So this is the beginning of a wonderful and possibly tragic thing.

Note: This is a recycled post from August 2nd, 2009.

How do I begin? I’m going to start writing stories. In these stories I will talk about experiences and life, real or fictional? Only I’ll know. I have so many ideas right now so this may turn out to be something great.

We sat on his couch now, him with his head on my lap. We had just had an intense tournament on Street Fighter 4. I was trying to watch the movie on his enormous tv screen he had bragged so much about. I didn’t care about his tv or his parties or his dream of being this big time person with something to do with cars. He interested me very little on a whole. There was a time when I spent every night talking to him on the phone. We laughed and watched ridiculous tv shows together and now I find myself dreading the thought of even a text or im from him. We have nothing in common besides liking eachother’s attention for the moment.

He said little comments here and there and would stick his finger up my nose. I found that weird and cute, it was something I had gotten use to from another person. He looked up at me too much. He looked at me too much, I hated it. It made me nervous and it made me feel like I wanted to leave. I wanted to check my phone, due to my obsessive compulsive disorder that only pretains to socializing devices. I knew better than to check my phone here because the last time I was here he fried it to make me stop looking at it. At that time I had a reason to look, now it was out of pure habit. He put his arms around me leaning his head onto my not-so-there breasts. He was trying hard not to put too much pressure though. Then he looked up at me, his lips close to mine. I knew what he wanted, but I wasn’t giving it to him. So he took it upon himself to climb on top of me. He pretended to wrestle with me and hit me with couch pillows now. Then he held me tight, “You’re not going to get out of this.” I wasn’t going to try. He came close, I could feel the air from his nose on my face and I turned my head. I didn’t want to kiss him. He placed his lips on mine and grasped mine within his as I lay there without making any movements. I looked up at the ceiling with this ‘Are you really doing this?’ face. There’s something that guys like to do, it’s called making girls kiss them when they really don’t want to. Every guy I’ve encountered that is remotely interested in me has attempted to make me kiss him one way or another.

“I’m not going to kiss you back,” I pulled my lips away from his and faced the tv.

“Why not?” He turned my face to him, still on top of me. He placed his lips on mine again making little smacking noises on my dead lips. ‘He’s not going to stop until I do this,’ I turned away. We continued on like that for about 5 minutes before I allowed myself to give in to this task. I was getting tired of him being on top of me. I parted my lips and grasped his back, I looked at his eyes and they were closed. Funny how I have never failed to relate closing eyes with feelings, but he didn’t feel for me. He had no interest other than to slip my panties off with his teeth. I thought back to the time he brought me to one of the most romantic looking places I had ever been to. It was a warm and humid night with a bit of rain, you could see the the lights of Manhatten gleaming through the fog. I watched the still water and thought about how my hair must look after being exposed to all of the moisture. We stood there under my Coach umbrella and he talked entirely too much. I wanted to stand there alone and feel the wet wind on my face. He wanted to tell me about the nights he couldn’t remember and brag about his life.

He squeezed me and kissed me as if any of this had any meaning. I kissed him back knowing that this would mean nothing at all to either one of us. There was a time when he kissed me and afterwards I wouldn’t be able to feel my lips. He would kiss me and I’d see stars, but now he meant nothing. He held my hands and if this had been a meaningful kiss I might have held his face, but it wasn’t. Then after he felt he had buttered me up enough, he slowly made his way down to my belly button. He has a thing for belly buttons, I remember when he played with it before I even had the ring in it. “This is new,” he laughed when he saw it gleaming at him. Then he grabbed it with his teeth and played with it with his tongue. I covered it with my hands, I love how that feels, but I didn’t want him to do it. He pushed my hands away a million times before he made his way down to undoing my button… with his teeth. I wouldn’t let him, I covered myself. I pushed him off and he didn’t budge. This was one of those times where I wished I was extremely strong. I remembered our encounter, I remembered when we had sex that one time. It wasn’t good, in fact, I laughed. I didn’t want to have sex with him again. He kissed my thighs slowly and gently. It was too bad that I didn’t like that although some girls might have. I pushed him off more and more, but he continued down. He placed his mouth on my hands which were over my vagina which was covered by shorts and underwear. ‘I don’t want this,’ I looked at the tv wishing he would stop. He held my hands down and placed his mouth over my shorts, I could feel the warm of his saliva and I didn’t want to. He bit me softly over them and I didn’t want him to.

He wouldn’t give up. “Stop,” I laughed. I didn’t want to seem like a prude, but it was way too soon and I didn’t want anything with him. He wouldn’t listen to me. Each time I fought and pulled myself away from him I was forced back into his grasp. It was getting annoying, “Stop, seriously stop.” It’s like men are programmed to keep going when women say “Stop”. We could have went on all day like this as if the hour and change I dealt with this wasn’t enough.

“Stop,” I said his name to put an emphasis on my seriousness. “I don’t want to do this, I don’t want you to do this. I don’t want you to eat me out and I don’t want to have sex with you. It’s too soon. I’d feel like shit about myself.” He stopped, only to return to his mission a while later.

Nothing happened. We continued on watching tv and we ate although I had no appetite. I had other plans and I had to get going, it almost seemed as if he didn’t want me to. I knew it was because his mission was still a fail. We had our awkward ’I’m-only-going-to-kiss-you-goodbye-because-this-is-probably-what-we-should-do-after-a-day-of-making-out’ kiss. As I walked down the steps he watched me from inside. I knew I wouldn’t see him for atleast a week or two or probably even three. I didn’t care if I didn’t see him. I didn’t care that we would hardly speak after it. I only wondered about why I kissed him and I wondered why I felt like I was cheating on someone who didn’t exist. Maybe I felt like I was cheating myself by kissing him in the first place, but I didn’t care.