The Dick

The Dick 

I went out with two of my friends one night and all three of us were horny and in a crazy ass mood: Recipe for crazy shit is about to happen. My friend Alexis saw this really hot guy down at the other end of the bar (mind you he had two other friends) and she noticed within 15 minutes they had moved all the way down to where we were sitting. So Alexis dragged me down to buy them drinks.

Fireball shots, ugh.

Then we meet a man named, HorseShoe. He was a townie and he had brain matter coming out of his skull (Halloween costume) it was the week after Halloween, but a good chunk of people were celebrating it that Saturday. Then Horseshoe told us and the three guys he has two belly buttons. And that’s how I met The Dick. (His blog name rhythms with his real name). And I don’t care if anyone figures out his real name.

He knew about my blog and we would joke that if he pissed me off I would call him The Dick. Actually the last time I ever saw him he turned around and said, “are you going to call me The Dick in your blog?”

“Yep.”

We had a few drinks with them at the bar and they invited us over to ones of their houses to drink and play more games. We said, “hell yeah!” As we were driving my other friend Valerie made one rule “we all have to leave together. So no disappearing to have sex. I’m really only talking to you!” And see glared at me.

“Fine, no sex. I’ll make sure I come home with you guys.”

We went over to their friend Marvins house. Yeah, silly name but his real name was at the same silly level as Marvin. We had drinks, we played Cards against Humanity. Dick was charming, funny and a wonderful dresser. He knew how to wear clothes. This is a rare find. He was my age, just out of school and working for the government. He was very charming. (Though my bitchy friend (Max) said he had a “butter face” but looks only go so far for me, so I didn’t care what my friend said, he was charming and what I was looking for. He was very sweet and caring to me. He had wanted to major in journalism in school but ended up switching out to something else. And when mention to someone that you write, who also enjoys writing it becomes a big turn on. Don’t ask me why, but it’s become a pick-up line almost. Or when I was on tour for poetry I would get hit on so much.

At a certain point during the night, as Marvin’s his other friend had informed us he had this cool stuff to look at. Everyone went downstairs, but Dick and I and before I knew it I was on top of him making out. And very quickly had to act like we weren’t kissing because my friend Valerie ran up screaming because Marvin has this huge picture of the city we live. We saw it at an art show and were like, “OMG we want it!” But it’s too expensive. Marvin bought the fucking thing! We were shocked!


 

Within a week, The Dick and I were talking on the phone and planned to go out for drinks. Which never happened because he canceled last minute and within hours of canceling text me that he was “seeing someone.” When I (or most people) read “seeing someone” you take it that they must be dating around, playing the field, etc. I’ve used “seeing someone” in that very context. I told him I was fine with this and made it clear what I thought “seeing someone” means. He felt really bad for bailing on me so he took me out to a really nice dinner, coffee and we watched movies at my place afterward.

He was really wonderful when we spent time together those few weeks. Our humor bounced off each other well, he was a smart guy and we had really great chemistry.


 

On Black Out Wednesday, my friends and I went out to a local bar that starts with a J. Locals tend to gather here (he was a local) which lead to this bar or this particular night. A bunch of my friends were out with us as well. I met a bunch of his friends that night as well.

I was standing near with my friend Valerie enjoying my drink and chatting. Next I heard a buddy of his said, “where’s your girlfriend dude?”

I should have put the pieces together. Connected the dots when he stayed over at my place and then would stop over at his friends house. Should have listened closer when he said, “seeing someone.”

**You would think after being cheated on twice I would see the red flags more quickly.

He came over to my house that night and we had a very long talk. Yes, he had a girlfriend. Yes, he understands “seeing someone” is misleading. Yes, he really liked spending time with me and thought I was amazing.

Yes, he’s done this before. In college, he had made out with two other girls but with me was the farthest he’d taken things with something (I mean we were practically dating). Yes, he almost thought about breaking it off with her and yes a part of me wanted him to.

But I made this a lot easier, I told him we couldn’t even be friends anymore. And that he should tell her what happened because you can’t keep lies like that to someone you love and lies like those have a way of getting out in the end. He started crying because he said he loved her and didn’t mean for this, he didn’t want to tell her. He said he wasn’t going to go out anymore.

I’m sure he apologized for all this, but I don’t remember that. I do remember being very honest with him. Which is something I’ve lacked in past dating experiences, so I was very blunt with him that he hurt me and he’s hurting someone else and I’ve been on the other side of cheating and it’s even worse. And that if he loves her he should tell her the truth. I told him I never wanted to see him again because I liked him too much and couldn’t torture myself like that.

He left his jacket in my room and called me 10 minutes after he had just left my house. I put the jacket on the porch and before he made it up to my porch I went back to my room and cried. I slept most of the day.

Later that day (after some very quick googling) I found his wedding registry. 2016 or 2015 was when they planned to get married. It makes me wonder if anything he said to me was true. Or exactly what was true.

I avoided this bar ( the J bar was always at when I was seeing him) for months and another part of me wanted to show up at the bar. To see if he really hadn’t gone out anymore. Also, to walk around looking good. A reminder that I’m worth something more. (I never saw him there).


 

This past December I went back to that bar, a year later and he wasn’t there. I haven’t seen since that morning he left my house.

I don’t think I was that upset it didn’t work out between us. I think I cried more about the fact that he went back to her because he loved her. It made me think about my Ex when he cheated on me. He didn’t come back to me, he fell in love and started a new relationship without even telling me.  He didn’t come back to me and he left me before I knew I was left.

“I did not know him, I knew my idea
of him.” ― Sharon Olds

Exhaustion is an unrecognizable word

My first year at a four-year university (after a few years of junior college) I was sitting in the office with one of the coordinators for the “learning assistance center.” This center was not only for students with disabilities but was also a part of the entire campus tutoring center needs. I’m not sure if the school was too cheap to spring for a center solely for disabilities or the state my university was located just has some shitty education regulations when it comes to private universities and the disabled students that attend. I’m guessing it’s a bit of both. One of the coordinators sat me down and told me I should create an action plan when speaking with each of my professors. She told me to find an image or a description of my disability and how it makes me feel.

For those who are still unaware, I have a learning disability (Authority process disorder) this disability stems into an umbrella of other problems, such as dyslexia, the spectrum and other speech crippling issues. But my main diagnosis, “Auditory Processing Disorder.” This learning disability encompasses a range of speech problems. Especially involving hearing and speaking.

I told her and a select few professors (the ones I felt safe approaching) that it’s like I’m chained to a rock, a really heavy rock. It’s always slowing me down, dragging behind me. My little painful reminder.

This didn’t feel right to me though. I knew there was something else I was and another way to explain my disability.

I never really write about my disability. It’s hard to write about something so familiar to me, but that’s so strange and unfamiliar to many. It’s like if I walked around reading poetry about having gills, “you know what it’s like to breath underwater right?” And I would get that weird look and they wouldn’t say yes or no, just walk away.

The start of fall 2014 I really dove into visual poetry. Just a glimpse of “From the history of grade school” by Bob Hicok was enough to give that little kick into try something new. Visual poetry became an eye-opening vehicle to show a reader what the page looks like to me. Visual poetry was a different voice, a different language than English.

And this made me realize exactly what it felt like to deal with this disability. (Mind you it’s taken a few months to really lay out this idea and feeling).

Now I want you to remember what it was like when you tried to learn a new language. Think back to high school when you took French or Spanish. Or think back to a time when you traveled to another country or place where you barely spoke the language. Now think about how relieving it felt to know you could retreat back into your first language (whatever it may be). You never really think twice about your 1st language right?

Growing up with authority processing disorder made learning English feel like a second language but when I retreated at the end of the day I didn’t have a “first language” to fall back on. So my thoughts just sat in my head. It was crippling as a child to feel this and it’s still crippling in many ways. Sometimes I go home at the end of the day exhausted from trying to keep up with language, spelling, writing, communication. Not only trying to lay out complex ideas and examples but trying to hide my disability. Trying not to show the little glimmers that remain. There is nothing more exhausting than being trapped in your own mind. This is what it must feel like for people who cannot move their legs. You sit there, you see your legs, you see others using their legs but your body doesn’t work that way.

Or for me it’s: I see the word in my mind, I can hear it in my mind, but my tongue won’t slide across my mouth. When someone gives me a set of directions I forget a few steps, I’ll process a word incorrectly, you’ll struggle to remember how to spell “completely.” Most of my life has been spent sitting back, listening, watching and developing opinions.


At my four-year university, they gave me a laminated card (it’s important to make note of this) the need to laminate anything before handing it over to their students with disabilities. Like in first grade when I was handed safety scissors or the easy to read picture book. I decided to keep the laminated card and it sits in the top drawer of the side table by my bed. it’s a reminder of how much I hated the learning assistance center and how unhelpful they were. A card I handed over to countless professors, the apology to my lack of participation or the overall odd spelling and grammar errors I made.

It’s my little reminder but how even coordinators of a disabilities center can know so little about what it’s really like day to day. It’s my reminder Whenever a friend tells me I don’t have a disability anymore like I’m fixed now. Like my college degree fixed me. Because for the majority of conversations with me you don’t notice anything wrong.

These people don’t live my day to day. The moments I forget the differences between “now” and “know” or the moments I’m so exhausted I just break down in the car driving. The memories when I young and I prayed to God to “make me like everyone else, make me normal.”

There is no overcoming one’s own disability. It’s building resilience to deal with a society that insults us by expecting us to overcome a part of ourselves that we were born with.

Virgin Blow Job

Never do you imagine the “picture perfect” to happen: lying down with someone (who you went out of your way to see) in a corn field, by a tree, looking up at the stars, because they’re so clear in the Midwest, unlike in my hometown. You’re lying down on a blanket with a handsome guy cuddling  you and as you fool around he says” yeah it’s not like were getting married or anything so this is fine.”

Caillum is a virgin and I’m sure he still is (hence the present tense of this sentence) but I’m also sure he’s back with his girlfriend. He’s religious (church going) and I mean clearly he’s very religious (saving himself) He’s tall and has a red beard.

At the time, Caillum seemed to really like me. He was sweet, caring and said the nicest things about me.This was everything I thought I was looking for in someone, minus a few traits, but I was ok with the differences.

I was visiting my hometown when we started talking. He was living a state over from where I was going to school (but he was from the town where I was going to school) We Skyped when I was across the country and fell asleep via Skype more times than I can count.

When I got back to my school he wanted me to drive over and visit him and on two occasions I almost did. I mean I felt like I could trust this guy because I did know my best friends had known him since they were little kids in school but still…I was driving a long distance and it sounded more comforting to bring someone with me just in case. But I never went. Something in my gut told me not too, plus I didn’t have much cash at the time to be making trips like that and he was working so I wouldn’t even of had that much time to spend with him.

A few months later he told me he was moving about 45 minutes from where I lived. We were both excited. So the night he got into town I drove over to see him. It was 1AM and I almost didn’t go but decided to anyways. When I pulled into town it was extremely foggy and I got lost for 30minutes, plus he had fallen asleep and I almost turned back around until he picked up at the last minute.

I picked him up and we drove out to a corn field. We laid down together and it didn’t feel right. You know that feeling when you try on a pair of shoes and they’re too tight? That was the feeling. He was so handsome and had this wonderful smile and this perfect body, but it didn’t feel right. The kissing was ok, but it wasn’t anything to write home on:

I don’t believe first kisses are amazing, they are always a bit shaky, but we’re talking a few seconds tops and then it moves on. But most of the time you’re not thinking about the shake, you’re thinking about his hands, the heat or the energy coming off his body. But bad kissing you’re thinking about the tongue, why is it so wet and why is my face moist?

I didn’t fit into Caillum’s arms like a missing piece. It was awkward and stiff and he wasn’t soft. He was a virgin but I guess giving someone a blow job doesn’t count (it so fucking does) I’m sorry if there’s big white pearly gates and he shows up there in the afterlife I’m going to slap him and say, “you jerk I sucked your dick, same difference!”

But I went down on him nonetheless and he gave me nothing but bad fingering and awkward touching. Also, we went into dry humping and I was thinking to myself, “ok, I haven’t done this since Freshmen year of high school, what the fuck?! Really? No, I don’t do dry humping…I just have sex at this point.”

Again, for him there was no desire to be soft.  

When he told me “its not like we’re getting married” it wasn’t that I had been dreaming of marrying him or anything close to that. It’s just that when someone makes a statement like that you really feel like a chew toy. I was a girl to enjoy sin with because I was sinful. I was quick pleasure and then one day he would find another girl to call sweet, to call Girlfriend and he would take her inside his house, have her meet his friends and family. I was just something to fuck with until the real deal came along. That’s how I felt and that’s how I had been feeling with the past few guys. I was a good time. Not the girl you want to hold all night long, or call beautiful. I felt like such a piece of meat and I thought about all the looks, all the moans when I took my clothes off, when someone grabbed my hips and flipped me over in position.

I was walking entertainment and I felt so shitty.

I would spend one more night with Caillum, because I was lonely and he Facebooked me out of the blue to join in him the corn field again and pretend it’s romantic and ignore the fact that I’m just a warm body.

I pushed these thoughts to the back of my mind and took my shirt off and pretended to enjoy his arms grasping at me.

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The One Who Changed Everything

I’ve been avoided this post because this one was going to be next. He was my next boyfriend and I wasn’t sure I knew what to write about, to talk about. I feel nothing about this situation now.

“So many events and moments that seemed insignificant add up. I remember how for the last Valentine´s Day, N gave flowers but no card. In restaurants, he looked off into the middle distance while my hand would creep across the table to hold his. He would always let go first. I realize I can´t remember his last spontaneous gesture of affection.”
― Suzanne Finnamore

To Know the Start, You Must Begin at the End

It was August, but I don’t remember the sticky T-shirt feeling your suppose to have during this month, or the sweaty walk up his flight of stairs and the continuing question, “It’s too hot to not have air units.” But I remember the wind, his window was open, even though he was nowhere near. I had two more hours before I would pick him up at the airport. I had to beg and plead with him to pick him up, to spend time with him for the night. His texts were worse than a sigh, he wanted to sleep and didn’t seem to have any interest in having sex, even though we hadn’t seen each other in three months.

Did I know he was cheating on me? 

In many ways yes, I knew. My mind had already made many of the connections, but the rest of my body wasn’t ready to catch up and learn he had cheated on me for five months (longer than I assumed). He hadn’t just been sleeping with some girl, but he loved (maybe still loves) her. He introduced her to his family during a vacation they took together, he stole my car to see her, he took out the photos of me and filled them with her tall, skinny body, her red lipstick and every photo of her showed had a soft smile.

Walking up his stairs that night didn’t feel different. But it was colder, for an August night it was almost chilly. And he didn’t even try and hide the beautiful lacy cami folded up so neatly, so gently. It wasn’t mine and I was sure this wasn’t a gift. Her love letters laid out across his bed, his poems written about her, some sweet and most sexual poems describing her breast, her pale skin, the way she fucked the best.

This girl wrote poetry (at this time I didn’t even imagine I would want to become a writer), she was edgy and had the same dark sadness he carried. They were perfect for each other and they figured this out before I ever did. Before he decided to let me know. And I knew her, pretty well actually. I had hugged her a few times, stopped by her birthday (where they met, were my roommates pointed out an uncomfortable flirting vibe)She was an avid activist and feminist woman and she was best friends with my best friend.

Walking down his stairs was a completely different story. My knees shook, the room seemed so hot and I didn’t feel the need to cry. I met up with my brother to pick up my cheating boyfriend from the airport. I hugged my cheating boyfriend, I smiled at his return and he mostly spoke with my brother. I finally noticed the distance had been there for months.

His main reason for cheating on me: He was in love and he thought we had broken up already. When he dropped me off at the airport, we hugged and a got teary eyed. We said goodbye and he though this was our break-up. Even though I spoke on the phone with him, text him and told him I loved him.



Random Memories

I remember finding one thing, this “list” he wrote. It had all the names of the women he had ever been with or loved/cared about. We weren’t ranked with numbers but in more of factual way.Every girl had two things like, Betty: Pretty eyes, kinky, Mary: Nice hands, enjoys going out. 

Mine were: “Sporty” and “Can get men easy”. 

Both were night owls, but those weird night owls who like to walk around parks late at night. My EX use to try and get me to join him, but I hated walking in public places at night. I wanted to be at home reading books, working on papers, watching a film. I would later find out they would go off together for walks in the park less than a mile from our houses. Yes, crazy to think we all lived in the same neighborhood. I later would tell my best friend about this, the one who lived with this girl and she would be shocked and say, “I remember her telling the house she was going on a late night walk and it was a normal thing for her to do.” I would say, “It was a normal thing for him to do too.”

He and I would try to be friends. I would forgive them both, because that’s what a young lady does. She doesn’t show her pain, she puts on a good face. That’s what the stories show. “You don’t want to be the bitch” So you met her, you welcome her into your house, you hear him talk about her hair, how her body is thin in just the right places. How she loves poetry, loves writing and how she doesn’t fit in with the world. I would break ties with him a year after it all happened, because he wouldn’t admit that stealing my car was a bad thing. He blames me for getting him fired, for ruining his life, for making her leave him. So he kicked me out of his house screaming at me, cussing me out and flipping me off.

We never spoke again and I never want to but he did text me congrats when I graduated, he text all these nice words and a bit of me wanted to text him back, but I will never let myself forget how he treated me. So no I will never speak to him again. I don’t want to.


But no, I don’t feel hatred towards him, sadness or regret. I feel nothing. Not the numb kind of nothing. Like when the dentist injects the novocaine into your gums, but the numbing sense something is missing that was once there. Like you once had wings but they were clipped, or all your hair falls out at once. I have forgotten so much about him and our time together. It feels like I’ve been thrown into the film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind 

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Who am I now after three years? A young woman trying to get her shit together. I think it’s the best way to describe me. I have more trust issues than I can count and that I was aware of a year ago. The body issues I never had before and I’m scared another guy will call me stupid, put my down, grab me hard.

I spent a lot of time between other guys sheets trying to prove I’m not worthless

Today I sit in my room looking for old emails, letter, anything from this relationship to give me a jump start for this post and I realized I got rid of everything. It’s all gone and I just feel numb.

My First Time

John

There is a lot to be said about the first time you have sex. You never forget that person, that moment and that *facepalm* feeling, “what were you thinking?” In the words of Mike Birbiglia, “At least no one saw it.”

John and I only dated for about five months, but it would a life changing five months.

Recently I told my best friend Sarah (friends since 4th grade) that if I had never met John we wouldn’t have met half of the friends we spend time with to this day. If I hadn’t dated John she may have never met her fiance. (More detail on this in a future post)

I met John (or Johnny) through a friend on Facebook. Johnny, my friend/his friend and I all ran cross country. I wasn’t running any longer though and was still dealing this a very painful back and neck injury due to soccer. We met via facebook, like any weird high school relationship starts. Note: This is such an embarrassing story for me personally.

We planned to meet at the local mall, like any young teenager with no real concept of hanging out places. My best friend Sarah came, even though I knew Johnny was a real person (thanks to my friend who knew him) Sarah just wanted to make sure he wasn’t a murder. He wasn’t a murder just in case anyone’s wondering, but after dating him and how we broke up I will say he turned out to be an asshole.

Funny Side Note: When Sarah and I first met John we both thought the same thing, ” wow he’s shorter than I thought he be.” He wasn’t super short, like he as taller than both Sarah and I. Still he was shorter than we had anticipated.

Dating in high school was so simple. Compared to dating as an adult, where you have discussions, share of each other’s emotional baggage and have an exchange of traits. Adult dating is like watching a National Geographic mating video, The Mating rituals of the Savannah” Where you watch a very bloody mating display of lion and you’re like “I want none of that.” So you go drink wine in your sweats and hang out on Tumblr.

But high school was easy. “Will you be my girl?” “Yes.” Done.


Like how it states in my title: My First Time

Johnny was my first time. I think I was 17 years old. Johnny was 17 too and only a few weeks older than me. A Taurus, I’m a Gemini.

Note: I don’t believe in horoscope in any way. I’m not laying out stones on my body or painting my body with symbols. I just the ironic description of horoscope and I believe it’s a simple/basic profile of someones personality and most people from all over understand horoscopes so there. 

We had sex. It was fine. Johnny had sex with his girlfriend before me, who moved away he claimed. I had never had sex and I was the first one out of the majority of people I knew to have sex. In his bedroom, with the TV night movie special, Catch me if you can. Surrounded by superheroes and a childhood still being played out. The moment you realize this is a stepping into who you will become, but as a young kid it’s a different thought than it is looking back on the moment.

The moment you realize this is a stepping into who you will become, but as a young kid it’s a different stepping stone you think about. As an adult you think about all the baggage it created and as a teenager it was “I’m fucking having sex!”

Did I want to have sex? Yes and No. Was I a bit hesitate? Yes. Did he push me a little bit to have sex. Oh yeah. Does this thought make me a bit uneasy as an adult? Of course.

Johnny was the first in a long line of guys I gave myself to. Gave up my body to and trying to become the definition of pleasure. I would win love through sex I thought and this only intensified after how our relationship ended.

Johnny had this long lost love for years. Some girl he just only loved but she never loved him back, until one day she did. At the end of our relationship from what I was told they started seeing each other, very intimately.

Johnny was a loser. He would go on to say this other girl was his “Jenny” and he was “Forrest Gump.”

WHAT! No.

This is how we would end. Through a terrible movie analogy.


Months afterward we would meet up again to chat.

I was still into him (but dating a friend of his) And he knew I still was into him and used this to his advantage. (We also hooked up a few times when we were both single throughout the months of fall) But one day a few weeks when I was dating one his friends we met up. Which just turned into me pointing out I knew he slept with her when we were still together and him asking me why I was seeing his friend.

And this moment I will never forget:

Johnny then told me ” no one will ever love you. No one will ever want to marry you.”

I know this is not true. But how would you feel, at 18 years old, from the first guy you had sex with? It was heart breaking for many years. Sometimes I think back to this conversation and wonder if he cursed me somehow because here I am single at 25.


Years Later

We wouldn’t talk for a long time after that conversation. Then, because he had a hold on me for the longest time. That silent sexual energy, that enegry you get from having sex and loving them. I had also just had a very awful break up with my boyfriend I had been with for four years. John was smart and he prayed on my recent break up. But our conversations and talk all ended one day when he was hitting on me via text.

John: “What did you do on your Saturday night?”

Me: “Oh just spent time with friends, went to the bars and danced. You?”

John: Oh not much, just went out, danced, did some nose candy…”

Nose Candy…? NOSE CANDY! Out of all the slang, lingo, short talk he picked NOSE CANDY! How about you just say I did some blow, or I don’t know I did cocaine. Good old cocaine

Also, John was well aware that drugs are not the way to my heart. At 25 years old I haven’t even smoked a cigarette or smoked pot. If you want to, cool. I’ve never been interested in any of it. It’s like coconut. Some people love it and some people don’t. Or like Anal.

So after this very weird text message it kind of hit me how much this guy had really hurt me, used me and was a loser. So I told him to leave me alone (Because he was also notorious for sneaking his way back into my life)

And now I call him Mr. Nose Candy.

Mr. Nose Candy would forever set in motion how I felt about my body and he was the first trip down the stairs, the first roll of the snowball effect, the one I looked back on when someone left me. When I felt like my body, my sex wasn’t enough to keep a man.

My relationship with John would be the knife in my back I would feel after numerous boyfriends cheated on me.

John was the first.

So how do I think about my first time now? I think about a bird molting.

 That’s the image in my mind.

A bird losing its wings.