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 |  My first ever Writing.com journal. |
| it's raining rather magnificently outside. i'm caught somewhere between disappointment (because i was going to wear the season's first skirt today) and delight (because i got to puddle-jump all the way to work). aaron doesn't believe my virginity will last much longer, and while he's techncially wrong, in principle i agree with him. everything has changed this semester, and rapidly. everything i ever used to feel and think, two years ago, it's completely refelt and rethunk, now. i don't think i'd ever have been sorry if i'd slept with marcus, though, so the change isn't about that, because i still wouldn't. i'd be sorry if i slept with, say, james. he hasn't put in the investment marcus has. i'd feel a cataclysmic sense of disequilibrium if he yielded a higher return. the thing about being friends with mostly guys is, you have to hear a lot of conversations that will likely leave you pretty jaded. i love them intensely, as i may have mentioned, even for all their flaws and insensitivities, but they really mess me up sometimes. most recently they've been on this kick where every conversation ends with a debate about the different degrees of intercourse. what it means to "smash," versus what it means to "have sex," versus what it means to "make love." i always understood about smashing, because it's what happens the most frequently in a college environment. when you smash, you literally don't give a fuck about anything but the resultant nut. a conversation held afterward with a confidant might go as follows: friend: so did you smash? smasher: yeah, i smashed. friend: so was it good? smasher: yeah, i busted so fuckin' hard-- friend: and was it good for her, too? smasher: the hell if i know, i couldn't see her face and i told her to get the hell out right afterward... which, as romantic as that might sound (and it DOES; it's extremely encouraging to hear some variation on that same exchange, every few days), doesn't exactly hold positive implications for the female involved (which is another thing; thanks to the guys, i learnway too much personal information about the girls i then have to see in class). having sex is a better standard, apparently. it happens, it can be nice, you can still be friends with the girl afterward. you care enough about her that you try to make it good; maybe you even drive her home when it's over. you still tell your friends, of course. maybe you report it a bit more accurately. friend: so what happened? sexer: i slept with ashley. we had a good time. it was pretty good. friend: that's what's up. sexer: yeah. i might call her tomorrow. she gets a name, an opinion and a potential postcoital phone call. probably still not quite what she'd hoped, but definitely better than a swift kick out the front door. making love needs no preliminary discussion. friend: so what'd you do last night? lovemaker: i stayed in with kim and this morning we made cookies. the care for her well-being is implied, and the level of respect is such that the intercourse isn't even referenced. this is obviously the ideal, for most women: not to be fucked or smashed or remembered only in passing as a good lay, but to be loved before, during and after the sex; to feel secure in the sex's safety and appropriateness; to skip the whole thing of worrying about what happens next. that's kind of what i had been holding out for. some people, when they're young, their parents plant this seed that says sex is a wonderful, beautiful thing; a physical expression of deeper love, one that should know no bounds. other people, they hear that it's dirty, evil, unholy, and they start their lives feeling the way aaron does now. me, i had neither seed planted. my parents evidently hadn't gotten their stance together by the time i hit adolescence, and it was just one of those things we never talked about, till they started assuming i was already doing it. i had to invent a position and the willpower to stick to it, and i did. decided not to have sex until it came from love. which, i've recently decided, will never happen. i try not to feel this way anymore, because it was my entire attitude before college and it sucked, but it's totally pointless to reject it. i'm not someone that anyone loves like that. i'm admired, i'm cherished, i'm pedestaled (rampantly). i'm chastised for being too moody, too sensitive, too analytical. i'm completely taken for granted, maybe even manipulated. so, okay. if it's what i have to work with, and if i'm just frustrating myself waiting for that experience of being held and adored first (because, while marcus does hold me, and proclaim to adore me, love me, blahblah, he frequently enough forgets that those are more than words, and he woudln't, if. i don't think), then i shouldn't. just, i don't ever want anyone to "smash" me, but i can settle for sex. i can. see, i'm not as uppity as you think. on an earlier subject, the rain has picked up and everything is a lovely shade of wet, dark green. |
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