend's Mustang to take me home the next morning. My parents were at work and I thought, You know, Stillie...maybe this is the way to go. So I invited him in. We fooled around a little bit more and then told him to go for it. I'd never told him I was a virgin, either. Like a moron, condom-less and impulsive, we had sex. Short, pathetic, "i'm not sure he's in yet because he's that small" sex. Like most girls, I was underwhelmed. Totally unimpressed. I mean, sure, I liked the feeling but it was just easier to take care of myself and actually revel in the sensations.

He wouldn't leave. I literally had to kick him out. I told him I didn't want to see him anymore. I mean, we had nothing in common besides acquaintances and I'd gotten what I needed. He showed up at my house every evening, begging my father to let him see me. Dad didn't understand why I wouldn't want to go out with such a "nice looking boy with a nice car" who "obviously comes from money."

Eventually he wore me down and we started dating. He went out of town for a week over the summer and I started having sex with another guy I'd been crushing on for 2 years. But that's Chapter Two. Emmitt and I had been going out for about three months when he went to eat Christmas dinner with my family. I overheard my oldest cousin say, "Well, she finally brought a guy over...she must not be a virgin anymore." Gah. It was about a month later when I took my best girlfriend over to his house one afternoon. He started mildly flirting with her and I broke up with him right there. Then I started fucking his best friend. But that's another story. Chapter Three, to be exact.

Where Is He Now?
Apparently, while we were dating, he'd been sleeping with another girl. He got her pregnant and her grandfather forced Emmitt to move in with them. I heard they got married later. I never had any desire to find him at all until I was doing some background checks and had to look up public records of someone with the same last name. Seems that the old ex got busted with pounds upon pounds of marijuana with the intent to distribute and, at last check, is currently in a local prison.

Next up: Chapter Two - Bobby B

(by the way...i don't plan on writing so much for all of these guys. i just figured, you know...the first and all. good background for you to get a feel for my self-destructive pattern.)

 

The Night After Steve's Funeral

The night sky was an inkwell and someone spilled glitter into it. The glassy lake, an obsidian slab, was untouched by breeze. An occasional shooting star raced across the sky, its celestial path mirrored on the lake's surface. And there I was, just floating in the center of a lake that seemed as if it could have been the edge of the world: no shoreline to be seen. I'd lost sight of it just after dusk; that time when everything appears to be coated in dust, as if a building had been imploded nearby.

I was the nucleus; the full moon slowly rotated around me. The guttural croaks of the freshwater drum gradually subsided as the night grew long. I had no sense of time, lost in an environment captured as a Polaroid snapshot, a scene that would fade and turn to a blurry, sepia-toned memory as time passed.

The distorted voices of campers, once carried over the water, faded and ceased altogether, my sign that I was truly alone, secluded and sheltered from the world. Then - finally THEN - I fell into, at last, my element. I disappeared into the comfort and familiarity of nature, wholly enveloped in the only form of peace I know: the solitary method for me to achieve a quiet mind.

In this rarely-visited alternate universe, I was able to forget the disturbing form of grief I had endured that day. I disconnected my feelings of confusion and, for the first time in a long time, felt absolutely nothing. Relaxation (or was it mental exhaustion?) took over and I began to fall asleep, floating flat on my back in the onyx water.

It expended a great amount of willpower to pull myself out of the trance. Soon, someone would be looking for me. Soon, I was going to have to get back to the dock. Going back meant driving back home in a few hours and returning to the life I'd grown to hate: city life. As I begrudgingly swam back, I kept looking to the east, silently cursing the sky's ever-growing light blue hue.



(i know someone said they were waiting on my narcissistic entries about my sordid sex life. i haven't forgotten, but i lost inspiration for awhile. being busy is kind of a crappy excuse, but i will do my best to sit down and write them. they're just going to be small memories; not the whole horrible affair, so maybe it won't be too painful to read.)

62 Chapters of Dick

Because I'm bored and in the mood to reminisce, I'm thinking about doing a short flash of memories in 62 installments. Not the full stories, just a blurb or two. More for myself than anything else. Once I open the gate, the rest of the memories come flooding back - usually - and I sure miss my life. There are so many things I wish I could remember, but my brain's fried. I think that, while my two readers will be either disgusted, entertained, or just feel sorry for me, I will be able to regain parts of myself.

I feel as if I'm mellowing, slowing down, or something. I want to relive what I consider to be conquests. So...anyway...more of that later. You've been warned.
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