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Jill:

1046 Words | 0 |1.80
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My first boyfriend was really more of a fuck buddy… TWs: #Skip #Characterization.

Real quick,

I guess I got addicted to trashy romance on lockdown, because I turned 14, and skipped my whole freshman year. Then, I got a few months of high-school because summer, and I didn’t go out after that.

I guess I turned into a bit of an introvert, and made excuses like it was too hot, but really I was just happy fapping in my room to pass the time. I can’t say I read everything I could get my hands on, but it ran the gambit from sigh, they turn off the light and wake up in bed the next morning/chapter, and leave you to fill in the blanks…

To juicy details, but I’d mostly avoided the scary stuff, like vampire romance, 50 shades of “Meh.” I read that one, or I started to, but I didn’t like any of the characters. Anastasia Steele? And Christian Grey. Clever! So, I never made it to the actual sex scenes, but my friends said that I wasn’t missing much.

Social media/Distance, then I got caught hot, and wet in the laundry room. Joel wasn’t the boy next door, he lived in the apartment below me, and listened to the treadmill. So, we didn’t have to go out to walk, or run, but I could read a story (Ebooks, on my phone) while I got some exercise.

I didn’t get my mom’s hips, you couldn’t even see dad’s but looking at grandma’s, I’m amazed she ever had kids… Oh right, the sex?

Well, he was pretty good in bed. I say “In bed,” as if we ever had one to share. Living at home, I couldn’t bring him over to spend the night, but he could get out on the roof. There were alleys all around our buildings, and a couple of corners you could tuck into. Sex was dirty, I hadn’t had clean sex, but I learned to ignore it, and even told myself I enjoyed it.

I did anal, he couldn’t always get protection, but I couldn’t always control myself. About the only time I felt happy was on the pole, or staggering back home, fucked hollow, and still feeling satisfied. I wasn’t insatiable, but I could always read something to get myself worked up again.

That was about all we talked about, sex but my half of it was always “This story I’m reading…” My dad kicked me out when I got pregnant. I wanted an excuse to move in with him, and I was starting to talk about maybe starting to save up for a ring? We slept together, in a bed, which was nice. Well, when I say “Him.” I mean he shared a bathroom with his room mate, and his uncle had his own in the Master suite.

He was a real piece of work, “Retired,” at 32. Still hanging out to teenagers, and 20ish kids. “Young Adults,” but he dated middle-age women. Talked about sex, a lot. “Experience,” and how women reach their sexual peak right before their biological clocks go off. I was just getting started on “Experience.”

The room-mate was typical college, “Dude.” Loud music, didn’t talk much, kind reminded me of me. Eclectic, “World Music,” M.I.A. Helly Luv, Zhala, Sevdaliza, Nasja Kamenskaya poster, he’d gotten blown up from one of her videos. (At Kinkos) “Peligroso” it’s in Spanish (Lyric video) but she’s Ukranian. About all he could talk about was music, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out what kind of women he liked.

Single, our relationship was more like big brother/little sister, only he’s like 4 years older than me, and I was pregnant, at 16. I gave it up for adoption, what am I going to do with a kid, here? 3 guys, the father’s not father material, I have to share a room with 1, a bathroom with another, and then his uncle was cool.

He gave up his room, his bathroom, and I told myself I might have misjudged him. We got off on the wrong foot, neither of us made a great impression, and lately sex had gotten routine? Clean, at least we had a bed, with pillows, and stuff. I didn’t have to brush the grit off my knees when I got up, but we’d gotten tans together, fucking on the roof.

Now would have been a good time to think about my tastes, sexually: I like sweat, and other sexual fluids. The rest of them can fuck right off, but I didn’t have to worry about birth control any more. I read stories to spend some time in somebody else’s life. Even if it’s not better, it’s at least more exciting. Cheating, just didn’t really think about it, but the steamiest scenes for me were when she really shouldn’t be doing this.

“What if Trent found out?” High school dropout, but my libido backed off to a dull roar with a baby on the way. Mostly of my arm, but I didn’t consciously think, “Oh, I’m just going to cheat on my boyfriend today,” every day. I just thought I could do better, but I switched to sweats, got comfortable, and ignored what the doctor said after “It’s a…”

Really didn’t want to get attached, and the terror of raising one, in that household had become a nightmare. What if he’s a boy?

All right, then what if she’s a girl?

Let’s face it, a house full of perverts, and I thought I was the worst one. I started wearing sweats, and jogging to the gym. Yoga Pants, and a sports bra underneath, but I didn’t bother with underwear around the house. I got hips, and a bra size out of the deal. So, after I tightened up my core (Pilates, and “Kickboxing,” but aerobic, and Calisthenic kick-boxing.) Dyed my hair blonde, shaved everything below the eyelashes, and basically wore “Fuck me!” as a fashion statement.

Didn’t go out much, not so much a shut-in as an introvert. Made friends at the gym, and walk-shopped, but never really left like a 6 block radius for like 5 years. Never really got to know anybody, including my family, and the guys I was living with, because I never got to know myself. Always wanting to be somebody else, with a more exciting life…

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