So I’ve been making out with someone new. I wasn’t sure how to write about it, so I kept it to myself for a week. But now that it has happened twice, I feel confident in where it’s going; nowhere serious, but someplace fun and definitely an avenue for exploration. I don’t know if this is what I want right now, but it might be something I need.
He’s all wrong for me. He believes in reverse racism, drives a hummer, doesn’t know yet if he’s voting for Obama and get this; graduated college in 2007. Does that even make him over 18? He’s a baby, and behaves as such, which in itself is frustrating; and a turn on.
He is so abash and open with his slanted upper middle class white young boy worldview. I am now making it my personal mission to school him in more ways than one. And he’s eager, let me tell you. He thinks its hot, enjoys being hit, even when it hurts. I don’t think he’s experienced a person like me in his lifetime. (please only with someone like this can I truly get into that persona too). He wants a lesson, and I’m ready to deliver. It’s a really intriguing dynamic. I wanted to do this with one of my tried and true boys, you know, give them my dominant virginity, but I think this way is better. This little one doesn’t know what he wants except that he wants to fuck. He doesn’t know/hasn’t explored it further.
He’s just a little energizer bunny right now (I made him come 3 times last night within a 2 hr period). I get to run this show and figure out what turns me on. He tries, which is another one of my turn ons. He’s big enough that he can throw me around, but he has this baby face and arrogant personality, but I can make him say please so easily. I don’t like passivity. I want you to try to get the upper hand, and believe me he tries. And fails miserably. I realized with this one, that one of my strengths is knowing how to cut you down in bed. I made fun of his eagerness, his inability to really know what to do, the fact that he shaves his chest and bics his balls. I mean, come on, what a frat boy move. Not that I don’t enjoy or like it, but I’m just going to call out your vain man nature for my own benefit.
I like hearing men beg, I like them big manly drooling balls of putty. “Can I just stick it in, please, 5 seconds, please?” oh come on! How great is that, just thinking about it again makes me wet. I pretended I couldn’t hear him and make him repeat it a few more times. Just 5 seconds, please? I let him push around in the general vicinity for awhile, getting all into it, watching him try to slide his dick inside me without any help by me. When he started getting close enough to make a difference, I slowly caressed his face, moaned arched my back, then slapped him across the face and told him no. (evil laugh).
Any doubt that I have ever had that I do not enjoy getting rough and giving pain jumped right out the window last night. My newest go to move: while caressing his cock, pulling his balls then slapping them hard enough that every muscle in his body tenses. That face! Why didn’t anyone ever tell me this sooner? A man wincing in pain is freaking beautiful. The sharp inhale of breath, the tensing of the muscles when its not expected. The sharp jerk back, Jesus Christ its gorgeous. That young face of his with his shaved hard body, fucking amazing. Combine that with that pure determination of his hard headedness. I am going to have fun breaking this one in. All girlfriends after me will thank me. He’s the frat boy type of my dreams but I’m not a scared timid little girl anymore. I own what turns me on, and I’m using him as my fuck toy and a way to explore what I want (and the occasional date, he already has all these plans for us; we’ll see). I now know what makes me come, and what does not, and I am not playing those games of me doing things I don’t like anymore. Example: Yes, you can come on my chest. But I’m going to watch and scrutinize while you do it, I get to do the looking, and especially the hitting.
I am pretty excited about the possibility here. However, I am also concerned because he knows how much I want to play with him. He knows how much I want him and holds it over my head. I’m going to get him to know how to touch every inch of my body before he’s allowed to fuck me. I'm also going to have to find more ways to make him wince. While I truly and thoroughly love watching his response when I slap his balls, it’s going to get predictable and the whole fun is not knowing whether it’s going to be pain or pleasure. Right when he came I smacked him hard on the balls, I have never heard nor seen anything like that, it’s like a drug.
In an hour and a half, I came 4 times and he came 3 times.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Driving back caravan style with the music boy:
Text from him:
Come lead so it feels like a nice doggy style
You imagining a strap on in me right now?
Now that took me for a loop. And by that I mean I turned bright red, thankfully no one was in my car to notice. Um, excuse me? When I spend time with him its nice. It’s exciting and engaging and l feel lifted. I like his size I like the way he moves his body. He’s like a Great Dane puppy, but I HATE the way he gets under my skin and can figure out what I want out of our relationship. It’s awful.
So it got me thinking, did I want a strap on in him? Just thinking about it gets me excited. I want to hear him beg for it, I want him to ask for it. I want it to come fashioned with one of those little vibrators so I can get some jollies at the same time. I can think of nothing better to tame that wild beast than to have him begging for my dick in his ass.
Now, this is all theory. Sexually, this sounds fantastic. Realistically….I don’t like my ass let alone a guy’s ass. They are fuzzy and stuff. I still haven’t really worked out the difference between fantasy and reality.
But I still have this great fantasy now of the two of us. He helps me put it on. I don’t need the help, but I want him involved in the process. And while he does, of course he touches; he gets me excited he keeps us both in the game. I get wet giving head; I can see this being pretty similar. Hearing his sighs, the groans, and the grunts. Now the lubing, see this is where I lose it, it becomes comical and gross. But in theory, in my fantasy I fuck him; I do imagine myself in his ass. My little body on top of his; in his. He says he wants my cock, and I fuck him slowly, then get more of a rhythm going, why do guys have all the fun calorically with sex? This seems like a great way to get my workout in too. He’s hard the entire time, whenever I push in I rub my hand up his cock focusing on his head and when I pull out, I squeeze and pull on his balls. He’s talking dirty, I tell him to push further back, it goes in deeper., he winces but relaxes a little bit after the initial pain. After a little while, I want to come, I tell him so. He swiftly moves out from under me and before I know it I’m on the bottom and he’s removing my accoutrement. With one pull and a swift thrust, he’s inside me. I want him to come with me. I want us both to come together. He’s working me from the inside and I pull on his balls, hard. I grab on to his thighs and hold on, just letting him fuck us both until we come.
So yes, I am imagining him with a strap on.
Um, how did he know?!?!
Come lead so it feels like a nice doggy style
You imagining a strap on in me right now?
Now that took me for a loop. And by that I mean I turned bright red, thankfully no one was in my car to notice. Um, excuse me? When I spend time with him its nice. It’s exciting and engaging and l feel lifted. I like his size I like the way he moves his body. He’s like a Great Dane puppy, but I HATE the way he gets under my skin and can figure out what I want out of our relationship. It’s awful.
So it got me thinking, did I want a strap on in him? Just thinking about it gets me excited. I want to hear him beg for it, I want him to ask for it. I want it to come fashioned with one of those little vibrators so I can get some jollies at the same time. I can think of nothing better to tame that wild beast than to have him begging for my dick in his ass.
Now, this is all theory. Sexually, this sounds fantastic. Realistically….I don’t like my ass let alone a guy’s ass. They are fuzzy and stuff. I still haven’t really worked out the difference between fantasy and reality.
But I still have this great fantasy now of the two of us. He helps me put it on. I don’t need the help, but I want him involved in the process. And while he does, of course he touches; he gets me excited he keeps us both in the game. I get wet giving head; I can see this being pretty similar. Hearing his sighs, the groans, and the grunts. Now the lubing, see this is where I lose it, it becomes comical and gross. But in theory, in my fantasy I fuck him; I do imagine myself in his ass. My little body on top of his; in his. He says he wants my cock, and I fuck him slowly, then get more of a rhythm going, why do guys have all the fun calorically with sex? This seems like a great way to get my workout in too. He’s hard the entire time, whenever I push in I rub my hand up his cock focusing on his head and when I pull out, I squeeze and pull on his balls. He’s talking dirty, I tell him to push further back, it goes in deeper., he winces but relaxes a little bit after the initial pain. After a little while, I want to come, I tell him so. He swiftly moves out from under me and before I know it I’m on the bottom and he’s removing my accoutrement. With one pull and a swift thrust, he’s inside me. I want him to come with me. I want us both to come together. He’s working me from the inside and I pull on his balls, hard. I grab on to his thighs and hold on, just letting him fuck us both until we come.
So yes, I am imagining him with a strap on.
Um, how did he know?!?!
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Saturday night out, and some phone sex.
So this past sat I had a pretty late night out. It was my first night back in town, and I kind of was on the prowl for some new meat. I needed a distraction. It came in the form of two sub par suitors. A sweet little Italian kid from NY, adorable and nice, but I'm not that girl. I don’t do little Guido, I’ve been there already, and it was called 19. Also met this DJ guy who was pretty cute but how can you take someone seriously when their opening line is; “I just want you to know I was addicted to Meth for 3 years, it’s been 5 weeks clean and sober”. Don’t brag about that to strangers until it’s been a year, you just sound silly, no one’s going to give you kudos, and you’re still an addict. You cant brag until its an accomplishment that will last.
So with no prospects and the night over I turned to the tried and true; The Boy.
I call him at like 4 AM; he’s getting home too. We chat for a little while, how was your night how was mine, what’s been going on, silly stories about friends, etc. Its mildly flirtatious but I don’t want mildly right now. I want him to tell me naughty things and get me off; I want to come. Which I tell him; “do you want to have phone sex, I’m kind of in the mood for an orgasm”. He asks me if I'm touching myself; “for about the last 30 min of our conversation” he moans a little into the phone (actually I don’t remember if that was true, it was either a moan, or a sound like, Jesus Christ she’s insatiable). I ask him if he was touching himself, he says yes. (I am not convinced though that he was either or if he said yes, I was hoping he was and since this is my side of the story, I am going to move it along in that direction).
So, during and afterwards I was a little weirded out. Things got pretty bizarre and kinky in directions we haven’t discussed and fetishes that I am not totally sold on. I don’t know, it got me off, oh believe me it did (4 times), but it was a little much for me. I find it hard to be dominant when I don’t feel totally secure or able to go down these paths.
I mean you can’t expect someone to get your kink unless you explicitly tell them, right? And some of it he got right on the head, the begging was great, the telling me he’ll do whatever I want, that I own him, control him, rule him, possess him (that was my favorite, especially with that voice of his).
That’s when I think he started getting into it, and it went someplace I was not ready for. He also describes things and uses adjectives and imagery that I just do not know where they come from, like using words like cavernous, I am not doing it justice, but it slightly reminded me of 40 yr old virgin when he calls boobs sandbags, something like that. But it’s so cute in other instances that I let it go. I wish I remembered more specifics. But he did say he'd like to play power games over his orgasm. He kept on going back to pretty standard BDSM genres. The clothespin stuff and the ass fucking, ok I am there. When he called it my big black cock, I put the breaks on. We’re bringing race into this? I did like when he said mine was bigger than his, not because of the subversion of the racial power dynamic. I was uncomfortable with the meaning of that, to dominate this white boy with my large black cock. I did like the compliment that mine was bigger and stronger and better than his. If I were to have a cock, it would be fantastic. I would get to pick it out and it would become an extension of myself. I do not possess the carriage or experience of being a black man and I cannot use that to humiliate you. What I can do is get the best cock money can buy and humiliate you with that!
It’s like my wig collection; I don’t have long thick hair, so I bought some. I don’t know if it looks real all the time but either way I get the desired response. I get attention, either as someone who has fantastic California beach hair, or a cute girl with cancer. It’s the same thing if I was to have a strap on, it’s not real, but either way I’m going to get a rise. It’s not the real thing, but an imitation, but hell, that imitation provokes one hell of a response anyway; I live the hyperreal.
And then, it got truly weird. He wanted me to dress him up like a girl, call him by a feminized version of his name and call him a sick dirty dyke, my sick dirty lesbian. Now ok, as I write this, I think I can get behind his fantasy if I just work through it.
He (and this is all speculation) is a standard heterosexual man with a penchant for all that shitty faux lesbian porn that’s created just for men. Enjoying licking pussy = a behavior that men do out of obligation and lesbians do out of desire. Since he has desire, therefore he’s a dyke. I can find this twisted cultural norm endearing. I can call him all those dirty words because they evoke lesbian porn for him and call him out for enjoying going down on girls (side note: all men should enjoy it, its fun!). You want me to call you my dirty little dyke, it’s not my way but I can get behind that and still be turned on.
Ok, maybe I cant, I am going back and forth on this one, and I am not 100% sure. I can see why, but I don’t think I can really ever use the associated props. I don’t want you to look pretty. I want you to look like a dude. I like seeing you in men’s underwear, it really turns me on. I don’t want to put lipstick on you unless I am using it to write on your body. I want your lips to look like the soft full, yet masculine lips they are.
I can find other ways of humiliating you that do not revolve around dominating you racially or through gender. I will use some of those cues, but having me fuck you with a big black cock? No, I’m fucking you with my cock and that should be enough. I am not emasculating your whiteness with my subversive blackness. I am not humiliating you with gender because the lowest thing on the totem pole is a lesbian who loves doing lesbian things. I will humiliate you with your desires, with our acts, with your NEED to be called a lesbian, or dominated by a black penis, but you are not a woman nor am I a black man. Do you get the subtle difference (I don’t even know if I do)?
I’ll call you out on being you, I’ll call you out on being the submissive piece of shit that you are, letting me do this, liking this (that I like too, that’s why we’re both here). But I do not feel comfortable fulfilling stereotypical power imbalances that I have lived.
But of course now I worry. I worry that he feels exposed, I worry that he feels embarrassed by his desire. There is nothing I want less than to make him feel wrong. Yet again another contradiction. I want to and he wants to be humiliated, but I also don’t want it to spill over after the fact. The second I hung up the phone I thought to myself, that’s it, yes, I’m weired out by the direction it went, but I’m willing to talk about it. He’s not. I won’t hear from him for months now. And I don’t know if he came, was it all for me? This is too complicated.
I don’t think I am ready for sex on this level, its too problematic. Its like I just have my learners permit and I’m expected to drive an 18-wheeler.
So with no prospects and the night over I turned to the tried and true; The Boy.
I call him at like 4 AM; he’s getting home too. We chat for a little while, how was your night how was mine, what’s been going on, silly stories about friends, etc. Its mildly flirtatious but I don’t want mildly right now. I want him to tell me naughty things and get me off; I want to come. Which I tell him; “do you want to have phone sex, I’m kind of in the mood for an orgasm”. He asks me if I'm touching myself; “for about the last 30 min of our conversation” he moans a little into the phone (actually I don’t remember if that was true, it was either a moan, or a sound like, Jesus Christ she’s insatiable). I ask him if he was touching himself, he says yes. (I am not convinced though that he was either or if he said yes, I was hoping he was and since this is my side of the story, I am going to move it along in that direction).
So, during and afterwards I was a little weirded out. Things got pretty bizarre and kinky in directions we haven’t discussed and fetishes that I am not totally sold on. I don’t know, it got me off, oh believe me it did (4 times), but it was a little much for me. I find it hard to be dominant when I don’t feel totally secure or able to go down these paths.
I mean you can’t expect someone to get your kink unless you explicitly tell them, right? And some of it he got right on the head, the begging was great, the telling me he’ll do whatever I want, that I own him, control him, rule him, possess him (that was my favorite, especially with that voice of his).
That’s when I think he started getting into it, and it went someplace I was not ready for. He also describes things and uses adjectives and imagery that I just do not know where they come from, like using words like cavernous, I am not doing it justice, but it slightly reminded me of 40 yr old virgin when he calls boobs sandbags, something like that. But it’s so cute in other instances that I let it go. I wish I remembered more specifics. But he did say he'd like to play power games over his orgasm. He kept on going back to pretty standard BDSM genres. The clothespin stuff and the ass fucking, ok I am there. When he called it my big black cock, I put the breaks on. We’re bringing race into this? I did like when he said mine was bigger than his, not because of the subversion of the racial power dynamic. I was uncomfortable with the meaning of that, to dominate this white boy with my large black cock. I did like the compliment that mine was bigger and stronger and better than his. If I were to have a cock, it would be fantastic. I would get to pick it out and it would become an extension of myself. I do not possess the carriage or experience of being a black man and I cannot use that to humiliate you. What I can do is get the best cock money can buy and humiliate you with that!
It’s like my wig collection; I don’t have long thick hair, so I bought some. I don’t know if it looks real all the time but either way I get the desired response. I get attention, either as someone who has fantastic California beach hair, or a cute girl with cancer. It’s the same thing if I was to have a strap on, it’s not real, but either way I’m going to get a rise. It’s not the real thing, but an imitation, but hell, that imitation provokes one hell of a response anyway; I live the hyperreal.
And then, it got truly weird. He wanted me to dress him up like a girl, call him by a feminized version of his name and call him a sick dirty dyke, my sick dirty lesbian. Now ok, as I write this, I think I can get behind his fantasy if I just work through it.
He (and this is all speculation) is a standard heterosexual man with a penchant for all that shitty faux lesbian porn that’s created just for men. Enjoying licking pussy = a behavior that men do out of obligation and lesbians do out of desire. Since he has desire, therefore he’s a dyke. I can find this twisted cultural norm endearing. I can call him all those dirty words because they evoke lesbian porn for him and call him out for enjoying going down on girls (side note: all men should enjoy it, its fun!). You want me to call you my dirty little dyke, it’s not my way but I can get behind that and still be turned on.
Ok, maybe I cant, I am going back and forth on this one, and I am not 100% sure. I can see why, but I don’t think I can really ever use the associated props. I don’t want you to look pretty. I want you to look like a dude. I like seeing you in men’s underwear, it really turns me on. I don’t want to put lipstick on you unless I am using it to write on your body. I want your lips to look like the soft full, yet masculine lips they are.
I can find other ways of humiliating you that do not revolve around dominating you racially or through gender. I will use some of those cues, but having me fuck you with a big black cock? No, I’m fucking you with my cock and that should be enough. I am not emasculating your whiteness with my subversive blackness. I am not humiliating you with gender because the lowest thing on the totem pole is a lesbian who loves doing lesbian things. I will humiliate you with your desires, with our acts, with your NEED to be called a lesbian, or dominated by a black penis, but you are not a woman nor am I a black man. Do you get the subtle difference (I don’t even know if I do)?
I’ll call you out on being you, I’ll call you out on being the submissive piece of shit that you are, letting me do this, liking this (that I like too, that’s why we’re both here). But I do not feel comfortable fulfilling stereotypical power imbalances that I have lived.
But of course now I worry. I worry that he feels exposed, I worry that he feels embarrassed by his desire. There is nothing I want less than to make him feel wrong. Yet again another contradiction. I want to and he wants to be humiliated, but I also don’t want it to spill over after the fact. The second I hung up the phone I thought to myself, that’s it, yes, I’m weired out by the direction it went, but I’m willing to talk about it. He’s not. I won’t hear from him for months now. And I don’t know if he came, was it all for me? This is too complicated.
I don’t think I am ready for sex on this level, its too problematic. Its like I just have my learners permit and I’m expected to drive an 18-wheeler.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
A year older; wiser?
Sorry it’s been awhile, I’ve been traveling internationally and I put “write post” on my to do list before I left, but I never got around to feeling comfortable enough in my parent’s house to blog. I don’t know how a place that birthed my sexual experimentation inspires frigidity. Forgive me; it’s been a few weeks since I’ve masturbated. But now that I am back in this country, and my apartment, the blog will continue.
I have been thinking a lot too about the topic; I always find that with a new interest (or an old interest that rejoins the pack) my mind starts wandering to new ideas and sexual possibilities. My fantasy sex life is always more exciting and vibrant than the real deal.
I really think, that my kink involves something verbal. The porn that gets me off these days are the ones where there’s a lot of back and forth. I’ve also been getting really excited by the idea of forced orgasms. I think this is the most productive aspect of BDSM that I have seen (besides all the role play and the ability to be bossy). I think this is super sexy and I think pretty easy to accomplish with a guy; I mean they’re always hard! There’s something particularly humiliating and fantastic about a forced male orgasm, especially when that’s your intention, yet you are trying to make them hold back. The level of disappointment can be wonderful to work with. If anyone has any experience I would love to know what you think, what you’ve done, and how you’ve done it. Just thinking about this gets me all jittery. There is so much room for humiliation play just in the guys inability to control his erection. Absolutely wonderful, and since I love, love playing with cocks to begin with, I see some future in this.
I’m also back on the idea of a strap on. Truthfully, I was never 100% into it. I’m not a butt person, but I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m coming around. But I wonder if I would just feel silly, I mean, I get wet giving head, and they make those belts that have a vibrator in them for the wearer, so that could be a positive. I am still not closer to shelling out the $$ yet though, so actual use is far away. But I have an idea and I might share it as fiction to see what everyone thinks.
Back to my childhood, it really baffles me. I just could never get in the right mind frame to think sexy, and with no material (since I have no regular mens) it was like there was a sexual desire firewall. This is the same home that I let my high school boyfriend sneak into after I had to be home for curfew and my parents went to bed. This is the same house that I used to throw parties in and host just as an excuse to get the boy I fancied at that moment into my house and into my clutches. This house witnessed many firsts, of mine as well as m friends! With all this rich history of deviant adolescent sexual promiscuity, you would think I could at least settle in enough to masturbate, nope.
I think it had to do with a particular date; I just celebrated my 27th birthday. I am a year older, maybe a little wiser. But still single and therefore still defective in some of my family’s eyes. It’s not that they don’t love me, it’s that they worry.
I had a conversation with my mother where she basically asked me if I am choosing this life of intense yet unfulfilling useless relationships and do I ever plan on settling down. And now at 27 I got to thinking, does settling down mean I have to settle? Because if that’s the case, I accept my cougar badge now and I’m going to start getting to work on my Rolodex.
I have been thinking a lot too about the topic; I always find that with a new interest (or an old interest that rejoins the pack) my mind starts wandering to new ideas and sexual possibilities. My fantasy sex life is always more exciting and vibrant than the real deal.
I really think, that my kink involves something verbal. The porn that gets me off these days are the ones where there’s a lot of back and forth. I’ve also been getting really excited by the idea of forced orgasms. I think this is the most productive aspect of BDSM that I have seen (besides all the role play and the ability to be bossy). I think this is super sexy and I think pretty easy to accomplish with a guy; I mean they’re always hard! There’s something particularly humiliating and fantastic about a forced male orgasm, especially when that’s your intention, yet you are trying to make them hold back. The level of disappointment can be wonderful to work with. If anyone has any experience I would love to know what you think, what you’ve done, and how you’ve done it. Just thinking about this gets me all jittery. There is so much room for humiliation play just in the guys inability to control his erection. Absolutely wonderful, and since I love, love playing with cocks to begin with, I see some future in this.
I’m also back on the idea of a strap on. Truthfully, I was never 100% into it. I’m not a butt person, but I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m coming around. But I wonder if I would just feel silly, I mean, I get wet giving head, and they make those belts that have a vibrator in them for the wearer, so that could be a positive. I am still not closer to shelling out the $$ yet though, so actual use is far away. But I have an idea and I might share it as fiction to see what everyone thinks.
Back to my childhood, it really baffles me. I just could never get in the right mind frame to think sexy, and with no material (since I have no regular mens) it was like there was a sexual desire firewall. This is the same home that I let my high school boyfriend sneak into after I had to be home for curfew and my parents went to bed. This is the same house that I used to throw parties in and host just as an excuse to get the boy I fancied at that moment into my house and into my clutches. This house witnessed many firsts, of mine as well as m friends! With all this rich history of deviant adolescent sexual promiscuity, you would think I could at least settle in enough to masturbate, nope.
I think it had to do with a particular date; I just celebrated my 27th birthday. I am a year older, maybe a little wiser. But still single and therefore still defective in some of my family’s eyes. It’s not that they don’t love me, it’s that they worry.
I had a conversation with my mother where she basically asked me if I am choosing this life of intense yet unfulfilling useless relationships and do I ever plan on settling down. And now at 27 I got to thinking, does settling down mean I have to settle? Because if that’s the case, I accept my cougar badge now and I’m going to start getting to work on my Rolodex.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
My new crush
Check out this link for a very good review of the work of Jason Segel, my new crush. I discovered him on the TV show how I met your mother; good show, not great. Freaks and Geeks: great show! Forgetting Sarah Marshall, fantastic!!
In the game of life; M. Leah wins
Stack my little plastic car full of babies and spin the wheel because I’m having a pretty good day today. I don’t know if its because I’m teaching a class on gender right now or (gasp!) I’m becoming an adult, but after going to my college reunion I thought it would be a good time to reflect on the life that is mine.
College was an interesting time for me. I made the best friends in the world. We’ve had some rocky points as friends, but I totally trust them to never judge any of the decisions I make in life (unless they are totally stupid and ridiculous, and then they will just let me have it). Mind you, not all of the people I socialized with were winners. I had a few test drives before I found my friends, my major, and my life path. Now throw in some sexual assault, misogyny, a culture that breeds an unequal power dynamic, and some freezing New England weather; and that’s just a recipe for disaster. I know everyone flails in college, but I feel I especially had a rough time finding myself. I look back with a little regret. I wish I did more and got drunk less. I wish I tried more new things instead of worrying if I looked cool.
I had a really good weekend. I spent time with people who I enjoy and it was a wonderful time. In college I was too busy getting drunk and having unsatisfying make outs with unsatisfying men. But at reunion, I did it my way.
Not like I don’t fall back into that every now and again. Please, I think life is a daily struggle between yourself and your demons. Mine happen to be insecurity and men. However, now I am totally fine being the quirky kinky mixed-ethnic goofball hottie that I am today, back then…not so much.
I know I talk a lot about my mother, but I feel some of her insecurities seeped into me. I know she tried, and I thank her and commend her for what she has done, but I also think about how I will be when I have daughters.
On my way to my reunion she tells me not to drink (yeah that’s not going to happen) and not to have sex with anyone so it won’t wind up on You Tube (I think she recently discovered it, there must have been a Dateline special or it was on The View). She just never gets it, she should have said, have a very good time, say hello to your friends and enjoy being able to reconnect to people you met during the most weird and tumultuous time of your life. But instead I get, why do you want to go there, what do these people mean to you, would they even notice if you weren’t there and don’t be a drunk slut.
I was a little unsure in college and not very self aware, it took me awhile to grow into my skin and I found college to be a little overwhelming and intimidating. This was the first time I experienced such extreme elitism and money and it was so foreign to me. Some people looked so at ease in college, either in the classroom (which I wasn’t) or socially (which I tried) but I just always felt I was one step behind, so to make up for that I probably did a few things or a few people that I regret.
And so I was telling her that it went well, that I was happy with where I was in life and that I looked good! So maybe it was me instead of them. Maybe I was the one who was so insecure that it showed and people didn’t know how to relate to me. That is a possibility, maybe I just judged too quickly that someone so different just couldn’t understand and therefore I made the decision to not try before they could have the opportunity to reject me. And what is my mother’s response
“Well maybe you were just acting like a loud Puerto Rican”
Now how is someone supposed to be proud of their heritage when their mother and link to their Latin culture despises it so?
I was never a loud Puerto Rican. I was an insecure sad awkward girl who wasn’t proud or comfortable of any of her ethnicities and therefore could never take pride in my Puerto Rican-ness since it was never something I understood. I was never a loud Puerto Rican, I was a girl who obviously looked different but never was taught to love that difference.
Now, I am trying to work through it all. Figure out what it means to be me. Going to college brought back some hard memories. Stepping up to [redacted] fraternity, my chest began to constrict. I was too drunk to think straight, and all those years of building myself up, I came crumbling down. I was that insecure freshman again.
I was a freshman, he was a sophomore, he told people he took my virginity, I countered with a personal e-mail telling him he had a small penis.
Now how was I supposed to know that would mean social suicide?
As a stood there hugging my cardigan to my body listening to some guy I had never met tell me I was a slut and a perverted kinky bitch who licks cum off guys chests (See the older M. Leah would have said “hell yeah I did, what you jealous?” But 19 yr old M. Leah was mortified), I broke a little on the inside. My façade came crumbling down. You go to college to reinvent yourself, my performance was just called out and it was still the first month. Almost nine years later it all came back to me as I walked up those steps for probably the hundredth time since, but this time with a little reflexivity and a whole lot more self awareness and confidence, I just didn’t want to do it. Standing around awkwardly in a male dominated space just had no appeal to me, so I did what I never would have done back then; I left.
I think college sucked in a lot of ways, but I wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for that, and honestly I can’t complain too much. I had a good time for most of it, but I’m glad it’s in the past. I live in a different world now, one that doesn’t revolve around trust funds and summer homes in the cape or out on the island. I didn’t go to college to be exposed to a larger social network of eligible wasp husbands. I went to find myself. I think I did.
(More on the career path of my peers later)
College was an interesting time for me. I made the best friends in the world. We’ve had some rocky points as friends, but I totally trust them to never judge any of the decisions I make in life (unless they are totally stupid and ridiculous, and then they will just let me have it). Mind you, not all of the people I socialized with were winners. I had a few test drives before I found my friends, my major, and my life path. Now throw in some sexual assault, misogyny, a culture that breeds an unequal power dynamic, and some freezing New England weather; and that’s just a recipe for disaster. I know everyone flails in college, but I feel I especially had a rough time finding myself. I look back with a little regret. I wish I did more and got drunk less. I wish I tried more new things instead of worrying if I looked cool.
I had a really good weekend. I spent time with people who I enjoy and it was a wonderful time. In college I was too busy getting drunk and having unsatisfying make outs with unsatisfying men. But at reunion, I did it my way.
Not like I don’t fall back into that every now and again. Please, I think life is a daily struggle between yourself and your demons. Mine happen to be insecurity and men. However, now I am totally fine being the quirky kinky mixed-ethnic goofball hottie that I am today, back then…not so much.
I know I talk a lot about my mother, but I feel some of her insecurities seeped into me. I know she tried, and I thank her and commend her for what she has done, but I also think about how I will be when I have daughters.
On my way to my reunion she tells me not to drink (yeah that’s not going to happen) and not to have sex with anyone so it won’t wind up on You Tube (I think she recently discovered it, there must have been a Dateline special or it was on The View). She just never gets it, she should have said, have a very good time, say hello to your friends and enjoy being able to reconnect to people you met during the most weird and tumultuous time of your life. But instead I get, why do you want to go there, what do these people mean to you, would they even notice if you weren’t there and don’t be a drunk slut.
I was a little unsure in college and not very self aware, it took me awhile to grow into my skin and I found college to be a little overwhelming and intimidating. This was the first time I experienced such extreme elitism and money and it was so foreign to me. Some people looked so at ease in college, either in the classroom (which I wasn’t) or socially (which I tried) but I just always felt I was one step behind, so to make up for that I probably did a few things or a few people that I regret.
And so I was telling her that it went well, that I was happy with where I was in life and that I looked good! So maybe it was me instead of them. Maybe I was the one who was so insecure that it showed and people didn’t know how to relate to me. That is a possibility, maybe I just judged too quickly that someone so different just couldn’t understand and therefore I made the decision to not try before they could have the opportunity to reject me. And what is my mother’s response
“Well maybe you were just acting like a loud Puerto Rican”
Now how is someone supposed to be proud of their heritage when their mother and link to their Latin culture despises it so?
I was never a loud Puerto Rican. I was an insecure sad awkward girl who wasn’t proud or comfortable of any of her ethnicities and therefore could never take pride in my Puerto Rican-ness since it was never something I understood. I was never a loud Puerto Rican, I was a girl who obviously looked different but never was taught to love that difference.
Now, I am trying to work through it all. Figure out what it means to be me. Going to college brought back some hard memories. Stepping up to [redacted] fraternity, my chest began to constrict. I was too drunk to think straight, and all those years of building myself up, I came crumbling down. I was that insecure freshman again.
I was a freshman, he was a sophomore, he told people he took my virginity, I countered with a personal e-mail telling him he had a small penis.
Now how was I supposed to know that would mean social suicide?
As a stood there hugging my cardigan to my body listening to some guy I had never met tell me I was a slut and a perverted kinky bitch who licks cum off guys chests (See the older M. Leah would have said “hell yeah I did, what you jealous?” But 19 yr old M. Leah was mortified), I broke a little on the inside. My façade came crumbling down. You go to college to reinvent yourself, my performance was just called out and it was still the first month. Almost nine years later it all came back to me as I walked up those steps for probably the hundredth time since, but this time with a little reflexivity and a whole lot more self awareness and confidence, I just didn’t want to do it. Standing around awkwardly in a male dominated space just had no appeal to me, so I did what I never would have done back then; I left.
I think college sucked in a lot of ways, but I wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for that, and honestly I can’t complain too much. I had a good time for most of it, but I’m glad it’s in the past. I live in a different world now, one that doesn’t revolve around trust funds and summer homes in the cape or out on the island. I didn’t go to college to be exposed to a larger social network of eligible wasp husbands. I went to find myself. I think I did.
(More on the career path of my peers later)
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