And I understand I am also a teenager. I just turned seventeen last week. But these are a different breed. These are *gulp* country folk.
Anyway, this is a venting blog. Because my Aunt Caroline stopped being sexually active sometime around Watergate. And none of my friends would give good advice. They'd just make some feminist remark (ex. "A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle." "You're so much better off without him." "He's probably gay." etc.)
The point is, I had sex with this guy named Lev. That's not his name. But whatever, I'm changing it. We were both working at this alternative circus camp and I really liked him. And that night we were walking together and I just asked him to hold my hand, which is a really dorky thing to do, but you don't understand. Like I could barely speak around him. I had the most intense butterflies in my stomach whenever I saw him. Did you know butterflies in your stomach mean you've stopped digesting? I know this because I Google things like, "facts about love," and "why do fat people wear tight clothes?" in my spare time. I don't know. But we held hands. It was nice. And then he put his arm around me and we started making out by a tree, and we crept up this hill and slipped and slid all over the place, and he copped a feel while he tried to catch me.
Lev had the key to the trapeze building and we snuck in and ended up having sex on a pile of circus mats that smelled like chalk. There were the dark shadows of dozens of trapezes above us and the walls had clowns painted on them. It was like a horror movie porn.
I realize this is too much information.
But, anyway, afterwards, I snuck back to the dorms ecstatic. I even changed my relationship status on Facebook. I was serious.
The next day Lev came up to me and told me he just wanted to be friends. And that is was a mistake and he was sorry. I waited until he walked away before I bolted out of the cafeteria. I climbed a tree and cried until I had to clean the mess hall. Then, I snuck off campus, smoked a cigarette (nasty, reminded myself why I hate cigarettes), went to a 7-11, bought eight Snicker's bars and two gallons of Hawaiian punch, and condoms (I was running low). Then I snuck back on campus, ditched my stuff in a bush and led thirty pre-pubescent children in pectoral stretches. After dinner, I ate six Snicker's bars. And cried.
It was the first time a guy ever dumped me. It sucked massively. I felt used.
Anyway, enough depressiveness for one night.
Bye,
Shay.
