Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Prude
I just woke up from a dream about my first girlfriend, back from in the fifth and sixth grades. Apparently, in the dream, I was like a 20-something and I was going over to her house to bring her some cereal in the mornings. But this time it was night, and I came to the door and her mother was there. She was older now, but cheerful, and explained that my ex was in the back. So I started to wait patiently. And then I woke up.
That first GF is a heady thing. She sat next to me in fifth grade. She was personable, had a great laugh, was very popular. She had red hair, freckles, an uplifting smile. I really liked her, had my first kiss with her. I got in over my head, though, having a gf and all, and backed away, breaking her heart. But I kept hearing how she still liked me through the summer, and eventually in sixth grade we got back together.
It didn't last. This time she broke up with me, breaking my heart. I still liked her, but this time she wasn't looking back. She moved on to a guy a year older who lived in my neighborhood. I was devestated.
The reason we broke up, though, is kind of funny, kind of sad now. It was because I wouldn't feel her up. She was short, but she was like the first girl in our class to get her boobs, and I was embarrassed even to acknowledge that, even when she tried to prompt me. What's more, they became a set of really, really big boobs, the kind any straight guy would want to get a handle on.
One day at her house, she told me how she wanted me to. She told me she had been saving herself for me, which sounds distinctly like a line a girl might use on a guy for, ummm, a little more adult activity. But I turned her down flat. It got animated. She didn't like the answer; I tried to argue something about "maturity." As if a mature person wouldn't do that. Uhhhh, yeah, whatever.
So within a few days, I was history.
I was a prude. I hated that term then, and now. I wouldn't qualify as one now. I finally matured for real. But I have to acknowledge it, even if I denied it then: I was a prude.
No wonder I didn't get laid till I was 20.
That first GF is a heady thing. She sat next to me in fifth grade. She was personable, had a great laugh, was very popular. She had red hair, freckles, an uplifting smile. I really liked her, had my first kiss with her. I got in over my head, though, having a gf and all, and backed away, breaking her heart. But I kept hearing how she still liked me through the summer, and eventually in sixth grade we got back together.
It didn't last. This time she broke up with me, breaking my heart. I still liked her, but this time she wasn't looking back. She moved on to a guy a year older who lived in my neighborhood. I was devestated.
The reason we broke up, though, is kind of funny, kind of sad now. It was because I wouldn't feel her up. She was short, but she was like the first girl in our class to get her boobs, and I was embarrassed even to acknowledge that, even when she tried to prompt me. What's more, they became a set of really, really big boobs, the kind any straight guy would want to get a handle on.
One day at her house, she told me how she wanted me to. She told me she had been saving herself for me, which sounds distinctly like a line a girl might use on a guy for, ummm, a little more adult activity. But I turned her down flat. It got animated. She didn't like the answer; I tried to argue something about "maturity." As if a mature person wouldn't do that. Uhhhh, yeah, whatever.
So within a few days, I was history.
I was a prude. I hated that term then, and now. I wouldn't qualify as one now. I finally matured for real. But I have to acknowledge it, even if I denied it then: I was a prude.
No wonder I didn't get laid till I was 20.
Labels: boobs, breakups, breasts, girlfriends
