On Top

There is a blanket laid out on the cold tile floor. It isn’t helping. A few lit candles suggest intimacy. Larry’s shirt is still on though. I’m naked. This isn’t fair.

The top?
You can control speed that way.

His pecs look more like breasts. Jesus Christ, this hurts. I used to think he had a choad. I later learned it simply wasn’t that long. Doesn’t matter though.
There are two more condoms by his left shoulder. Do we really need more than one?
I’m shivering; he rubs my shoulders. I’m the third girl he’s done this with. Three’s a big number. I wonder if he laid out a blanket for them too, or maybe lit some candles.
Fuck.
He got impatient.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. My forehead is on his chest. I can’t really move. I try, but it hurts too much. When will it end?
I’m never going to do this again.

Truth: I was fifteen years old when I lost my virginity. Larry drove me after school to the pool house of the racquet club where he worked. It was December 3rd, approximately a month after naked pictures of me circulated around school. Sophomore year was a short fall down a long hill that landed me in therapy.

I don’t want your pity. Fuck off. Just give me your ear.

I lied. I did it again.

Shawn is a boyfriend this time. February. So what if he is a bit of a flirt? Attention feels good. I can never get him to cum though. That’s weird.
I am his first, and he thinks he is mine as well. Oh well. It didn’t get much better. I think we use a rubber glove once. I don’t remember much. He has books on Kama Sutra, but we mostly rub each other under the blanket while watching movies with his younger brother.

I meet Paul at work, shortly after Shawn breaks up with me for another girl. Like Larry, he is two years older. We date too. Six months this time. The first time we fuck, it’s on my living room floor. My parents are home. I’m sixteen.
We also find an elementary school parking lot, which is good at night. I get drunk for the first time with him. He gives me a vibrator as a joke. I laugh. Two years later, I buy rechargeable double AA batteries to save money. Good for the digital camera too. He goes to school. I go to school. I lose interest. He calls. He cries. I cry. I meet Frank.

I didn’t want to seem heartless, so I waited a few weeks to start going out with Frank. Another newbie. He plays drums. I’m getting closer to my dream of my boyfriend singing to me. Sex starts to turn into a game of Clue. The boyfriend, on the bedroom floor, with the lead pipe.
I fall in love.
Bullshit.
But the sex is good sometimes. At least I can sleep over. I’ve trained him. He knows what I like, but only to the extent of me knowing what I like. He dumps me in May, citing lack of time for his friends and family. You just had to ask, dipshit. I cry anyway. I always fucking cry.

Don’t forget about me.
How could I?

On my 17th birthday, we get back together on the way to a movie.

Two weeks later, there’s Dave. He’s my fuck buddy. Bad choice. We’ve hooked up before, just head though. He cums so fast, but it takes fucking forever to get it up. Worth it? Who knows?

Truth: I’ve been called the following things: Whore, slut, pretty, funny, easy, smart, beautiful, fucked-up, best friend, hoe, hilarious, talented, amazing, dirty, perfect, carefree, cute, baby, babe, hun, sexy, hot, trashy, stupid. Sticks and stones. Minimal broken bones.

Try this at home: Tell your mother the whole school has seen you naked. Tell your parents you want to go to private school. Tell them you’ve had sex. And try not to cry as you break their hearts.

I don’t want your fucking pity.

After Dave comes Dave number two. One timer, like Larry. Never cums, like Shawn. We’re in my car. Sweat drips in my eye. Gross. He loses his hard on. I drive him home and take a shower. Six is a big number.

Frank and I break up in September. It’s ugly. He stalks me. For months.

I know you know you still love me.
Leave me alone.
You do.

Colin is the only person I can think of wanting to know more before I graduate. He’s a guitarist. And he sings, but only when he’s high. We have sex just three times. He’s got a thin penis. I’m not loose, but it still doesn’t feel like much. He fingers me once for an hour. I never cum, but I do break out in mild hives before he has to go to football practice. He helps me down the stairs. Fuck. My hands shake as I drive home.
Were never officially together but his best friend T.J. gives him advice.

If you fuck this one up man, I’m gonna kill you.

He fucks it up.

It’s ironic that I finally find a girl that’s perfect for me but I’m not attracted to her.

I’m stunned to silence.

Are you gay?

Note: From this point on, I am emotionally frozen.

I’m accepted into college mid December. Good luck caring about the rest of the school year.

Then come the Three Stooges. Tim, Scott and Dimitriy.

Tim’s a year younger, a swimmer and has a nice penis. We hook up at a party, and later the next day. It’s fucking awkward. How do you end something like that? I show him random videos on the computer. He says he needs to start his homework. We hug. It’s weird. It’s done.
Bye.
Bye.

I’ve known Scott since elementary school. I spelt his name wrong on the envelope for the valentines in fifth grade. It earned him a nickname. Scoot. We hook up at his house. There is strange tension before. Fuck it. I’m horny. Extra skin? Uncircumcised. Never seen that before. Close your eyes. What the hell? You’re fucking Scoot.

I like your belly button ring.
Thanks I just got it today.
It’s hot.
My mom doesn’t know.

Dimitriy is my friend’s brother.

Dark ages. Medieval romps in mid evil mindsets. Where am I? I like myself better with a boyfriend. Better find one.

Nick is two years younger. Blonde. That’s different. He’s skinnier than me. His dick belies his build. He’s such a cool friend. Boyfriend? Can’t force it. He buys me flowers on Valentine’s Day. Sweetheart. Too young.

Jack is horny. His girlfriend broke up with him a while ago. It’s a pity fuck. We’re friends though. He still calls. First Jew. Random thought. Twelve is a high number.

Truth: I’m clean. Virgins equal freedom.

Truth: Sex can’t wait. I still masturbate. Thanks Paul.

I see my cousin for the first time in years. We bond immediately and find it very easy to talk to one another about anything.
Interesting theory: She says the attitude towards all the sex you’ll ever have depends on your first time. If it is with someone you don’t care about too much, and it isn’t a big deal, any sequential time will therefore follow that pattern. My knees go cold on the tile floor.

Fuck.

You’re so tight baby.

Fuck.

It.

He has bad teeth and sweats on me. Nice body though. Can’t get me off. Surprise. Says there’s something wrong with my bone structure. I say there’s something wrong with his bone.
Rich is British. He’s on parole. I get high for him and start tripping. Panic attack. My arms are slinkys. My thoughts skip around more than my Smashing Pumpkins CD. Garfield comics, bath toys. Why is the clock backwards? He calls a hotline. Devastating.

She’s probably not a good candidate for ecstasy later in life.
Obviously. What can I do for her now though?
Tell her not to take any more ecstasy.

I’m going to die. From weed? Impossible. What the fuck was that?
I drive home.

J.P. I went to his prom with him. It wasn’t at prom when we hooked up though. I drive home around 1:45AM. Hit a possum. I am falling asleep. Either the possum or me.

Depressing thought that occurs to me at 1:47AM: Who says I’m better than the possum?

Missing: Boyfriend. Tall, dark and probably emo. Will be wearing my jeans and screaming into a microphone. If found, please contact me at-800-848-TOOL.

Rob is almost three years older. White collar. He brings me to a yacht club he’s hoping to get into. I dress up. Act the part. There’s a beer in my hand. Bad idea. I’m not drunk. These people are drier than a matzo cracker. Smile, you’re Jewish today.
We fuck in the guest room. His younger brother finds night vision goggles. Don’t I go to high school with you? Whatever.
We fuck on the yacht too. Aria, it’s called. A party boat shines its light into the window. Laugh. Have a sip of wine.
He’s not a good conversationalist. Can’t connect. It’s dry, like the matzo. I break up with him a month before college.
Meshuga.

I haven’t washed my pillowcase in a few weeks. There’s still a bit of hair putty on the right side. I wasn’t expecting this.

I saw The Blair Witch Project in this theater.
How old were you when it came out?
Twelve.
That would make me…
Twenty.

It’s vacation. Big deal, right? We name seagulls and get drunk off of not enough beer. He’s got earrings in both ears. A vegetarian. Child of the eighties. Truffle Shuffle.

And his hands. His lean, soft hands. The words “quiver” and “yearn” are redefined. I’m going to have to rearrange my mind a bit for this one.

At least I’m legal.
When’s your birthday?
May.
Barely.

And I cry back home. Yearn is again redefined.

Two months later. I’ve gone through hell to see him. Extra mascara and straightened hair. On the lifeguard post at night we talk.

I want a tattoo.
Of what?
Anything.
I want one too. It will say PASSION.

His hands again. Will I ever feel them after tonight?

You’ll have to visit me at school.
We’ll see. I don’t know where I’ll be in the fall.

Summer’s over. There’s still a bit of hair putty on my pillowcase. I wasn’t expecting this. Garrett never visits.

Truth: I’ve only orgasmed from my own techniques.

Sad truth: It’s cyclical. Maybe I should stop. Then again, fuck it.

Kurtis blocked me online afterwards. I won’t be attending his 5th grade graduation.

Found: Boyfriend. Tall, pale and definitely emo. Wears jeans smaller than mine. Screams while driving.

Andrew is sweet. I learn how to share a twin bed. We sit under a tree in mid September watching a wedding. It’s one of those perfect afternoons that make you want to get married. I do.
We don’t though. We fight a few weeks later instead.

You don’t even care. You don’t care to see me.
I never wanted a relationship to begin with.
Well you got yourself one.
Whatever, you’re too much for me.

The last time we have sex, he loses his hard on.

Bury your fucking dead.

He demands I tell people he is hardcore. Fuck emo kids.

Andrew is sweet. Good thing I already know how to share a twin bed. We’re weekend warriors. And dinner buddies. He becomes one of my closest friends at school. Amazing. Something isn't severed.
We walk along the cold streets of Boston. A car slows at a light and a drunkenly curious passenger shouts at us.

Hey! Did you fuck her yet?
No really! Did you fuck her yet?

Back at school, I fall asleep in his arms.

Nate’s a redhead. Day-walker. Built too. These facts are unusual. Two hours spent on the top bunk barely able to touch lips is too much to take. His roommate leaves.
I’m slammed against the wall. Damn that was hot. Hold my wrists. Hold me down. Hold me back.

Don’t give me that look.
What look?
Like you’re going to rape me.
I’m not going to rape you.
Be nice.
I am nice. All I’ve ever been is nice.
At least pretend that you like me.

I am on stage. It is scripted. I am on top. It is Dave #1 all over again.

It’s three AM. John is drunk. I won’t know this until later. This is the weirdest sex I’ve ever had. I’m shockered. Shock. Pain.

Is that how you like it baby?

Not exactly. Where is Garrett?

I wanna hear you baby.

Everything is wrong. His shirt’s still on. He’s too old. I can’t feel him. He’s awkward. He’s an asshole. He cries. He cums too fast. He’s too young. He’s hardcore. He’s a swimmer, a musician, a pothead. He has bad teeth. Worst, he lets me down.

Is that how you like it baby?