This morning I rolled over in my freshly awake state to smile at my bed buddy, he smiles back, asks how I slept and as I yawn I tell him I slept well, and return the question, always the same his smile fades slightly and he shrugs, never blaming me for his lack of shut eye, but clearly tired.

What am I doing? How can he like me when I kick him in my sleep, steal all the bedding, and even, as I did last night scratch him with my toenails, which must ot only have been painful, but also kind of disgusting.  I have also, and I admit this shamefully, drooled on him.  Yet, he never complains, he didn’t even bring up the drooling, which I had no intention of apologizing for because of embarrassment, but it does make me think, and wonder how he can put up with me.  Am I worth the lack of sleep, of course I think so, but it must be frustrating.

we get along great, and cuddle like we were made to lay together, why then, can we not sleep well?  I wonder if it is me, but no other partner has ever complained of my selfishness in bed.  Am I just testing him?  It is very curious that we are so incompatible at sharing a bed, and I wonder how important of an issue this is.

he has never gotten mad at me, one day maybe I expect him to snap (possibly from a lack of sleep), as for now I guess I will just be left to wonder why I can’t share with someone I care about, and how as a couple who has great sex, we can be so uncomfortable in bed.

I met this boy this summer.

It was my second day in bartending class when I first noticed Will.  He was paired at a station next to mine with a girl whom he was mercilessly hitting on.  Will was cute, in a clean-cut sort of funny personality way, the girl was a sassy cute chick (not as cute as me, but still) and I could tell it would go nowhere.  Judging by his style of flirting however I was interested.  Will flirted with banter and wit, and when the other girl did not show up in class the next day I focused my skills at talking on him.  For the remainder of the week we flirted and teased each other, Will was quick, and an even match, when it came time to complete out final speed test we made a bet, whoever finished making their drinks first was owed a drink by the other.  Will beat me, but only by a garnish.When it was time to collect on his drink our one drink turned into 3 or 4, I had one more than him,so technically I didn’t buy him anything.  Very drunk he offered to walk me back to my dorm, this would be the last time he offered to walk me anywhere.  Getting back to my building I invited him upstairs, figuring someone would be upstairs, I think it was the only time I ever saw my dorm empty.  I showed him around and we ended up sitting side by side on my bed.

Feeling the familiar feeling of nervousness before a hookup I began to explain that I thought we shouldn’t hookup cause i would regret and I liked him.  He stared back at me before he leaned closer and we began to make out.  I have this problem of having sex on the first date, Will and I had a long run, and even until now I still regret having had sex with him so quickly, sometimes I think he might have liked me more or wanted me more if I had held out, although most of me knows that probably not true.

We had made plans to see a movie a few days later and nothing was awkward we talked and Will told me he wasn’t looking for a relationship, I wasn’t super pumped on being tied down either so this didn’t bother me and I appreciated his honesty.  Will and I spent a good chunk of the summer together, we went on dates, though he never paid, and had pretty brilliant sex.  Will was rough, and I liked it.  I became comfortable telling him what I wanted and he always obliged.  But I always knew from our banter we’d have great sex, and when its more than a one night stand sex isn’t everything.

I respected Will’s want to be single, and when i told my friends about our arrangement they seemed unsurprised that I had agreed to a situation like this.  I resented that Will never let me hang out with him and his friends even though I understood why, and I appreciated his honesty in telling me when he was interested in or had been with other girls.  I also like to have sex more than Will and this made me insecure and sometimes upset.

I became increasingly frustrated with Will, I knew we weren’t in a relationship but we had agreed to do it part-time, and it felt like sometimes he was only interested in himself.  We met at places that were convenient for him and on his schedule.  I don’t mean to make him sound bad, Will and I are very similar and he was a lot of fun, always calling me out and down to argue.  And although he would go for a week or more without contacting me he would always return calls and never avoided me.

I have recently met someone else, and though I will surely miss the sex I am looking forward to being friends, there were so many last straws for me that I never acted on or expressed concern over that I hope we can laugh about down the line.  Will and I are similar people, maybe that wasn’t what I was looking for, and now halfway through my fall semester the summer is far gone, and it is finally time for the part-time relationship to come to a close.  I remember it fondly and bid it good-luck.

It was a weekend trip to Ireland that became one of the best vacations I’ve ever had.  Me and a friend went to Dublin before the weekend of st.patrick’s day.  We were not the drink and do nothing else duo but our first night there involved a dance club, there for 5 mins a man approached us, sans irish accent i was uninterested, though my friend seemed to fancy him, this came to a head a few minutes later, when after a trip to the bathroom my friend informed me they had just made out.  Having made a pact that it would be unsafe for us to go home with anyone who wasn’t roommates I was pleased when he introduced us to some of his, the night took an odd turn however when me and her new friend excused ourselves for a cigarette.

With his roommates nor my friend anywhere in sight, he quickly pinned me against the wall and began kissing me, pretty intoxicated I kissed back.  Knowing I was swimming in incestuous waters I felt guilty, this didn’t stop this man however from playing us both all night.  Having banished his roommates he clearly thought he was having a threesome, nothing was clearer to me than the fact that i was not going home with him.  As the night progressed we finally lost this man, slightly upset to have lost her new boo my friend wanted to find him, and although heavily intoxicated she still caught on with lightening speed that I had made out with him when I expressed no interest to find him.   After graciously forgiving me we exited, hoped in a cab and found some pizza, after all we had a tour of trinity college in the morning, and this was just the beginning.

If ever you’re in Dublin you must surely go on a tour of Trinity college.  Not only is a beautiful, and fascinating, the Book of Kells being a major highlight, but it was almost certainly be led by a cute Irishman.  After our tour and some wonderful photographs we asked our adorable tour guide for some suggestions of good place to go out, notebook in hand my friend took down all details staring one in particular, The Ginger Man.

Dublin is small, all of the recommended bars were within walking distance, The Ginger Man however was a few blocks out of the way, I used this as an excuse to try every other place first, my friend was sure The Ginger Man would be best, but laziness took hold and it wasn’t before having trekked to, and been disappointed by, every other bar that I finally followed her (correct) lead.

The Ginger Man was a small very Irish pub, within five minutes of sitting down, we were beckoned over to a nearby table with cute men, all of them with proper Irish accents.  Settling down next to one guy we were introduced, this was Neil.

Let me talk about the dress.  I have this dress, it is my lucky dress and I have never not gotten laid while wearing it, it is black, form fitting and has a zipper going all the way up the front.  It is hot, and this was the dresses maiden voyage.  My friend was taking quite a fancy to a man across the table from where Neil and I were hitting it off splendidly, his name was John.  It was on one of John’s journey’s to the bar to get us more drinks that another man in their party revealed to my friend that John had a girlfriend, rightly so, she was appalled.  Upon returning He was confronted.

“How long have you and your girlfriend been going out?” she asked

“Three years,” he responded, and as if to soothe her, “It’s not serious.”

It was at this point that Ginger Man was closing and we were invited by our new friends to a dance club.  I love to Dance.  Relocated me and Neil found a corner while my friend set her sights on boys other than John and found a fun group dancing nearby.  About an hour later Neil and I were engrossed in each others faces when my friend informed me she was heading home, John, looking wounded behind her, said he would walk her.  I was instructed to stay, she approved of Neil, and she promised to call me when she got home.  I got a call ten minutes later.

Did I mention John and Neil were roommates.  I didn’t.  They were.

“I’m at the apartment,” she said on the phone.

“What apartment?”

“Their apartment.”

At this point me an Neil were on our way back to his place.  i hung up telling her I would see her soon.  Upon entering the apartment I witnessed my friend and John sitting quite far apart on the couch.  We all sat and talked for a little while before Neil and I made an exit to the bedroom.  Once inside I assumed my friend had reconsidered and was staying with John.  Neil and I were both very drunk, he was sweet and a good kisser, and truly had a very large penis, we fooled around for a bit before he announced himself too drunk and we finished the night by cuddling.

When I woke up the next morning I looked at my phone to see a text from my friend, it read, “Couldn’t do, had to leave, see you tomorrow.”  apparently she had not changed her mind after all.  Walking me back to my hostel, Neil and I agreed to see each other the following night.  We went for drinks, walked around, Neil was a law student and showed me all the court houses, and returned to his apartment for a more sober night of sex.

I really liked Neil, and he had the cutest accent I’d ever heard, was sweet and smart, of course who knows how things would have been a week from then, but for a weekend vacation romance, I can’t complain.

I’m not cruel, I’m fair.

Jake was a year younger, and although I usually aimed for older guys, in my perception that the older the boy, the cooler you were, he was great.  It was this summer that we finally gained freedom, we were permitted to eat in the older dinning room, and were no longer required to sit as a large group at cafeteria tables with our entire bunk, no, now we had smaller tables, with free standing benches, we were moving up.

Though Jake still had to sit in the other dinning room, many lunch conversations turned to our happy relationship and how cute we were together.  Everyone agreed, age was only a number, and at 14 Jake was surely mature for his age; I had made a good choice.

Among the other liberties in which we basked that summer, was the permission to have our first coed dance.  Happy to have a date, I was extremely excited for this night.  The entire camp dressed up, and from our bunk we could hear the music spilling from the cantine.  Though we were the youngest group permitted to attend the party, Jake’s attendance with me granted him entrance – a fact for which I do not doubt his eternal gratitude.

Dressed in light blue capris and a tricolor blue top I was assured of my style and beauty on our way.  Fashionably 15 minutes late to the dance, once inside I scanned the room for Jake.  The lights had been dimmed, though not entirely shut, for fear of what a group of teenagers might get up to in the dark.  The most popular pop music was blaring, censored beyond recognition.

I located Jake sitting on a bench on the far side of the hall, loyally waiting for me.  He was dressed in cargo shorts and a button up top, now here was a man who knew how to clean up.  Pleased by my ability to choose such a presentable young man, we hugged, a true sign of intimacy and affection.  We danced, he got me punch, and towards the end of the night we made our way outside to the porch, leaning over the rail and talking in a true sign of the depth of our relationship and fondness for one another, I was content with how the evening had gone.

It was at this point that Jake decided to take our relationship to the next level.  Leaning over, Jake delivered my first kiss.  When I say kiss, I mean of course on the lips, however it is important to note that our tongues never touched, nor did our lips open.  In my mind however this was extremely meaningful.  We did not kiss again, but on my way back to the bunk I glowed with the news I had to report to my bunkmates.

Once home, our counselor had decided that this night would be the perfect chance to have some additional group bonding.  Seated in a circle on the floor between our beds, we were all required to go around and announce the best part of our day.  I practically shook with anticipation. This was perfect timing.  As the circle slowly made its way around to me, I listened patiently to everyone else’s highlights of getting mail or a package, I would try not to make their news pale too much in comparison.  When my turn finally came I proudly announced, “The best part of my day was when Jake kissed me.”  Everyone began to buzz, “no way.” “OMG! How was it?”  My counselor smiled, we clearly shared a bond.

Oddly enough, we never kissed again; it was the equivalent of a drunken night of sex that could never again be discussed between us.  At the end of the summer we said a warm goodbye and vowed to stay in touch, we wrote a few letters back and fourth and also spoke quite frequently via IM.  It was for this reason that I expected nothing less than the rekindling of or relationship the following summer.  It was with great surprise then that I entered the dinning hall on my first day back at camp the next year to be shunned by Jake.  He gave me few signs of recognition and no clues as to why he wasn’t beyond thrilled to see me.  Hurt, I walked straight back to my table.  To soothe me, a friend took a break from her food to walk over and investigate.  Within a few minutes she returned, she said nothing, and returned to her tatter tots.  Disbelieving I stared at her. “Well?” I demanded.
She looked up as if I had surprised her.
“He doesn’t want to date anymore,” she replied.
Confused, I asked why.
“He doesn’t want to be tied down,” she said matter of factly, “he just doesn’t like you anymore.”
I was appalled.  How could his feelings for me have changed so quickly?  Why hadn’t he said anything before?  Angry I never spoke to him again.  Perplexed by the turn our relationship had taken – were we ever really happy, how could I have missed the signs? – I vowed to forget him.  Who needed a boyfriend anyway?  I would forever have to remember Jake as my first kiss who, “just didn’t like me anymore.”
Men.

It’s not everyday that a friends family crosses the Atlantic Ocean to pay a visit, so when this happened it was absolutely necessary that a large dinner of Indian food take place on Brick Lane, taking out the younger sibling of said friend, we gathered a group and headed out. We especially like this place we were going because of its BYOB policy towards wine and beer, therefore it was no problem when we had to wait a half an hour for our table.  Standing outside in the bustling street we drank away the time, this resulted in us being a fairly drunk party by the time we were seated, this of course was no problem, until it was time to leave.  Our original plan was to continue our night by going out to a pub or a club, unfortunately there were some of our group to drunk to carry on, separating from them, small group of us continued our journey up to the area of Camden.

It was the first stop on the tube that me and my friend, sitting separately from the rest of the group, were joined by two guys discussing their future plans for a Circle Line pub-crawl.  The Circle line is an extremely long tube line that runs in a circle around London, their plan apparently consisted of getting a drink at every stop on this line.  Unable to hold her silence my friend commented that this would be very expensive, I agreed, we began talking to these two guys, we were all going to Camden, what a coincidence.  At the next stop they got off to transfer lines.  Our group had been planning to transfer at a later stop, but realizing these guys were right, asked our other friends if we should get off too.  Our friends nodded and me and my friend stepped off the train, once off we realized our other friends had no intention of getting off at this stop, they laughed as the doors closed behind us and gave us the middle finger as the train parted, leaving us on the platform.  Annoyed we proceeded to transfer anyway; we would meet them there.

It was on the platform for the next train that we reunited with the two men from the tube.
“What happened to your other friends?” they inquired.
“They abandoned us.” We replied, and our two new friends couldn’t help but agree.
“So where in Camden are you guys going?” I asked.
“Just to a pub I know,” said one of them, and immediately we joined their twosome for a night out.

Once in Camden they led us towards the pub, they offered us drinks and we all began talking.  We sat around for while, within an hour or so, the pub was closing and we were forced to find a watering hole elsewhere.  We were led to a semi-club up the street, I had been there once before for a concert, it was an old horse hospital called Proud, the stables inside remained in tact and proved a swanky space for couches and low tables.  We entered and found ourselves a stable with an empty couch.  My friend at opposite me with the cuter of the two men we had acquired on the tube, they seemed to have hit it off, I sat next to the less cute one, but he was interesting and we were having fun.

We hadn’t been seated for ten minutes when we were approached and told that we had wondered into a stable reserved for a private party, our bad, I got up to apologize, but the man who had informed us of our misplacement seemed to think again.
“Actually, it’s totally fine, just stay here.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yes, sure!” he responded as if he had never wanted us to leave.  I sat back down; the cuter of our two acquisitions was now smoking inside. We all stared at him and he shrugged, he assured us it was completely fine, we all started taking drags from his cigarette, but soon grew brave and lit our own.  We also had become quite close with the other stable occupants, those actually invited to the party; we were dancing and singing with them by the end.

At some point I excused myself from our stable to use the bathroom, when I returned, the seats had been changed around Suddenly the taller and skinnier of the two men, the cuter one, was sitting beside me.  I was confused as he seemed to have picked my friend earlier in the evening and I thought the pairings had been decided.  For the rest of the night this cuter boy, who might have been named George (one of them was named George, I’m 76% sure), followed me around and devoted his attention to our conversation.  Eventually the party ended and we need to find a new location, we suggested a favorite pub of ours near our dorm, the men jumped at the suggestion and led us outside to find a cab.  We had been warned before about gypsy, unmarked, cabs, but the guys seemed unconcerned, hailing one quickly.

“I will sit in the front so you girls can sit together,” George offered.
“No,” I interjected, “I want to sit in front.”
George looked at me strangely; I explained that it would be quite the experience to sit in the passenger seat of a car in London, as it would be the driver’s seat back home.  He agreed, still unsure why this would give me so much pleasure.  The ride to the pub was an amazing experience I could not keep in the giggles in as we drove around turns I never enjoyed a car ride so much, sitting in the driver’s I loved every moment.  When we finally got to our destination I was sad to leave the best ride of my life.

We had a few drinks in our new location, realizing that we were at a crucial part of the evening I looked to my friend for advice, though she had been pleasantly chatting up the other boy she confirmed that she wanted this to go no further, she was done.  I was faced with a decision.  George was not my type, Skinny with conscientious hair, but still I was curious; he was just so British, leaning towards my friend I told her I thought I wanted to go home with him.  She nodded and politely excused herself to go home.

“So,” George began, starting to look at me with the affection that only comes out when a guy realizes he has a shot, “you want to come back to our place?”
I nodded, him and his friend called another cab, and in a few minutes we were pulling up in another random part of London.   They led me to their doorway, this was not safe, the fact that there were two of them comforted me, but in retrospect it was just more dangerous, regardless I was there.

Opening the door I was let in to the nicest flat I have ever seen.  More of a house really, this four storied dwelling consisted of a bedroom on each level and a top floor with a kitchen and loft.  Suspicious of its cleanliness, I was assured two women lived there, and felt a little more assured.  Going up to the top level, the three of us sat in the loft, the two guys started smoking a joint, I sat close to George on the couch, taking a clue his friend soon excused himself to go to bed.  At this point George and I descended into the kitchen, I drank some water at the table as George cam up behind me, wrapping his arms around me he told me it was kind of late for me to go home, but I could sleep over if I wanted.

“The only problem,” he offered, “is that there would be no place for you to sleep, you’d have to sleep in my bed, if that’s ok with you.”
I smiled, this was a blatant lie, I’m sure all guests did not sleep in his bed, there was, in fact, plenty of room in this monster of a flat, but I played along.
“I guess that would be ok.”
We began making out and he led me downstairs to his perfectly clean and organized bedroom.  Excusing himself to go to the bathroom, I noticed his hair straightener amongst many other products on his dresser.  I was both impressed and disgusted.

Coming back into the room we made ourselves comfortable in bed, making out and removing our clothing, finally I asked if he had a condom, he told me he didn’t, I had to inform him there would be no sex.
“Maybe I have one,” he reconsidered.
Leaning over me to reach under the bed he pulled out a box containing one condom.  Putting it on, it was not very long until he needed to excuse himself to go to the bathroom, I sensed Whiskey dick, returning he begged to have se again, but without a condom, it wasn’t happening.
“I’ll be very careful.”
“No.”
He sighed and rolled over, it was getting light out, the sex we had had was less than satisfying and I took this as an opportunity to enjoy the large bed and soft sheets, I too went to sleep.

Waking up the next morning, George groaned and rolled over, not feeling well.  I had hoped the morning would bring him energy, at least to run to the store for condoms, but he simply would not uncurl himself from his fetal position of self-pity.  I stuck around enjoying the bed for a few moments, then decided it was time to leave.

“Well, I’m gonna go then,” I said, beginning to dress, he grunted in acknowledgement.  Almost ready to leave he had not asked for my number,
“I’m going to leave my number,” I offered, “you don’t have to call,” I added.
He nodded, I’ll text you,” he said.

But, as I exited back onto the street, holding my heels I knew he wouldn’t, I even started to wonder if his sickness was an act to get me to leave, quite possibly he jumped out of bed, chipper as a guinea pig as soon as I was on the next tube back to King’s Cross, primping and straightening his hair for his next night out.

I am not even going to pretend that I remember what we claimed was the event we were celebrating when me and my friends made plans, wanting to keep it low we decided to just go up the street to our local pub, it was a few hours in however that we realized this simply would not be enough, we needed to dance.  Brainstorming ideas of where we could go, we finally settled on a place not too far that we knew was open late.

“It’s not really a dance place,” one friends clarified, “but there is music.”  Deciding this was enough we started off.  Arriving, we entered a kind of grungy pub, I had been there before, people stood at the bar, others sat in booths, we got a drink and looked around.  We found a place we thought suitable to create our dance floor, we began marking our territory, within minutes we were all surrounded by men, dancing with anyone, we laughed as one of our friends began dancing with a man about a foot shorter than her, very soon someone was dancing behind me, turning around I face a man with dark hair, having become accustomed to the dance floor makeout, we were immediately kissing.  After a few minutes he pulled back, running his hand through his hair he looked at me, he looked distraught.

“What is it?” I asked

“you see,” he tried to put it gently, “I was kissing that other girl over there before, and now, I am kissing you, and she seems mad, I should probably go talk to her.”  The alcohol having made me understanding, I nodded.

“Yeah, you should probably go straighten that out.”  Smiling, I slid into a booth nearby as he walked away to soothe the other girl.  Looking around I noticed a man sitting next to me, we said hello.  We began talking, he told me all about his travels from Australia, how he was in London to work on his music in his band.  His name was Jack, he was a skinny guy, tall with curly blond hair, cut strangely, I found out later by his roommate, who couldn’t be trusted to hold a conversation, let alone a pair of scissors.

“We live just around here,” he commented, “that’s my roommate over there,” he pointed to the guy I had just been hooking up with.  I nodded, Kings of Leon came on.  “I love them,” he said, “want to dance?”  And we did, both of us singing along, both out of tune, at least I wasn’t the one in the band.  “Who are you here with?” he asked, and I pointed out all of my friends in the crowd, including one who was apparently taking off her top on the bar for a free bottle of champagne.  This night had gone interesting places.  “Want to get out of here?” he asked, I nodded and we exited the bar.

Once on the street we walked around a series of turns, going down one side alley after another.

“No, but seriously, where do you live?” I asked after we had turned around enough corners to certainly have made a circle back to the start.

“Just a little further,” he assured me.  Thinking suddenly about how unsafe this little adventure was, I recalled the words of a friend, who always was quick to warn that all men might be axe murderers.

“You’re not an axe murderer, are you?” I asked figuring there was no need to beat around the bush.

“I can’t afford an axe,” he said jokingly, but as we finally reached his apartment and went inside, I realized it was the truest thing he’d said all night.  Walking in, it was two rooms, what I guessed was a living room and bedroom, before it had been covered with posters and post-it notes stating  ridiculous phrases and what were probably inside jokes.  There was a futon, somewhere under all the clothing and guitars that looked as though they would never play, even if I believed someone who lived there could play them, also there was a corner converted into a kitchen, not that it mattered, as the contents spilled out into the adjoining room anyway.

“I thought you had a roommate,” I said looking around, being careful not to touch anything for fear of disease.

“Yeah I do,” he replied as if it was obvious.

“Well, where does he sleep?” I clarified

“we switch off bed and couch,” he told me, I smiled, happy it was Jack’s turn in the bed.  We sat on the futon for a bit, against my better judgment, but after a few more minutes of making out we moved into the bedroom.  Jack turned out not to be disappointing, he was however, stupid.  Ten minutes after we had moved into the bedroom, we heard the front door open.  His roommate came in and immediately started talking to us, at first I was appalled.

“Hey Jack!” he called, “Guess what I stole?”  Jack didn’t answer at first but his roommate kept on, finally he broke from making out and asked,”what?”  With that his roommate came barging into the room holding up a box of coco puffs.  “Coco puffs!” he said.  Jack shook his head, we went back to making out, his roommate however walked further into the room, “I’m just going to use the bathroom,” he told us, as if we had asked, of course the only bathroom was in the bedroom.  Eventually he left, now alone we began gettin more comfortable, clothes came off, hands wondered.  “Hey Jack!”  I couldn’t believe it, his roommate again!  at this point I could only laugh.

“Where’s the pen?”

“WANKER!” Jack screamed, as if the vastness of the apartment required him to raise his voice.

“I need the pen!”  It didn’t get by me that he was carefully stating “the” pen, this apartment had one pen.  And now it was missing.

Jack continued to ignore him.  We heard crashing from the next room as he apparently looked everywhere.  Finally, ten minutes later, “I found it! you can stop looking!”

I can only assume his roommate passed out after this because we had no more interuptions.  Jack was pretty great, I could tell he was young, probably my age, but he was actually very good in bed, probably a lot of experience being a rock star and all.  Finally I asked if he had a condom, he didn’t, I really don’t understand men.

I handed him one from my bag, putting it on, it tore, “oh no” he said, I groaned, “I guess we’re not having sex.”  “No, it’s ok,” he reasoned, “I can use it anyway.”  I looked at him, “The hole isn’t at the top,” he reasoned.  Really?  I roled over.  “Fine” he conceeded. It was getting light out, I looked outside.  I needed a cigarette.  They had a huge backyard.  “Hey, is that yours?” Jack looked out the window.  “Yeah”  I jumped out of bed, taking the conforter, leaving him naked.  I walked outside.  A couch was in the yard and I sat down.  Jack joined me a moment later wrapped in a sheet he’d found.  “We used to have more funrniture out here,” he told me, “but then we had a bonfire.”  Of course.

When I was finished we went back inside, it was about 6am now and Jack went out to buy condoms.  We had sex for the rest of the morning, and when I fell asleep and woke up the apartment was quite.  Realizing it was a Friday his roommate had apparently left to go to work.  Looking over at jack sleeping I realized he had no place to be.  No job.  It was time to leave, quitely getting dressed I left, exiting on to the street I searched for a tube station and made my way home.  A block away I spotted my friends having breakfest in a cafe, I joined them, it was 2pm.  Quite a late walk of shame.  Over 2 eggs and 2 toasts I relayed my night to a group of laughs and shaking heads, ending the evening in the same group with whom it had began.

I had had my eye on Evan for a little while, or someone who looked like Evan anyway, but when I saw him across the Hockey rink where the event was held I realized he must be the one, turning to the counselor beside me whom I had befriended over the course of this summer I explained in detail my adolescent love for the blond boy eagerly completing his human bingo form across the rink.  Pleased at the prospect of enabling star-crossed lovers – as we obviously were – the counselor smiled, what luck, Evan was in his bunk, he would do his best to unite us.

What followed was a meaningful process of introduction and acquainting.  Evan had blond hair, always a mess, sprawling over his pale face; he also had what I vividly remember as atrocious teeth in his pre-braces stage as a young boy.  All of these traits, which I now consider unattractive, were only made that much more charming by the prospect of finding true love during my summer in exile.

Evan and I spent the rest of the summer together, falling deeply in love over the course of the next three weeks.  We bonded awkwardly and he gave no threatening signs that he would try and kiss me; a perfect gentleman.  It was a long standing camp tradition, that starved for coed interaction, that once the sun had set boys traditionally made the long and prohibited trek from their side of the lake to ours to raid the girls bunks.  Not as malicious as the name implies, this consisted of sneaking up to the porch and whispering until they were noticed and their desired female companion was summoned outside for an innocent chill session.  It was every girl’s dream to be the object of the whispers behind their bunk, we all waited in our beds to be shaken awake and called to the back door to great our brave princes who had risked life and suspension from movie nights to see us.

It was accepted ceremony that the last night of camp was a time for these raids, as capture by the camp guards, gallantly patrolling on golf carts, would result in little to no punishment.  And so on the eve of our last night as a summer item, Evan made his move.  I waited anxiously awake in bed as rumors had circulated of his probable visit.  After some time I herd whispers on the back porch and the sound of blankets being pushed back as my bunkmates who were fortunate enough to have boys willing to risk their lives, or at least being sent home, got out of bed to greet the visitors.  A few girls rolled over in exaggerated irritation at the noise, deep down bitter for their lack of boyfriends and the sad loneliness this summer ha brought.

When I went out on the porch, I was tired of waiting to be summoned, I was dressed in my best pajama bottoms, and, for the occasion, a matching tank top, nothing too risqué, but still just the right amount of skin.  I searched the triumphant faces for Evan.  Hopefully I asked the other boys if he was coming.  It was entirely possible he was coming later, going with a large group would be dangerous, he knew I would wait for him; he was so smart.  Maybe he was at the wrong bunk, they all looked the same, and even now was being redirected my direction by a friendly girl next door.  Maybe he was waiting for me to go to his bunk, it was costmary that boys made the journey, but we were a modern couple after all.

As the boys who had made it looked at me they shook their head,
“he came with us,” they began, “he tripped on a tree root on the way.”  Surely a small fall wouldn’t keep us apart.  “We think he got hurt,” they continued, “we called a counselor, they called an ambulance and we ran.”  I was shocked.  How dare he mess up my shot at having my first male visitor, an ambulance! What a drama queen!  Disappointed and infuriated I sulked back into the bunk as the excited twitter of the girls who didn’t have clumsy idiot boyfriends continued behind me.  I would set him straight tomorrow; let him know his behavior was unacceptable.

The next day at breakfast Evan presented with a cast on both his arm and leg.  Surprised, my anger melted away and I went over to his table to comfort my poor hurt boy and tell hi how much I appreciated his effort, after all it was the thought that counted.  Evan would not look at me, not only had he spent the night in the local hospital, which being where we were, was not local at all, but also the camp director had obviously been informed, and therefore, so had his parents.  Last of all, apparently the whole camp had heard about his accident, this seemed to be too much for his ego.  Offended, I went back to my table, as if this were my fault, the fool couldn’t properly raid a bunk; it wasn’t my problem that he was apparently spastic.  I didn’t understand how his amazing ability to turn a small trip into a bone breaking adventure was my doing, but either way, I was done.

If he didn’t want to talk to me that was fine.  Truly disappointed by my now seemingly lame summer romance, I played with the rest of my breakfast in silence.  It was a sad but true realization that our love didn’t seem to go as deep as I once thought.

(5.14.09)

you don’t know it yet, but apparently Thursdays are the nights I like to keep open for random strangers.  The last weeks of my study abroad in London, everyday is one of my friends last and we must celebrate being together one last time, at least until we get back to NY.  In celebration of finally having finished my last paper, I declared a need to go out, yes, I had been out the night before, and the night before that, but on this night I had finished my final paper and was overwhelmed with excitement to be done.

Not wanting to venture too far we chose our favorite pub just up the street, upon arrival I decided it was most important to get a drink before anything else, being quite crowded around the bar, I separated from my friends to find an opening in the crowd to get a drink.  Standing at the bar, waiting patiently to be served, a man to my right struck up a conversation, “waiting for a drink?” he asked, I thought this was quite obvious, but smiled politely, “yes,” I responded, “I have been waiting for  awhile, this bartender must hate me.”  At this moment the bartender approached me, “he’ll probably serve her first” said this man to his friend beside him, “after all, she is much more attractive than us.”  I smiled at the compliment, and looked over to see this man’s friend.  Contrary to the guy speaking to me who was fairly middle aged and short and stubby, his friend was tall and young looking, quite cute.  Regardless of what they had anticipated the bartender chose to serve them before me.  “Well, that’s not right,” said stubby, “I think we owe her a drink.”  Not one to argue, I let them purchase me my first round.

“So, where are you from?” Stubby asked, noticing my accent.  “New York” I responded.  “Very cool” they chimed.  “we didn’t think you sounded British,” they told me.  Thinking about it I didn’t think they sounded British either, almost Irish, having learned however how much it upsets the English to be told they sounded Irish, I tried a safe guess, saying Northern England.  They scoffed, apparently the only thing more offensive then thinking a Brit is Irish, is thinking an Irishman British.  They laughed at my ignorance, and to change the topic I asked what they were doing at this particular bar.  Beginning their life stories, they introduced themselves, these two were James and Damien (stubby).  They were Irish, now living in London, they were all out tonight together, apparently there were more of them.

Within a few moments the rest of the group joined them, within minutes a guy with a dark hair and a trimmed beard was talking to me, upset that James, the cutest one seems uninterested by me I allowed this man to monopolize my attention.  We talked about NY, he had been there before, and lots of other things, he continued to buy me drinks, within the  next hour me and this man, who may or may not have been named Niles, were making out against the bar, passing the first part of my test by being a good kisser, I decided we should move away from the bar, as I had been reprimanded before for taking up room at the bar by kissing.

“Let’s move over there” I suggested pointing to a more secluded area of the bar where it appeared to be empty.  Separating from the pack he followed me, nearing the place I suggested I realized it was not empty at all, in fact an entire couch was being occupied by almost the entirety of my Ethics class, unable to explain this to the man who had just followed me there, I sat down across from my peers and next to Niles who saw no reason to suspend the kissing.  it was only a matter of minutes before my ethics class felt awkward and all stood to leave, then we had the space to ourselves, standing up I led us towards the couch they had just vacated, now, sitting closer than before his hands began to wonder.  I will make out in a bar, even a crowded one, however I draw the line at having sex in one, even if you are pretty much alone.  I moved his hand, “if you want to do that, we’ll have to go somewhere else,” I told him, he assured me we could get a cab from there to his place no problem.saying goodbye to my friends, they smirked as I exited the bar and was hailed a cab, I tried to make conversation, but it was clear he considered our relationship past this, making out the entire way, we arrived to his  street in only 10 pounds, getting out he motioned me down a side street, always a good sign, and pulled out a card to open a gate, “I only live here sometimes” he told me, “when I have to come to London for work they put me up in apartments all over.” the gate closed behind us, “where do you work?” I asked, he sighed, “you hate your job?” “yeah” he responded, “I work for a bank, RBS.” I thought for a moment, “Royal Bank of Scotland?” “yeah” he answered though not as impressed as I would’ve liked him to have been about my worldly knowledge.  An Irish man, living in London, working for an Scottish bank, confused?

He led me into his building and up the stairs, into his apartment, it looked as though no one lived there, to the right his bedroom also tiny, his small sad suitcase on the floor, it was however very clean.  I sat down on the bed as he excused himself to the bathroom, this was always the most awkward part, you had already kissed shamelessly, but once you were alone and the possibilities are endless it suddenly becomes shy and awkward.  i looked in his closet, nothing.  I sat back on the bed, took off my boots, I didn’t want to be too risque when he walked in, event though the fact that I had gone home with him probably considerably depleted any further attempts I may have had at modesty.  He reentered the room in only his boxers, I guess we were getting undressed separately, I major pet peeve of mine.  I took off my clothes, however I would leave it up to him to remove my underwear and bra.  Getting into bed we began to make out again, very shortly it was clear that I had set hopes to high for him being able to unhook my bra, getting frustrated i helped.

Pretty soon I asked him if he had a condom, he didn’t.  I don’t understand men who don’t have condoms, how do they think that it is not their responsibility.  Luckily I believe in safe sex and always carry a condom, you never know whe surprise sex will happen, I handed one over, not in the mood to ask him why he was useless.  Putting it on, he at least was not terrible in bed, as we lay cuddling afterward, I was tired, not to be out staminaed however I did not protest when he once again started kissing me ten minutes later, luckily I had just stocked up on condoms and had another, this time he decided it was his turn on top, when halfway through he covered my mouth it occurred to me, maybe he didn’t live alone. “Do you have roommates?” I asked afterward, “yes.”  I felt embarrassed, but also figured there was little to be done.  It was starting to get light out, he was unstopable, and now out of condoms was happy to settle for a blow job, something I was no where near happy about at 5am, fooling around for a little while longer, I soon rolled over, it was time for sleep, seeming not at all upset, he joined me in napping.  I awoke two hours later to more kissing, morning breath kissing, the free drinks had worn off, and though I am mostly up for morning sex, I was not in the mood for morning blow jobs, and had to go home.  “I have to shower” he told me, “I have to go to work soon.”  At least he wasn’t lying about the job.  I nodded, waiting for him to get in the shower, I got dressed and quietly crept out of the apartment, I’m not really a make him breakfast type of girl.

Leaving the bulding I was immersed in a community of suits, in the daylight I realized I was quite possibly in a commune for transfered bankers, wonderful, finding the gate I left, hailing a cab and heading home, leaving the identity confused banker to his life.

In middle school I considered myself ready.  A barbeque in my backyard brought my friends and me to talking about boys, as a conversation between multiple thirteen year olds will inevitably do.  We threw around our perceptions of whom we considered cute, ruled out a few due to their already established “long-term” relationships, then I mentioned a named that sparked excitement.

At the mention of BOY, an overweight, baby-faced boy in our grade, conversation took off.

“Oh, I know him,” exclaimed one of my friends, always eager to help in the most awkward of ways.  “He is in my youth group,” she continued, “I could talk to him for you,” she added helpfully.
I shrugged, shy suddenly.
“He’s cute,” they all harmonized, assuring me I had not been wrong to mention him.
As my first real stab at coupling I had no idea about what was appropriate as far as looks or attraction.  I was also I very unfortunate looking thirteen year old and didn’t want to experience rejection quite so early in my dating career by attempting to date too far out of my league.

What unfolded over the next few days was an amazing feat of strategy and planning.  Phase one had gone without a hitch, my friend had established a line of communication, at this point we were mature, and just so beyond being embarrassed by talking to boys, assuming of course we weren’t doing it on our own behalf.
“He likes you,” she assured me, “he wants to hang out.”
Overly excited about the prospect of being asked out on the equivalent of a romantic candlelit dinner, it was after this first success that phase two began: speaking. For the first time.

So far our truly complicated relationship had been solely physical, it was time to show our true selves, expose our personalities, and deepen our understanding of one another.  It was after a few short talks that we began casually dating; this resulted in me being the first Jew to attend the local Presbyterian youth group.  We sat next to each other; he got me juice and cookies.  We hadn’t yet discussed our exclusivity, but I was content with the direction in which our relationship was going; that is of course until he took things too far.

It was two days into our formal relationship (approximately four months in middle school time) that BOY made the tragic mistake that would lead to his own downfall.  Upon entering fourth period Earth Science I sat down in my regular seat, two rows from the front, on the right.  I smiled at BOY as he entered the room – I was such a good girlfriend – he smiled back, more widely than necessary.  I was already growing weary of his constant need for reassurance.  Walking up the aisle he sat next to me.  Big mistake.  Having displaced my friend to sit beside me, he seemed completely unaware of the great error he had just made.  For the sake of our relationship I did not confront him, but immediately I felt smothered.  Turning to me he smiled again.
“I have been thinking about changing my classes,” he chirped brightly.
“Oh?”  I replied becoming suddenly very interested with the margins of my notebook, why must he constantly fill the silence?
“Yeah,” he insisted on continuing, “so we can have more classes together.”
I wanted to vomit.  Why was he doing this to me?  I nodded, at the end of the day, when I was far away from BOY and all his eagerness I tried to understand, I reasoned that he simply wanted to spend time together.  What was so wrong with that?  Obviously I had overreacted, I would just have to adjust, make compromises, try and understand his freakish obsession with being together that has most obnoxiously started at the exact same moment we decided to date.

It was around this time – literally within the next hour – that the phone calls began.  I have never been very fond of speaking on the phone, but when I picked up and heard BOY’s excited voice on the other side, all negative feelings came rushing back.  We spoke for an hour, or rather; he spoke, this continued for a few days, each conversation ending with some lame excuse on my part to get off the phone.  It was basically like we were married.

When it was finally the end of the week, the time came for weekend plans.  Seeing how our relationship was going so well, my friends were quite pleased.  They began to think it was time to move further, suddenly I was faced with the dilemma of never knowing when I might be kissed, this deeply unsettled me.  How could I do anything without fear again?  I was afraid to do anything because a kiss might unexpectedly occur.  BOY asked what we were doing this weekend, frustrated at his assumption that I didn’t already have plans.  I said the first thing that came to mind.
“How about we bake a cake?” I suggested.  I am not sure if I said this because I didn’t want to be in public with him – and what if the kiss were to ambush me in public? – or because it was the most innocent activity I could think of.

The next day BOY’s father dropped him off at my house; I must mention that his dad was the chief of police, from which I can only deduce that police officers have strange children.  We proceeded to actually bake a cake, today I may use the term, “bake a cake” to describe other activities in innuendo, in this case however we literally baked a cake, when finished we cleaned up and sat at least three feet away from each other on the couch.

When it was finally time for him to go I was relieved, no kiss.  I was also decided, this relationship was tying me down, it had gone on long enough – one full week – I needed my freedom.  I would have to break it off.  Monday came, ad as BOY once again sat next to me in Earth Science, as he so stubbornly continued to do, I turned to him, very solemn, after all this was no light matter, and told him we needed to talk, most cruelly I asked him to meet me after school, about 3 hours from then – four days in middle school time – he sulked an expression that had apparently not left his face once as he still wore it when we met again.
“I think we should break up,” I said sternly.  He wanted to know why, honestly, I didn’t know, but I felt I didn’t need to justify myself.  “I just do,” I retorted.  He looked upset but nodded and I turned to leave.  Feeling free I was thrilled, proud I had made it through such a serious relationship, and everyone said breaking up was so sad, I had never felt better.

Going home I enjoyed the silence as no phone rang.  My friends were upset, but eventually focused on some new matchmaking scheme.  I was certain BOY and I would now be friends, after all we had been together for significant time.  It was the following week however that I discovered that BOY had already moved on.  By setting him free I had opened new doors, mainly for a beautiful relationship between him and my stepsister whom he had met at the inevitable meeting of my parents, which had occurred during the second, more serious stage of our relationship, around day three.  Their relationship was infinitely table than ours had ever been, despite the shattering long distance of thirty minutes.

They continued their coupled bliss for approximately three months; I still maintain that their distance helped them, as she could not be suffocated as I had been.  Regardless, this was yet another time when I realized that being alone was the correct route, getting out a fast as I could, yearning without realizing it to be alone once again.  Eventually their time together ended, and despite what I thought, BOY and me could not be friends; we had been through too much.  As if his clinging nature had not been enough, he had gone from me to my stepsister, and that was just unforgivable.