This story makes me think about the disparity between girls and boys. I realize I am making a huge generalization here, as, believe me, I receive stories from boys that are every bit as tender, confused and vulnerable as the stories I receive from girls. But as a rule of thumb, I get those stories from women more often. There are biological reasons for this that we have discussed on this blog before. Women have to be ruled by their emotions. Why? Because we have the ability to grow tiny human beings in our bodies! Imagine how many pregnancies we would have to deal with if emotions weren’t thrown into the equation. It would be a nightmare. We’d be constantly up the duff.
It’s almost like a cruel trick of nature but as I’ve got older I have come to understand that our emotions protect us, that we have to invest more in our intimate relationships because we are biologically pre-programmed to do so. It’s not because we are clingier – lord knows, I’ve met some clingy boys in my time – or more needy. It’s the fact that emotions help us build connections with the opposite sex and in doing so, we are less likely to be left holding the baby. It all makes sense when you look at it like that right?
But try telling that to yourself when you’re 15 years old, or twenty years old, (and sometimes even when you’re 30 or 35). It takes a long time to get a hang of ‘the game’ and meanwhile, we’re all going to accrue a collection of heartbreaking stories. If I knew then what I know now. Such a hackneyed phrase but it’s hackneyed for a reason. If I knew then what I know now, I could have blithely dismissed so many of my own teenage torments with the rationale above. ‘It’s ok, ‘Wayne’ (there were a lot of ‘Waynes' around in the 80’s) is behaving like an twat because he’s controlled by his hormones and he doesn’t have to worry about creating a life that he won’t have to take care of for the next 18 years’…and so on.
The downside of having emotions is that we complicate things. Men are so much simpler when it comes to affairs of a heart. If a woman slams out of a room screaming, ‘don’t EVER call me again’, the chances are, a man won’t call again because those are the clear instructions that have just been issued. For clarity’s sake, what most women mean when they say this is, ‘you better call me asshole and when you do it, you better get down on your bended knees and beg for my forgiveness’. I know that, you know that but you have to forgive most men for not knowing that. We have to give men clearer signals and make things as easy as possible for them.
None of which really helps today’s story teller who says, ‘I know the circumstances were widely of my making’. Yes, perhaps they were but for all men’s straightforwardness and simplicity, you’d still have to be pretty stupid to think that ‘snuggling’, ‘spooning’ and ‘making out’ might not lead to people having feelings. That’s just basic common sense. Yes, the lady in question might have helped by spelling her thoughts out in a more straightforward manner but I’d also call this an open and shut case of someone else wanting to have their cake and eat it. So to speak.
‘I first want to say how wonderful and brave and beautiful your blog is. Thank you. I found it at an important time in my life and I truly believe it is helping me in my healing process.
To back track: Jan 15, 2012
I grew up shy and conservative, raised by Christian parents whose only sex ed was ‘True love waits’ which means ‘DON'T HAVE SEX EVER UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES EXCEPT MARRIAGE BUT EVEN THEN WE CAN'T GO INTO DETAILS’. Needless to say I was a little unprepared. I relied heavily on my older sister to keep me informed about life facts because she was a) older and b) told it like it was and c) didn't take shit from nobody.
I am religious myself. Never really dated in high school. Made out with a Russian exchange student all the time in college, then moved on to a former Navy guy with dad issues. Was truly single all through college, pining over true love and my best guy friend who turns out is gay.
I met a guy at my favorite pub a little less than a year ago. He was cute and witty, scribbling notes back to me on napkins when I left him questions and comments. I started talking to him one night when my girl friend was deeply engrossed in a boring conversation with an ex. We hit it off. I liked him and awkwardly tried to show it through a series of offbeat pranks and postcards I delivered by hand to the pub. He took the bait, he made jokes, he wrote back, he was funny.
Fast forward three months, I'm leaving for a job (just temporary) and he finds out. He is sad. At this point we have been hanging out a lot. I've been to his apartment a few times for some ‘fun’ (mainly hand jobs and getting naked) which I feel EXTREMELY guilty for. I tell him it’s okay... I'll be back in the fall. Blah, blah, blah. I call him at least 3 times a week. Most of the time we're both drunk on the phone and it devolves into a guessing game of what I'm wearing. One night, I'm super hammered and we have a great silly conversation which eventually devolves into him calling me a ‘crazy bitch’ and telling me he's not going to wait around for me that summer because I didn't/wouldn't have sex with him.
After a lot of crying and more drinking, I come home from my summer job. I avoid where he works, only going in on his days off. Eventually I come in and he is super excited to see me. He acts surprised that I'm standoffish. An apology follows our somewhat awkward meeting. We slowly begin to talk….him apologetic, me afraid to get hurt.
Sometime that fall, we are on really good terms again. He is single, I'm single. We decide that we will be just friends but have fun on the side. This leads to me going to his apartment to snuggle and then spoon and then make out with him. Or talking to him on the phone until we're both masturbating. He constantly assures me that I don't need to be scared of him - I've tensed up before when we're in person - he's not going to have sex with me. We have long conversations about me being a virgin. He tells me brief snippets of his first time and ends the story with the sentiment that he'd wished he'd waited. He tells me beautiful things, things no man has ever told me and therein lays the trouble. We talk every day, sometimes three times a day, about life, our jobs, the weather, matching v. mismatching socks, etc. All the while he reminds me that we are NOT dating.
January 15, 2012: I see him at work and wait at his car until he's about to leave. He laughs and tells me to come over in an hour. I come over and it's kind of awkward at first. His dog is jumping around barking. He sits on the small couch and then laughs when I try to sit with him. He asks me what I want to do and the answer is obvious to me but I won't say it. So we move to the bedroom. We undress on his bed and begin to make out. I can feel his cock in my hand, hard. I'm not as scared of it as I used to be. We try different things. We talk. He listens when I say harder or slower or right there or just moan in pleasure as my toes curl and I dig my nails into his bare skin. But whenever he brings his cock close, I freeze up. He reassures me that he's not going to have sex with me. We spoon as I try to calm down. I tell myself not to ruin this, I want it. I get myself wet as we spoon and eventually bring his hand down to finish the job.
The rest is a blur.
One moment I'm in pleasure and bliss, his hand working away, his eyes meeting mine. And then I break our rule, I roll over to face him. I cling to him like I'm drowning. And the fingers are replaced by something else. I'm in so much pain. It builds and builds until suddenly there is a feeling that explodes into a finely tuned intensity of pain and relief all at once. As suddenly as it started, it fades. I stop rocking my hips against his, and pull up and away from something hard and fiery. The feeling fades and I'm left clinging to him with ragged intensity. And then it is over. He takes my hand and has me finish him off. He cums and then says ‘Look at what you did’. As if I have any idea, I'm too numb and sore. The rest of the time I'm there, he won't really look at me or touch me. He moves away from me and won't really answer. I'm glowing and I don't even know why.
The next two days are like hell. I ache below the waist. That night, I peed and there was blood. Not a lot. Just some. And suddenly something in my brain clicked. I can barely walk at work and try to sit all the time. Slowly I replay what I did that Sunday night and the reality hits me. I feel like throwing up. I feel ugly and cheap. I feel like killing myself but know that suicide is not an alternative. I try calling him four days later to see if it's all in my head. I tell him ‘I feel like things might be weird since….’ to which he replies ‘Things aren't weird. What are you talking about?’ I convince myself that I was wrong and that it didn't happen. We didn't use protection so the next two weeks until I get my period are nerve wracking.
Fast forward a month or so. We still talk and call but it begins to taper off. I find out that he thinks I'm too attached and clingy. We have the same conversation over and over. He stops responding to my texts and calls around Valentine's Day. I ignore him for three weeks. During this time, I drink a lot, stay in bed, and constantly relive Jan 15th as if it was the first time. I realize that maybe I shouldn't have made myself forget what happened. It was a bizarre coping mechanism. I see him the week leading up to my birthday. Anytime he wants to talk to me, he addresses my friend, A. Skip to my birthday where he kisses me on the cheek and comps all my drinks at the pub. We hug for the first time in months. The next day he calls me to talk it out. I wake up in such a good mood that I don't mention that day. It's the furthest thing from my mind. We talk and joke and he tells me nice things. I decide that I'm going to be on model behavior so that he has nothing to complain about in regards to me being ‘TOO ATTACHED’. This works in a way but I still cry about what happened.
The sad truth is, I'm not 100% sure he popped my cherry. I know the circumstances were widely of my making. But still, I can't bring myself to ask him about it. It's something that makes me cry almost every day. I only hope that one day I'll have the courage to ask him what happened on January 15th. The confusion and pain hurts so deeply. I can't bear it for much longer.