When Two Plus Two Equal Three
I have been with two virgins. And I have had two lovers decide they were lesbian at some point after our relationship had ended. One person was in both groups. This is a little bit about these three people that I still think about today...
First, there was K. K is three years younger than me. We met in high school, and were friends. We had common friends and some common interests. But I was a senior and she a freshman. As attracted to her as I was, she was seeing someone and I was about to graduate. It didn't help that the guy she was seeing was a first-class dick, who liked me even less. And it didn't help his mood that his girlfriend kept talking to me.
I graduate. She gives me a very lingering hug on graduation night. And I pretty much let it go. I mean, she was still with him, and I couldn't be sure of the motives (if any) behind the hug. Plus, I met someone just about this time whom would end up being my first lover. She was my age, and she didn't have a boyfriend (that I knew of-- I later found out otherwise when she left me to go back to him). Anyway, fast-forward a couple of months, I've had two other lovers since the first (hey, I may have been a late-starter but I was determined to catch up), and I've started my frosh year of college.
I forget why, but there was some event I went to back at the HS. It involved some people from the drama department, which K was involved with. And so I saw her again. This time, she was free of the encumbrance of the asshole. We talked. We talked some more. Numbers were exchanged. Her still being in HS, and me barely out, the early days were still very HS-like. Lots of late-night phone conversations, with lots of giggling. Notes passed, more like letters but still folded in that pass-notes-in-the-hallway form. It was all sickeningly sweet. But it did get much more intense.
I remember the first time we made love (yes, that was what I felt it was at the time, so I'm stickin' with it). She was self-conscious about her weight, and about the difference in height between us (I'm 6'4" now, I was about 6'1" or so then). But I was just in awe of how beautiful she was to me. Her eyes, her smile. Her sharp intake of breath when I first entered her. I remember my Christmas present from her that year. And I remember how hurt I was when I got back from my final exams and she wanted to break up.
I later found out she had come to the conclusion that she was gay. She had dated one other guy after me, then (as far as I know) only other girls from then on. Recently I stumbled across some old notes of hers, in which she describes how much more she enjoyed sex with me than with the earlier boyfriend, because I engaged her more, she felt like I cared more. She really sounded sincere and happy in those notes, and maybe she was. I hope she's as happy or moreso now.
L was actually in my love-life before K, but only by a few months. I started with K because the lengthy "courtship" went back to before L. L and I went to middle-school together (junior high, some call it), but different high schools. We ran into each other on campus our freshman years, and exchanged numbers. We both lived on campus, even though our families were only 15 miles or so away. I actually did not think that there was anything at play other than renewing our friendship. Honest.
See, L is black. And this was Oklahoma. Not only were interracial relationships asking for trouble, there was also the matter of clueless types like me who assumed that no one who wasn't white would be at all interested in me. So I had no sense of what was to come when she called me late one night, wanting to come over. My first semester of my freshman year, I had a nearly-invisible roommate in my dormroom. He hated being away from home, so he had scheduled classes from Tuesday morning to Thursday afternoon. As such, he was only around Tuesday and Wednesday evenings most of the time. So we had the room to ourselves. She sat on the edge of my little bed, while I sat at my desk, and she tried to explain something to me.
I say tried, because she was nervous as all hell. Stuttering at some points. I couldn't quite figure out what she was getting at. Was there someone she wanted to go out with, but didn't know how to ask him? That seemed to be the general gist of it. She looked me in the eyes. I started to notice how attractive she really was. But she wouldn't be interested in my pasty white ass, surely not. Then she kissed me.
I remember almost every first kiss I've had with a person. This one was most memorable for it's shock and surprise. I had been taught that this wasn't the way things were done. Not in the Bible belt. What would my friends think? What would my grandparents think? And most importantly, how did I get so lucky?
That kiss led to another, and another. Soon we were making out on my bed. And soon after that, we were undressing each other. I remember noticing how different she smelled, how it seemed like her skin had a different texture. These probably weren't really true, but I thought so at the time. I reached for a condom, but she said not to worry, she had an IUD (this was 1986, AIDS was barely a blip for heterosexual college kids). She was a truly wonderful lover.
But it was a while before she called me again.
Over the next four years, we had an odd relationship. She would call when she was horny. I would have her come over, and after some small-talk we'd fuck each other silly. She'd leave. Sometimes, I could tell she had been drinking. I came to believe that she wasn't very happy with herself over doing a white guy, and that I was just the fall-back guy when other things didn't work out. But she started dating another white guy. She didn't call me for almost a year at one point. Then she started coming over again. She was cheating on him with me. Most of the time, I'd hop into the the shower and answer the door in my robe. After all, I knew why she was there. Every time, I let her initiate that sex part, because I was pretty confused and I was never sure until she initiated that she really wanted it. Any time I'd tried to initiate in the past, I'd been rebuffed. But everytime, it was amazing. She remains one of my most memorable lovers in my romantic history.
Around Christmas right after our first time, she sent me a Christmas card. In it, she asked what I wanted out of the relationship. I hemmed and hawed around the question. I was raised by conservative grandparents. I couldn't bring her home. In fact, I thought that my reaction was why I didn't hear from her for a while after the first few times. (But at about this point, I also started going out with K, above, so the timing was pretty bad for such a decision.) In a way, I blew it. Something kept drawing her back to me, maybe I touched her in the ways she truly enjoyed most. She married the other fellow, her native Irishman who wasn't self-conscious about taking her to meet the folks. But not before giving me another toss or two, before I moved away to Denver.
We lost touch, but later re-established it when I came across her name on a university's faculty web pages. We never got together again, because she was married. We lost touch again, then I found her again through the magic of Google. She wasn't married, but she had decided she was gay. And she was very happy in her relationship, and I wished her well. For the second time, I was the next-to-last guy.
After L, but well-before I found out she had come out, was J. J was four years younger than me. I actually met her and started dating her just after her 18th birthday. That was treading a pretty fine line in my personal opinion at the time, but she really was a hell of a person. We met through friends, as we were both French Horn players. I was about to graduate college, and she was about to enter the same college. We met through common friend who were music majors. What struck me most was her height-- she was at least 5'11". When I first met her, I could barely believe she was only 18. It was quite awhile before we actually decided to go out. I wasn't really comfortable with having a high-school girlfriend my senior year of college. But we kept running into each other (mutual friends), and we seemed to really hit it off.
We dated for about a month or so, but it never went beyond the making-out stage. I don't think I even got under her bra during that time. She was busy with graduating, as was I, and we lived a good 50-60 mile apart. So we drifted apart. No hard feelings on either side.
The following August, after we'd each graduated, we got back in touch. I was about to do some grad classwork in preparation for a M.S. program (which I never followed through on, going into the industry instead), and she was in town for the week of marching band drill before the start of classes. I had my own apartment, and she would come over some evenings after a gruelling day of marching drill under the sun (Augusts in Oklahoma are hella hot and hella humid). One night, we started fooling around again. Only this time, she didn't want to stop. I had to ask her several times if she was sure-- I'd never been with a virgin, and I didn't want her to regret it the next day. She convinced me she was sure.
Her first time could have been better, I imagine. I didn't know how to make it go easier for her, so there was some pain, and even a little bleeding. And some tears. Which didn't help me in believing I had made the right choice. But the next morning, she suddenly pounced. And it was a whole lot better the second time. And the many times to come (ahem) after that. I had created a monster, it seemed!
We drifted apart, but we were always affectionate towards each other, even after she met someone else. I moved to Colorado, and a few years later she married. I like to think that they have a few kids and have a pretty typical suburban yuppie life.
Ah, but I said that there was overlap. And if you're clever, you figured out which one. It wasn't until a few years after that first time in my dorm room, that L confessed to me that she had been a virgin that night. I had no idea. She was so very agressive-- I had had three lovers at that point, and she seemed more sure of herself than any of them had been (none of whom had been virgins when I was first with). There were no outwards signs (but factor in tampon use and an IUD, and that's no big surprise). But there it was, the truth, years after the fact.
I don't know if I and the Irishman were her only male partners. I wonder sometimes if she, too, were a sexual addict at the time. Or maybe, she was already struggling with a lesbian identity, and she was using me (and ultimately her husband) to try and deny it. If either were true, she may have sought out other partners as well. At least she's happy now.
I remember these people well, and warmly.
Dausa
First, there was K. K is three years younger than me. We met in high school, and were friends. We had common friends and some common interests. But I was a senior and she a freshman. As attracted to her as I was, she was seeing someone and I was about to graduate. It didn't help that the guy she was seeing was a first-class dick, who liked me even less. And it didn't help his mood that his girlfriend kept talking to me.
I graduate. She gives me a very lingering hug on graduation night. And I pretty much let it go. I mean, she was still with him, and I couldn't be sure of the motives (if any) behind the hug. Plus, I met someone just about this time whom would end up being my first lover. She was my age, and she didn't have a boyfriend (that I knew of-- I later found out otherwise when she left me to go back to him). Anyway, fast-forward a couple of months, I've had two other lovers since the first (hey, I may have been a late-starter but I was determined to catch up), and I've started my frosh year of college.
I forget why, but there was some event I went to back at the HS. It involved some people from the drama department, which K was involved with. And so I saw her again. This time, she was free of the encumbrance of the asshole. We talked. We talked some more. Numbers were exchanged. Her still being in HS, and me barely out, the early days were still very HS-like. Lots of late-night phone conversations, with lots of giggling. Notes passed, more like letters but still folded in that pass-notes-in-the-hallway form. It was all sickeningly sweet. But it did get much more intense.
I remember the first time we made love (yes, that was what I felt it was at the time, so I'm stickin' with it). She was self-conscious about her weight, and about the difference in height between us (I'm 6'4" now, I was about 6'1" or so then). But I was just in awe of how beautiful she was to me. Her eyes, her smile. Her sharp intake of breath when I first entered her. I remember my Christmas present from her that year. And I remember how hurt I was when I got back from my final exams and she wanted to break up.
I later found out she had come to the conclusion that she was gay. She had dated one other guy after me, then (as far as I know) only other girls from then on. Recently I stumbled across some old notes of hers, in which she describes how much more she enjoyed sex with me than with the earlier boyfriend, because I engaged her more, she felt like I cared more. She really sounded sincere and happy in those notes, and maybe she was. I hope she's as happy or moreso now.
When I’m tired and thinking cold
I hide in my music, forget the day
And dream of a girl I used to know
I closed my eyes and she slipped away
-- Boston, "More Than A Feeling"
L was actually in my love-life before K, but only by a few months. I started with K because the lengthy "courtship" went back to before L. L and I went to middle-school together (junior high, some call it), but different high schools. We ran into each other on campus our freshman years, and exchanged numbers. We both lived on campus, even though our families were only 15 miles or so away. I actually did not think that there was anything at play other than renewing our friendship. Honest.
See, L is black. And this was Oklahoma. Not only were interracial relationships asking for trouble, there was also the matter of clueless types like me who assumed that no one who wasn't white would be at all interested in me. So I had no sense of what was to come when she called me late one night, wanting to come over. My first semester of my freshman year, I had a nearly-invisible roommate in my dormroom. He hated being away from home, so he had scheduled classes from Tuesday morning to Thursday afternoon. As such, he was only around Tuesday and Wednesday evenings most of the time. So we had the room to ourselves. She sat on the edge of my little bed, while I sat at my desk, and she tried to explain something to me.
I say tried, because she was nervous as all hell. Stuttering at some points. I couldn't quite figure out what she was getting at. Was there someone she wanted to go out with, but didn't know how to ask him? That seemed to be the general gist of it. She looked me in the eyes. I started to notice how attractive she really was. But she wouldn't be interested in my pasty white ass, surely not. Then she kissed me.
I remember almost every first kiss I've had with a person. This one was most memorable for it's shock and surprise. I had been taught that this wasn't the way things were done. Not in the Bible belt. What would my friends think? What would my grandparents think? And most importantly, how did I get so lucky?
That kiss led to another, and another. Soon we were making out on my bed. And soon after that, we were undressing each other. I remember noticing how different she smelled, how it seemed like her skin had a different texture. These probably weren't really true, but I thought so at the time. I reached for a condom, but she said not to worry, she had an IUD (this was 1986, AIDS was barely a blip for heterosexual college kids). She was a truly wonderful lover.
But it was a while before she called me again.
Over the next four years, we had an odd relationship. She would call when she was horny. I would have her come over, and after some small-talk we'd fuck each other silly. She'd leave. Sometimes, I could tell she had been drinking. I came to believe that she wasn't very happy with herself over doing a white guy, and that I was just the fall-back guy when other things didn't work out. But she started dating another white guy. She didn't call me for almost a year at one point. Then she started coming over again. She was cheating on him with me. Most of the time, I'd hop into the the shower and answer the door in my robe. After all, I knew why she was there. Every time, I let her initiate that sex part, because I was pretty confused and I was never sure until she initiated that she really wanted it. Any time I'd tried to initiate in the past, I'd been rebuffed. But everytime, it was amazing. She remains one of my most memorable lovers in my romantic history.
Around Christmas right after our first time, she sent me a Christmas card. In it, she asked what I wanted out of the relationship. I hemmed and hawed around the question. I was raised by conservative grandparents. I couldn't bring her home. In fact, I thought that my reaction was why I didn't hear from her for a while after the first few times. (But at about this point, I also started going out with K, above, so the timing was pretty bad for such a decision.) In a way, I blew it. Something kept drawing her back to me, maybe I touched her in the ways she truly enjoyed most. She married the other fellow, her native Irishman who wasn't self-conscious about taking her to meet the folks. But not before giving me another toss or two, before I moved away to Denver.
We lost touch, but later re-established it when I came across her name on a university's faculty web pages. We never got together again, because she was married. We lost touch again, then I found her again through the magic of Google. She wasn't married, but she had decided she was gay. And she was very happy in her relationship, and I wished her well. For the second time, I was the next-to-last guy.
In your room
I come alive when I'm with you
I'll do anything you want me to
In your room
-- The Bangles, "In Your Room"
After L, but well-before I found out she had come out, was J. J was four years younger than me. I actually met her and started dating her just after her 18th birthday. That was treading a pretty fine line in my personal opinion at the time, but she really was a hell of a person. We met through friends, as we were both French Horn players. I was about to graduate college, and she was about to enter the same college. We met through common friend who were music majors. What struck me most was her height-- she was at least 5'11". When I first met her, I could barely believe she was only 18. It was quite awhile before we actually decided to go out. I wasn't really comfortable with having a high-school girlfriend my senior year of college. But we kept running into each other (mutual friends), and we seemed to really hit it off.
We dated for about a month or so, but it never went beyond the making-out stage. I don't think I even got under her bra during that time. She was busy with graduating, as was I, and we lived a good 50-60 mile apart. So we drifted apart. No hard feelings on either side.
The following August, after we'd each graduated, we got back in touch. I was about to do some grad classwork in preparation for a M.S. program (which I never followed through on, going into the industry instead), and she was in town for the week of marching band drill before the start of classes. I had my own apartment, and she would come over some evenings after a gruelling day of marching drill under the sun (Augusts in Oklahoma are hella hot and hella humid). One night, we started fooling around again. Only this time, she didn't want to stop. I had to ask her several times if she was sure-- I'd never been with a virgin, and I didn't want her to regret it the next day. She convinced me she was sure.
Her first time could have been better, I imagine. I didn't know how to make it go easier for her, so there was some pain, and even a little bleeding. And some tears. Which didn't help me in believing I had made the right choice. But the next morning, she suddenly pounced. And it was a whole lot better the second time. And the many times to come (ahem) after that. I had created a monster, it seemed!
We drifted apart, but we were always affectionate towards each other, even after she met someone else. I moved to Colorado, and a few years later she married. I like to think that they have a few kids and have a pretty typical suburban yuppie life.
Strangers
Nobody knows we love
I catch your eyes in the dark
One look relives the memory
Remember me
The way I used to be
-- The Cure, "Secrets"
Ah, but I said that there was overlap. And if you're clever, you figured out which one. It wasn't until a few years after that first time in my dorm room, that L confessed to me that she had been a virgin that night. I had no idea. She was so very agressive-- I had had three lovers at that point, and she seemed more sure of herself than any of them had been (none of whom had been virgins when I was first with). There were no outwards signs (but factor in tampon use and an IUD, and that's no big surprise). But there it was, the truth, years after the fact.
I don't know if I and the Irishman were her only male partners. I wonder sometimes if she, too, were a sexual addict at the time. Or maybe, she was already struggling with a lesbian identity, and she was using me (and ultimately her husband) to try and deny it. If either were true, she may have sought out other partners as well. At least she's happy now.
I remember these people well, and warmly.
Dausa
posted by Dausa at
11:37 PM
3 Comments:
Wow D,
It must be back to school day,or something.
Quite the interesting turn of events.
D
By
Whirlbrain, at Wednesday, May 04, 2005 3:45:00 PM
Six foot four?
By
spankmewithaspoon, at Wednesday, May 04, 2005 7:26:00 PM
smwas: I am in fact. I kept growing until nearly my senior year of college. I actually had to get different uniform pants in the marching band between soph and junior years, because the old ones became too short!
By
Dausa, at Wednesday, May 04, 2005 8:54:00 PM
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