The Weekend Everything Changed

The following program is rated TV-MA for descriptive sexual content. Viewer discretion is advised.

The idea, in the beginning, was to get Cameron’s girlfriend to cheat on him. I don’t remember if I ever knew why, exactly. I think it was a combination of things, honestly. I think someone told Israel he couldn’t do it and he developed some masculine need to prove he could.

I think Israel and Cameron’s (and my) mutual friend, Ramos, didn’t like her any more than any of the rest of us.

And, maybe it’s wishful but I think, maybe, Ramos thought Cameron was better suited to someone else. Someone he had let in on the “get Nikki to screw Israel” joke. Someone like me.

When Ramos returned from his summer at home, in Texas, Israel, and a third friend, Angelo, came with him. Ramos was spending a few days with Nikki in her apartment, waiting for the house he was moving into to be ready to move into. Nikki’s apartment was across the courtyard from mine in the same complex.

After dropping their luggage off at Nikki’s apartment, Ramos brought Israel and Angelo to meet me. “Israel’s trying to get Nikki in bed,” he announced, early in the conversation. We talked, on my patio, for a while. An hour, hour and a half. Ramos revealed Israel was majoring in English. I decided early on that I wasn’t ever going to make any kind of connection when it came to Angelo (I never did). And they left.

A few hours later, I crossed the courtyard to join the festivities. Which mostly consisted of vodka and drinks we’d bought from Sonic. High class.

That first night, we all had some good laughs, drank a little, listened to music, just had a stereotypical college summer night. Somewhere along the way, someone suggested that “someone need[s] to make out; I nominate you two,” gesturing to Israel and me. We laughed it off and carried on with the rest of the night.

That was Thursday. Friday, I came home from a girls’ night out, just as Ramos, Israel, and Angelo were coming back from another trip to Sonic. They invited me to join them and I did. The four of us sat in the living room of Nikki’s apartment long after she and her roommates had gone to bed, watching a Saturday Night Live marathon on cable. As we talked, Ramos and Angelo fell asleep, leaving Israel and I to bring up the sun.

They spent Saturday playing tourists, and we all got together again that night.

That night was different.

I was on Nikki’s patio, smoking with Angelo. Or smoking near Angelo who was busy dialing and redialing his girlfriend’s phone number and not getting an answer. Israel burst through the door out of the apartment and made some kind of exasperated animal sound. “I can’t take her anymore. She’s driving me nuts!”

I chuckled and asked if he meant Nikki. I hadn’t made any real effort over the past couple days to hide my disdain for her. Which was largely fueled by jealousy and my feelings for Cameron. “Yes,” he groaned. “I gotta get out of here. Do you want to go for a walk?”

So, we left.

Somewhere around midnight, Israel and I embarked on a tour of my university campus. I didn’t keep track of the time, but I’d guess it was half an hour, 45 minutes later, we found ourselves at the fountain plaza, which was the focal point of the central part of campus. We had found conversation easy ever since that first meeting on my patio and that night was no different.

I can’t tell you, now, what we had been talking about, but we decided to sit on one of the stone benches that surrounded the fountain to continue. I don’t know how long we sat there, talking about whatever we were talking about, before he leaned in to kiss me.

I am very much a kiss-on-the-first-date, sex-positive, no shame kind of girl. But until he moved, I had feelings for someone else. And he knew about that. He had incorporated my feelings into the conspiracy to get Nikki to cheat on Cameron. “If I can get her into bed, he’ll need someone to help comfort him.” He tried to kiss me anyway. And I pulled away, because I suddenly had no idea what I wanted. I was fairly certain Cameron didn’t want me, even if Nikki did cheat, and Israel and I had formed a genuine connection. But he lived 1000 miles away. In another state.

We hashed all of that out and I let him try again.

And I climbed into his lap, facing him, one leg on either side. And we made out like teenagers. Until we mutually decided we wouldn’t be satisfied ending the night with dry humping on a stone bench in the middle of my university campus.

A long walk in the daylight when I finished with my classes. I’d never made it in this condition before. What was once a long walk now seemed like it would never end.

We finally reached my bedroom and had barely got the door closed and locked before stripping one another. It was a scene from a movie, or maybe a prime time soap opera, as we rushed through something that resembled foreplay. I had just gotten my lip pierced a couple weeks before and I had to revise my customary oral sex foreplay rituals to accommodate the still-healing oral wound but he took it all very seriously.

And just as suddenly as it had all started, that prime time soap became a teen drama when he revealed his secret.

He was a virgin.

I stopped everything, not sure what to do with that. Thinking like a girl conditioned to believe virginity wasn’t something to be handed out like candy on Halloween, I didn’t know if I wanted that responsibility. Or was virginity even important to guys?

As I considered the situation, weighing my options – get laid and maybe, finally, move on from Cameron or masturbate myself to sleep and make things weird tomorrow – he explained that it wasn’t, necessarily, his choice. He hadn’t found a girl willing to take what he had to offer. Any girl willing to give him oral sex had refused to go any farther, intimidated by his …. er, gifts.

After we (both) finished, he got up to leave and I told him to stay – if he wanted to.

Sunday, they had more tourist activities planned so we split for the day. Sunday night, I returned to Nikki’s apartment, expecting to hear all about keeping Israel “out all night.” Ramos made one, quiet, casual comment, and that was all that was said, much to my surprise. And relief.

We left again, this time passing my roommates on the road before finding our way to a small amphitheater that I hadn’t even known existed and that I assumed was used for astronomy classes. We talked. For an easy couple of hours. And we kissed. He told me he thought my soul was sad and that he couldn’t believe my friends had never mentioned it before. And we made our way back to my apartment for a repeat performance of the night before. Our one-night stand became a two-night stand and would ultimately become an intense, tumultuous eight-month engagement.

 

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First to Love – Extended Introduction

I guess the best place to begin is the beginning.

But what should I call the beginning?

Is it where my “romantic history” began? Is it what lead me to create this blog in the first place?

Maybe the easiest thing to do would be to talk a little more about my motivation behind this blog. I touched on it a little in the About blurb but that was kind of the overview. There is so much more to what I am trying to do.

I have never really been one for writing in journals and talking to someone else about the things in my head never really works as well as I hope. I prefer to write things down where other people can read them. It’s not really about a need for justification or vindication; it’s just about this belief I’ve always had that if I’m going to write it down, it might as well be public. Whether or not it’s anything anyone wants to read is another story entirely. The point is it is available to be read.

At the same time, while I always write with an audience in mind, I never write anything for an audience. I don’t write things thinking, “I want to write something that will appeal to this demographic.” I just start scribbling and put it out into the world and let people figure it out for themselves.

That’s not to say I’m not aware of my content.

I intend to keep it mostly PG-13, but because these are intended to be mostly true stories about everything I’ve been through and experienced in my life, in “relationships,” I can’t guarantee a little TV-MA to R content won’t drift in. I promise to add disclaimers if I feel like things are getting crazy. But I guess this is the initial “you have been warned” warning.

It might get crazy.

Largely, I expect it to be pretty boring. That’s how I remember most of my life, thus far – boring with intermittent moments of pure insanity on a “you can’t make this stuff up” level. But that could be my own personal bias. Like, nothing that happens to you really seems that great but when you get drunk at a party and tell everyone about “then this one time…” they all laugh and you’re a big hit. For a little while. Until you run out of stories. Or beer. But I have a ton of stories so we’ll see how this goes.

I’m curious about the idea of writing a romance novel. On the one hand, they sell. And, as one of my best friends and fellow writers pointed out, sex also sells. That’s always appealing to a writer, I don’t care what anyone says about just writing for the love of writing. That very well may be but tell me you’d turn down even a $100 royalty check if someone thought you were worthy of one. I’ll wait…

On the other hand, I know literally nothing about the genre. I rarely even write romantic partnerships into my other stories, nevermind focusing on them for an entire 50-60,000 words. I don’t usually like romantic movies either. As far as “chick movies” go, I’m more attracted to the girlfriend movies. Thelma and Louise, Mona Lisa Smile, Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, Secret Life of Bees, Fried Green Tomatoes (at the Whistle Stop Café – full book title) …

So, likely, whatever I do end up writing will be more along those lines. There will be a romance, or two, because what better girlfriend foil than a boyfriend? But I don’t see myself focusing on that aspect of it, primarily.

One of my favorites of the genre (cinematically) is How to Make an American Quilt. I like the format. A group of older ladies are making a wedding quilt for one of their granddaughters and through making it, they talk – to her and to one another – about their own romances. I could do something along those lines, maybe even incorporate some of the more popular stories from this blog (comment and like to let me know what stories you like best).

So, that’s what I have planned for this blog.

I hope someone besides me gets something out of it. But if not, at least I got the words out.