Fool Me Twice - or - No Really, It's Just The Top

Alright, I suppose I set myself up for this. I found what I thought was a cute, hint-of-cleavage-showing top at Penney's a while back. Now I know that some of you smart, fashion savvy ladies out there would've passed it by simply due to the implications of wearing something with an empire waist. Ohh, but not me. Apparently, I needed to learn my lesson. Uh, twice.

1st wearing: Future Mother-in-Law points out that even though she knows it's just a babydoll-style top, (at this point I cringe) she can't help but think of me carrying her future grandchild when she looks at me in it. Much baby talk, strong hinting and uncomfortableness ensues. At that point I consider never wearing that top again. But then...

2nd wearing, yesterday: I'm not planning on leaving the house much anyway, so I put it on again. I insist that J gives me his honest opinion on whether or not the shirt makes me look pregnant. He thinks it's cute and that I'm just being my usual paranoid self-conscious self. Well, I no more than stand in my driveway for ten seconds, and the neighbor lady walking by with her dog stops to chat, gets all big-eyed and asks if we're "expecting". "No, no - it's just the top" I respond flatly, folding my arms in an effort to cover myself up. "Oh that's the second time I've been wrong when I've asked someone that! It's those empire-waist tops!" "Heh, yeah." I brush off the comment and make small-talk as long as I can stand it, though I really just want to run back inside and/or die of embarrassment. Can't help but beat myself up over that one later for not knowing better, because the pudginess doesn't help my case (or self-esteem!) either. But for now, I will blame it on the top (shown below, except mine is just plain blue) and my failure to pick out flattering clothing. I must bid good riddance to you, my silly (albeit cute and inexpensive) fashion faux pas!

Cabin Six

At the beginning of sixth grade, the first year of middle school, we had Mandatory Sixth Grade Camp. In other words, get to know your peers in a controlled yet uncomfortable environment! Stay for 2 awkward days and 1 cold-ass night! Don't worry kids - we brought the cafeteria food with us, no campfire s'mores for you! And get ready for some required teamwork - only the strong will survive! (Well, socially that is.)

Anyway, considering my shyness and discomfort with unfamiliar situations, it didn't start out all that bad. We weren't exactly "roughing it" as we had little musty cabins to sleep in that held 4-6 people. And as mentioned, at least you only had to put in one overnight stay. The thing that sucked was being separated from your friends, as almost all activities were with an assigned group.

One of the few memories of the experience that sticks out in my mind was the hopeful feeling I had as I got my cabin assignment and headed off to find out who else would be in it. Maybe a friend? An acquaintance at least? Hey, maybe a possibility for a *new* friend I just hadn't met yet! (Ok, so I was a bit naive, but hey at least I was positive.)

I reached the cabin at the same time as another girl. She was pretty and had that more polished look (which at the time probably just meant a spiral perm and Umbros) of one of the richer girls. She didn't look too happy to see me coming, but I figured that like me, she must've just been thinking this camp experience was kind of weak. So I smiled and said "Oh, hi! I'm [so and so] - looks like we're in the same cabin..." Her eyes narrowed as she assessed this information. "Oh yeah? Well, I'm Katie..." (pausing for effect) "and I'm your worst nightmare." And with that, she stepped inside, slamming the door in my face.

Camp got off to a GREAT start.

But not long into the camp experience, it became clear that this Katie bitch wasn't what ended up as being my worst nightmare. Nope, I think I'd have to go with the state of the "bathrooms" along with being painfully constipated for two days as being the worst part. The thing was, at that age I tended to be horribly embarrassed by any bodily function as it is, so having no stall doors and only being permitted to go to the bathroom in groups was not something I was down with. If you were lucky, you had a friend who would hold her coat up in front of you while you went to the bathroom. But I wasn't about to ask her to keep waiting there so I could drop a load while within arms length (and definitely within smelling range) of each other. Lame. I just could not will myself to do it. So by the end of the next day of holding it in through climbing, jumping and other hateful activities, I was really having a BAD time. All I could think about was the concrete mixer action going on in my guts, and how it felt like either my ass or my head was going to explode. I didn't really care about teamwork anymore. I just wanted out of that fucking camp and to a reasonably private facility that didn't smell like sulfur so I could poop in peace. I hung in there for the rest of the time and begged my mom to drive straight home as fast as possible when she picked me up. So, seeing as how constipation is my clearest memory of sixth grade camp it's no wonder that I didn't make a bunch of new friends there, nor did I participate very well in team activities. Other people took my silent frowning as being stuck up, not stopped up. So, overall it was truly a pretty crappy experience for me. Ugh.

Side note: my friend was telling me about an actual "roughing it" hiking/camping experience she went on in high-school, complete with having to dig a hole to shit in, for two weeks. Call me over-sheltered folks, but you'd have to count me out of that. I like nature and all, but I just don't know if I could hang with being "at one" with it quite like that. My stomach hurts just thinking about it.

Vote of Confidence

So, earlier today my boss comes in to get a file and give instructions. I'm sitting at my desk while he is standing up behind me. We're discussing one of our clients when he rather suddenly stops mid-sentence and glares at the top of my head.

"Hey, I'm sorry but you have THE loongest nappiest gray hair riiight there..."

and before I can even properly respond to this embarrassment, he just YANKS, then looks at his hand and says "oops, well at least I got it..." as he hands me this little clump of about 5 or 6 hairs (ouch) that he pulled! Then he just shrugs and walks out as I ponder what the hell kind of facial expression this situation deserves.

The (infamous) First Time

He was a Dutch boy from out of town. Friend of a friend. Front teeth were crooked in an endearing little way that made me think he must've been a thumbsucker. He had a mohawk and it would usually be Punky Color'd bright blue or pink. He was the quiet bass player wearing the Operation Ivy T-shirt and drawing black and white checkers on stuff. He had thick fingers and liked Big Macs. His eyes were sparkly and devoid of concern. A thick, heavy chain around his neck was clasped with a padlock. At some point, he gave me a key to it. I'm only half-ashamed to tell you that I was the one who pursued him. I was seventeen.

There was this urgency to get *it* over with. I had NEEDS, people! Mrrowr! Gimme, gimme, GIMME! Oh but there was more to it than just being pent up with sexual frustration. Like most other milestones in life, I just wanted to do it like it was some rite of passage into coolness. I don't think he could've cared less whether or not he was the one to deflower me, but I was insistent. I was going to be home alone all weekend and this was the big chance.

I had already met his penis, so I wasn't intimidated by that aspect of it. The previous time he had been in my room had ended up in an exhausting 20 minute blowjob in which he laid there lifelessly except for a half-chub then finally said "hey, I think I gotta pee." So yeah, a whole lot of passion right there.

I didn't exactly expect fireworks. I kind of expected it to hurt, but then get better. It was... well, it was something. But not quite what I had expected. I was too nervous to get that turned on, but still thought that I would just be overcome by a feeling of closeness or well, something. Turns out I had just read way too much erotica over the years and got myself way too psyched up about it.

Back to the bedroom. We got naked. The 3-pack of condoms were produced. There wasn't much foreplay, it was more like "Ready? Ok, here goes." Turns out, it wasn't excruciating. Or moan-inspiring. It just was what it was. He slumped over me for a while, I dodged getting hit in the face by the swinging padlock around his neck, we got a little sweaty and it was done. He immediately pulled the condom off and set it on my nightstand. Classy.

We laid there with the lights out for a bit. Moonlight shining in. I thought about what we had done. I finally did it! Yay? It felt like something was missing. The following was probably the stupidest thing he could've said to me, but only because it was preceded by the stupidest thing that I could've said at the time.

Me: (hopefully) "I... love you"
uncomfortable silence, crickets chirping
Him: (exasperated sigh) "Well... you shouldn't"
turn so I can face away from him in pouty silence
Him: "Did you say there was some Dr. Pepper downstairs?"

Classic!

We stepped outside and smoked our respective cigarettes. It was late. We went back inside and he seemed to be gathering his things like he was going to leave. Again, it just didn't feel right that that was "it". I gave him a pleading look and pulled him by his chain back into bed. "One more time before you go?"

4 minutes later...

Yep, I guess that was it. Huh. I didn't even really break my cherry until my next, better-endowed boyfriend (bless his heart.) Too much info there? Was that mean? Well, fiddlesticks. I don't come out looking too great in this story either. I only had one more experience with the punk boy - in which he had just returned from a Gwar show and got fake blood all over my pillow. Then he disappeared for a while and ended up hooking up with that 15 year old girl that had always liked him but he had always pretended he didn't like her (and I wonder - did she have the other key to his lock? Because I kept mine.) So you know, the typical "first time" story.


Blogger challenge!
I think you should write about your first time, too. It would be cool. Just a suggestion. Not just because I've got a filthy mind, but because I'm curious and nosey! (Well unless it's one of those actually traumatic experiences that you don't want to relive.) Come on now, peeps. We're all friends here, right? Take a seat, have yourself a little drink and tell me all about it.