The boys that I was hooking up with during my formative years were nice. Maybe it was simply because they were young innocent’s and the world had not yet swallowed them up, churned them around in its’ acidic bile and spit them out a poisoned, corrupted soul. Graham Greene said in The Quiet American, “Innocence always calls mutely for protection when we would be so much wiser to guard ourselves against it: innocence is like a dumb leper who has lost his bell, wandering the world, meaning no harm.”
Boom. Graham Greene is sexy. Anyway, the dude was on to something. Maybe I should have guarded myself from innocence because I grew up thinking boys were nice and understanding and patient when it comes to sex. Was I just lucky? Did I just happen to get the good ones? Don’t get me wrong, I definitely had my fair share of shitty bedroom situations when I was a teenager, but the boys I was with when we were younger and learning how our bodies worked, were terrified of hurting me. They were gentlemen. And I mean that literally; gentle men. They didn’t unbutton my pants on the first date and they didn’t grab my boobs after four seconds of saliva exchange and they didn’t even let it get to the point where I would have to use the word, “no” because they fucking paid attention and just knew when it was and was not okay to progress. Guys now think that kissing will always lead to sex. Um no.
There was James. He was my first, and my first “real” boyfriend. I was 16 so I don’t remember a lot, but he was nice and definitely never pressured me. I couldn’t have asked for a better first.
Then there is Cody. I’ve never written about Cody mostly because I can’t. There is too much history that it is overwhelming. There are some things so sacred, in which words seem feeble to attempt to use. Maybe one day, if I’m ever a better writer, I’ll try to write about Cody. For now though, I’ll just say that if there was some sort of test for hearts, the way there is an IQ test for your brain, Cody and I would score the exact same. Cody was caring. He was like me, because he didn’t need sex. Not in the way most guys do. I had some problems, and he was so soft and understanding, (or at least pretended to understand) and said all of the right things when we were rolling around together in his squeaky high school bed that had a sound machine next to it that he was obsessed with. And boy, could he kiss. There you go Cody, there is the one thing that I will write about you.
My Love was amazing. He put up with my fucked up ways and never questioned it. When him and I first started dating, I remember the first time he put his hand up my shirt. He went so slow, allowing me time to stop him if I wanted to. I didn’t stop him. Then, instead of his hand landing on my breasts, where I assumed they were going, he went all the way through my v-neck shirt and landed at my face. He cupped my face as we kissed and that was the first time his hand was up my shirt. I’ll always remember that because it seemed so innocent. He was a hormonal teenager who could have had a grab at a boob, but he passed them and went for my face and it was more intimate than any awkward feel-up could have been.
Tommy and I were a goddamn rollercoaster, and he came later in life, but when we first started seeing each other, he could read my body language as blatantly as he could read a book. I remember the first time we hooked up, and it got to the point where we were about to have sex, but I just didn’t feel right about it yet. I don’t think I even had to verbalize anything, he just stopped. He could tell from my body language because he was paying attention. Listening with his instincts. BOYS DON’T DO THIS ANYMORE!
Those are the ones who I learned with. The ones that I’ve been with the most. Maybe I have a jaded current view of boys because I haven’t “seriously” been with anyone in a while. That is mostly because I just don’t like being in relationships, but I’m wondering if it’s also because boys just don’t pay attention now that we are older. I’ve dated guys since Tommy, and almost become at least semi serious with a few of them, but I’m wondering if part of the hesitation is that I’m silently screaming for someone who only existed at a time when we were dumb leper’s who had lost our bells.
Like I said, I have had PLENTY of crap experiences, but the one that sparked this random musing happened last night. I was out with this guy who is a friend, but has been pursuing me for a little while. Just don’t pursue me. It’s exhausting. I leave town often for work and I’m like a dude when it comes to relationships. Just not that into commitment. Obviously. Anyway, this guy was trying to take my pants off, but I kept stopping him. First question, why did I have to do this more than once? He then went on to remind me of a time that I threw up and passed out in his bathroom once during a party a while back. It wasn’t my finest hour. It happens. Apparently he can’t brush it off so easily, because he surprised me with this:
“I had to clean up your puke, so at least show me some snatch.”
I swear to God. I don’t even need to waste my linguistic energy on why that statement is so fucked up. These are the boys nowadays! I got so used to the Cody’s and Matt’s of the world, that I grew up thinking all boys are nice. They’re not. Not all boys will take the time to read your body language like a book. Maybe they have all just found their bell and learned to guard themselves against innocence.