Straight No Chaser

Kyle

k was going to stand for katrina langham. i was going to reminisce about summer 2004, about my internship at verizon and how bored i got during downtime, about how i spent hours and hours inconspicuously surfing writing.com, about how katrina commented on everything in my portfolio and seemed to acutally like it, about how great it was to finally have my first writing.com friend. about how, after eighteen pretty much inactive months, i was thrilled to feel like a true site participant, even if only through one person (at first). i really appreciated it and still do; that experience opened a lot of doors and really boosted my confidence.

all that stuff still stands, but today i had to write about kyle.

kyle came up to me today, gave me a very overt once-over, and asked (in crude terms that i won't repeat here) whether i'd ever think about getting a boob job.

kyle and i aren't friends. he's a friend of a friend of a friend, if anything; we had one class together last semester and went out to dinner once in a group of twelvish...we probably haven't spent more than twenty total minutes in meaningful conversation. all this is to say, of course, that he has no business commenting on anything that personal.

his friends snickered. i blushed and told him to fuck off. he said "how about if i apologize instead," acted like he was going to touch one, thought better of it and left laughing.

what the fuck. i'm not self-conscious about my breasts, though i very well could be. they're probably in direct proportion to the rest of me, which is fine but obviously means they aren't world record material. the evil ex-boyfriend-in-law used to compliment them back-handedly; compare them visually to various embarrassing fruits but remind me that, tactilely, they were pleasing enough. my own mother (who really shouldn't throw stones, truth be told) giggles about them; when i was sixteen she appointed me president of of the i.b.t. committee (yeah, i refuse to spell that one out). still, marcus likes them. a lot, in fact. and more importantly, i like them.

so this only warrants a "what the fuck" because, really, the nerve of some people. it's one of the many reasons campus life routinely sickens me. it's a relatively small campus, so every event, however minor, takes place in a gigantic exaggerated fishbowl. every dorm room is basically just another link in an intricately webbed gossip chain. and for some reason people refuse to honor what few barriers there are; i can't tell you the number of times i've fielded each of the following questions:

are you a virgin?

do you give head?

who here have you hooked up with?

is that your real hair?

would you sleep with me?

have you ever been with a girl?/would you ever be with a girl?

which is nothing to say of the questions they ask about me and marcus specifically. we made the mistake of making out in a kind-of public place once (in our defense, it was three in the morning) and ever since then people love to ask me how big he is, what he does well, "if it hurt," that sort of thing. so yeah, they are mostly sexual in nature, and that makes sense because every one of us is a veritable walking hormone, but i don't know; i find a way to exercise restraint and refrain from asking disrespectful interrogative questions whose answers really don't concern me. seems like they could too.

that's a tangent though. kyle makes me mad, is all. as do immaturity and nosiness.

i do love marcus, though. i sent him a surprise care package a couple days ago (pop-tarts, wynton marsalis cd, coldstone's gift certificates and a dave matthews concert on dvd, among a few other things) and he got it today. he's busy campaigning and i thought those things'd help him get by easier. i was in class when he checked his mail, and when i came back to the room his im window said "hello beautiful/i got your package/thank you infinitely/i love you". my heart fluttered for hours, trite but true.

don't know why i felt like sharing that. probably just because making him happy makes me positively delirious.

anywho...