First Kiss in Italy

The weekend had finally arrived, and for the first time since Hillary (my roommate) and I had begun to embark upon the night life in Perugia, Italy, I was excited to go out. Everything was still pretty new to me, and being the good girl I was raised to be in Seattle, I had very little experience of what would be expected.

After classes finished around 3pm, we immediately began to get ready. We opened a bottle of local wine, touched up our makeup, chose the outfit to wear, straightened our hair and waited. We waited for what seemed like forever, not knowing when would be the appropriate time to go to the local discoteca, ten? Ten thirty? Eleven? We were so anxious that we decided to head out around nine thirty.

We walked across the street to a noisy bar that I can only remember our nickname for it: The Enemy. Named due to the many noisy nights of no sleep is caused from the loud music and even louder occupants. But even though it was our “enemy” we chose to go there anyway because of the rumor that it contained cheap shots.

After our stop there we made our way to the local free entry discoteca called “Rock Castle”. At the entrance we made a full stop. There was nearly no one inside. Just a few less than respectable looking middle aged men who were hungrily eyeing us the moment we opened the door.

“Um, did we miss something?” ask Hillary nervously.

“I don’t know… Maybe we came too early, Let’s get a drink and chill a bit to see if it gets fuller.”

So we meekly found our way to the bar and ordered drinks and sat rather shyly in a corner trying to avoid the gaze of lonely men.

“This is creepy. You want to leave?” asked Hillary in a demanding voice.

“But where would we go? I don’t want to just go home.” I had worked too hard on my appearance to just abandon the night.

“Why don’t we wander around and see if we find anything interesting, and come back later.”

“I’m cool with that.” I responded and we got up and left.

We turned a corner and begun walking down a street we’d never walked down before. It wasn’t long before we became completely overwhelmed by a group of college age students.

“Ciao!” a girl greeted us immediately and warmly.

“Ciao.” We replied, Hillary more enthusiastically than I. I was always weary of new situations and with Amanda Knox still withering away in a local Perugian jail cell, I wanted to steer clear of any and all possible bad situations. All the members of the group turned to Hillary and knowing automatically that we were American, they spoke to her in English.

They asked us where we were from, why we were there, what we were studying, etc. One young boy in particular, who looked like he had partaken in a large quantity of erba (weed) earlier, began to pay particular attention to Hillary. She didn’t seem to mind in the least. I knew that Hillary had a serious boyfriend of several years back home, whom she had made a vow to be faithful to. She wouldn’t be swayed that easily, could she?

The group invited us to a house party they were headed to and we accepted, reluctantly on my part. We went with them, not too far until we came to a small, old house filled to the brim with people. It was clear that the party had been going on for quite some time from the example of empty beer, wine, vodka bottles, etc.

Being an introvert, it overwhelmed me. I didn’t know what to do or who to talk to. Hillary looked exhilarated. This was more her scene. Her new boy, Marco, found her the last dredges of vodka (without anything else to water it down) and offered it to her as we pushed and shoved to some unknown location.

Suddenly, an Italian boy found a chair to stand on and shouted to everyone in Italian. Everyone quieted down to listen to him, and even though I didn’t understand what he was saying, there was one word I heard loud and clear, “polizia”. I panicked. I had heard about Italian police and how unforgiving they were. I knew I was a girl from Seattle living in Perugia and thanks to Amanda Knox, Seattlites probably wasn’t all that popular at the moment.

Hillary and I asked Marco what to do and if we should leave. “Don’t worry,” he tried to calm us. “They come all the time. Let’s go upstairs.”

My panic did not subside because of his words, but Hillary seemed to be swayed by him and the vodka she was drinking. So we went up to the equally crowded, yet more cramped upstairs filled with people who seemed just as unfazed by the police as Marco was. I left Hillary to fend for herself, and went in line for the bathroom where I met two girls from somewhere in Northern Europe. They made it easier to pass the time being that I had now seen Hillary getting to know Marco better by exchanging saliva.

Well, there goes that vow to her boyfriend, I thought. The girls, unfortunately for me had to leave and I was left by myself, not knowing what to do. Within no time at all, a short balled man, perhaps in his late twenties wandered up to me with an obnoxious grin on his face. He pointed to his mouth saying in a thick Italian accent, “Kiss me!”

I kept on telling him, “No! No! Go away!” but he was insistent.

“Kiss me!” he begged.

“If I kiss you, will you leave me alone?”

“Yes, Yes!” he promised emphatically.

So I pecked him.

“Again! More!” He demanded.

“No! You told me you would leave if I kissed you!”

“Two kisses, I leave!”

So I kissed him again. This time he became more aggressive and wrapped his hands around the back of my head. I yanked my head out of his clutches and yelled, “Enough! Basta!”

“One more, then I leave!”

“No! You lied to me! No more kisses!” and I walked to Hillary who was still completely immersed in Marco.

“Hillary, I’m being harassed, can we go back to Rock Castle now?”

“Yeah!” replied Hillary a little more enthusiastically than I had expected. She looked at Marco to my slight dismay. “you wanna come?”

We were off, leaving behind the obnoxious little man who wanted just one more kiss. When we left the house my heart leapt when I saw two Italian policemen. I was then amazed when I noticed they had drinks in their hands, happily chit chatting to what looked like a friend from the house party.

The three of us arrived at Rock Castle once again, but this time it was stuffed with dancing, drunk people. Marco bought Hillary a rum and coke and I was left alone once again as they began dancing together and making out on the dance floor. I gave them some distance and danced by myself. This wasn’t nearly as fun of a night as I thought I would be.

However, in no time at all, a man who looked like he was in his early thirties approached me. He was well dressed and had a pleasant face. Sure, I wasn’t in the least attracted to him, but it was nice to be able to dance with someone. He was far and away better than the “one more kiss” guy anyway. He was nice, and we danced together and he kindly bought be a drink.

I did think that he danced a little strangely though. He go so into the music that he began shimmying and doing all sorts of unusual things with his feet, I couldn’t help but feel that I was being pranked. I began to laugh. He took my laughter as more positive than it really was and began kissing me. I was so innocent, I had never made out with anyone before. I decided to try it out being that like most every gril, I had longed for the day to be in this situation with someone.

I didn’t like it.

I don’t remember exactly what made his kisses so repulsive to me, but I felt uncomfortable, stifled and I wanted to leave more than anything. What made this guy so funny now repulsed me. For a moment we stopped so he could show off some more of his spectacular moves. In that moment everything in my body wanted to run away. It was almost compulsive. I turned around and left.

A pang of guilt hit me when I walked away from the guy with no explanation as I headed straight to Hillary who was still making out with Marco.

“Hillary, I want to go home!”

Earlier that night we had decided to make her the bearer of the keys being that she could hide them in her long boots.

“Not yet, I’m not ready.”

“Can you give me the keys then? You can text me when you get home and I’ll open the door for you.”

“Just wait a minute, I’ll come home with you in just a sec.”

“I’ll wait for you outside.” And I left to cool down and hang out with the smokers. To my horror, I saw the little obnoxious man walk up to me with his grating grin.

“One more kiss!” he demanded. Was this some kind of nightmare?

“No, go away, I don’t want to kiss you.”

“Please, one more kiss!”

“No! I’ve given you all the kisses I can, leave me alone!”

I tried to stay outside as long as possible before I couldn’t stand his begging and pleading anymore. I went back into Rock Castle to find out what was taking Hillary so long. Even though the discotec was closing and people were flooding out, I found Hillary where I left her, making out with Marco. Before I could get to her, the man I’d danced with ambushed me. He looked angry.

“Why did you leave me? That was not nice!”

“I know, I’m sorry. Hillary, we have to go.”

“It was not polite what you did! You should have told me you were leaving!”

“I know, I am very sorry. Hillary, let’s go, now!”

“I think I’m going to go with Marco.” She replied.

“I don’t think that is a very good idea, Hillary.”

“You can come too!” Chimed in Marco.

“Uh, that’s very kind, but I just want to go home.”

“I’ll be fine, just take my keys and I’ll message you when I come home.” Hillary replied in a slurred, not very reassuring voice.

“Fine. I replied and took her keys. I left the Italian man behind who was still chastising me and asking me where I was going. I came back to the sanctuary of my apartment and my own bed and didn’t hear from Hillary until the next day. 

First Time I Ever Asked Myself if Men and Women Can be Friends

The debate regarding if men and women can be friends has popped up in my life multiple times. The very first time I thought about it for myself was at the age of fifteen. At the time I was attending a private high school called Seattle Christian, which I considered my own personal Hell. Being that it was private school, the girls and boys who attended came from wealthier families. The reason that I and my sisters went was because my parents felt that it was better for us to be given a Christian education in a school full of so-called Christians even though it would make them suffer financially and disregarding the fact that maybe it wasn’t a good school for someone like me.

            At this school the popular kids weren’t necessarily attractive, but the smart ones or athletic sport stars. You might think that this is an ideal concept being that we should reward good grades and achievements over physical worth, but high school is high school no matter where you are, and teenagers are cruel. Most of these kids had been friends since kindergarten, and I began attending Seattle Christian in the fifth grade. On top of that I had problems with my cognitive learning and required extra help that this school didn’t have to funds or understanding to provide for me. I was constantly made fun of for not being smart enough and was ostracized by my peers who all knew each other for most of their lives.

            However, by the time I was twelve I made friends with a boy who we will call Damon. He also tended to be ostracized because like me he didn’t have very high grades, but also he was a little overweight, and regardless of the fact that this school prized grades and sports over looks, they still valued physical appearance. Another thing that made us friends was our mutual love for art. In the next few years we became art buddies and took the only art class together for three years in a row. He made me laugh and he was an interesting person to talk to, but I never had any stronger feelings for him than that.

            At the age of fourteen I somehow broke the seemingly impenetrable popular barrier, even though I had no strong wish to be popular. The students and the teachers had put me through so much already that I just stopped caring what they thought of me. However, that somehow seemed to be the key to my social success and suddenly girls wanted to be my friend, and boys liked me.

            Regardless, I still remained friends with Damon and continued to despise the school that had put me though such misery. Finally, at the age of fifteen, half way through my ninth grade year, I had an emotional break down which finally made my parents realize how miserable I was at that school and we all agreed that we would try out a public school instead. At first I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving. I wanted to leave so badly that I didn’t want anyone to convince me to stay.

            It was at that time when a mutual friend of Damon and mine who we will call Mark (and who would become a problem for me in the future) came up and admitted to me that Damon had a huge crush on me since we were twelve and that he would ask me to go out with him whenever he had summoned up the courage to do so. I felt very sad at that moment because I didn’t feel the same way, and I dreaded rejecting him. But I resolved to do something at that moment, which became my very cruel rule for about the next five years.

            I knew that I was leaving in just a few months and so I made this one wish. I decided that I would stay friends with Damon and pretend that I had no idea that he liked me. I hoped that this way we could still have the friendship I valued so much throughout the years until I left. Otherwise, I decided, that if he did tell me that he liked me, then I would end the friendship right then and there. Cruel? Yes. Unfair? Very. At that time I had no idea how to deal with boys who liked me and I felt that this was the best way. It seemed to work for me in the next five years, but I ended up angering or hurting a few people along the way. I’ll end up telling those stories eventually, I’m sure.

It's Your Fault

In the spring of 2010 I was living in a place where I had only dreamed of since I was ten years old. I had been able to study abroad in Italy, the country that birthed some of my favorite artists of all time. That was the main reason for being there: not the food, I mainly ate sandwiches everyday, not because of the language, I was terrible at it anyway, and not because of the men, even though they would become a distraction soon enough.

            I was lucky to room with a girl from New Jersey whom I became fast friends with. We will call her Hillary. She was tall and fashionable with dark brown hair and striking, exotic, blue eyes. She had been in a long-term relationship with a boy in Pennsylvania so she made it clear that she didn’t want to be unfaithful to him and I had no intention of getting myself involved in any flings (at least that was our plan).

            The first two months of our time there, I dragged Hillary from city to city and from museum to cathedral to look at beautiful medieval and renaissance art that made me swoon and Hillary yawn. After our quick flight to Paris to look at the Louvre and Barcelona to marvel at Antoni Gaudí’s architecture, I took pity on her and promised we would go out in Perugia, the city we lived in, do a little drinking, a little dancing and cut loose essentially.

Unlike the rest of the Americans who had been partying since the night we arrived, we weren’t sure where to go. We decided to try out a place that we had only heard about. Just down an ally off of the famous Piazza IV Novembre, there was a discoteca lined with smokers on the outside and drunk dancers from all nationalities on the inside. It was called Rock Castle with a romantic Italian brick décor, a bar in the center and a stage and DJ in the front.

            The first time I went there it overwhelmed me. I had no idea why anyone would find a place like this to be fun. It was overcrowded and seemed impossible to dance, I also had no money to buy drinks. But a promise is a promise. I had told Hillary that we’d have fun, and this was her idea of fun. Every weekend we went out, sometimes a couple times a weekend. And what was funny was that I actually began to enjoy myself.

            At the time I had long wavy blonde hair that came down to my waist. It brought so much attention that Hillary and I decided to call it my “flag” being that it would flag down every Italian man I came in contact with. At night Hillary would receive complements for her eyes, and I would get them for my hair. It became easy to just hang about and be offered drinks by total strangers. Of course I was paranoid, and rightly so, and made sure I could see the drinks being made by the bartender themselves. I began to enjoy dancing, making new friends and embrace the nightlife.

            However, there was one trouble with this type of fun: There are men that are on the look out for women who want a one-night stand. In Italy they were a great deal more aggressive about trying to find those women. There was a great deal of groping and harassing behavior. Men would follow us up and down streets and force us to dance with them. It was something that both Hillary and I accepted as a part of the nightlife, but never liked it.

            One day on a school trip Hillary and I were complaining about the men who harassed us.

            “Its so gross, I don’t understand why these guys would think we’d like that” Hillary groaned.

            “Dude, I know. Oh man, you’re grinding up on me, now I want you so bad.” I added. We rolled our eyes.

            An American boy who we teased relentlessly since we had met him decided that this was the point to chime in.

            “Guys, you know that it’s your fault, right? I mean if you go out, then you’ve gotta expect to be hit on.” It was always a bad idea for anyone to interfere with one of Hillary’s and my conversations.

            We looked at him with amused irritation. It wasn’t the last time he had said something stupid.

       
           I turned to Hillary. “Oh yeah Hillary. Its your fault if you go out at night.”
           “Well it’s your fault that you go out at all.”

            I started to laugh. “Well its your fault for being a female.”

            “Well it’s your fault for being born!” By this time we were laughing so hard that we weren’t very understandable to anyone. The boy rolled his eyes being that he had witnessed this before.

            But the truth is that society tells us that there are two type of females in the world: The so called prudish type who stay at home waiting for their future husband, and the other, the slutty types who go out at night, just asking to be harassed or worse. Regardless on whatever happens to them, they were asking for it.

            This is an incorrect and oppressive view on women. Why should it be that women should fear for themselves if they want to have a good time? Why is it that we should just accept the men who harass women or worse and it is blamed on those women? It is the men who should be shamed for behavior like this.

            Too many women throughout time have bought in to the idea that regardless on what the situation was, it is their fault. Their fault for dressing that way. Their fault for being a tease. Their fault for drinking. Their fault for going out that night. Obviously there are situations that women put themselves in that might have been smarter had they not been in that situation. But it doesn’t matter. The men who harassed them, assaulted them, raped them, are the ones to blame. 

Breaking the Dam

The first plane ride that I ever took was headed for Japan. My parents were in charge of an international exchange student program and had been invited to attend a high school graduation there. They decided to bring their youngest daughter along for a little cultural education. Our destination was for Kagoshima, a city in the south of Japan. It was a conservative place where few tourists visited and my mom knew it. She took me shopping giving me colorful and loud clothes, trimmed my blonde hair and pierced my ears for the first time. Being the youngest I was used to hand-me-downs and being forgotten at restaurants and stores. I loved the attention and new things I was receiving: a girl could get used to this.

Once we arrived in Japan we toured the south along with the necessary business meetings that involved fancy restaurants where I sat on the ground and had to remain painfully silent, eating raw fish. I have to admit, as much as I desired attention, the constant invasion of my personal space was slightly overwhelming: my hair was stroked and my face was petted. My mom succeeded at her aim to make me different: I could have been spotted miles away.

One particular day my parents and I were waiting for a train finishing up a long day of tourism. A large group of boys coming from school entered the station on their way home. Being that this happened about fourteen years ago, my memory is a little burry, but from what I do remember there may have been around ten thirteen or fifteen year old boys. They looked at me and made a beeline to where my parents and I sat.

I scooted even closer to my mom for protection, I felt severely outnumbered. All the boys circled around me, and the leader of the group sat down next to me.

“You are very beautiful.” He said sweetly.

I blushed and mumbled my thanks. I could hear my parents giggling. The leader of the group of boys kept on asking me questions of where I was from and how old I was. They were surprised I was only ten because of how tall I was. It was true, at the time I was tall for my age and even was the tallest in my elementary school class, I was proud of it. It was difficult for me to concentrate on what these boys were asking me. I’m sure they were very pleasant, but I had never been “hit on” by anyone before. I had witnessed it happen multiple times to all of my older sisters but other than little crushes from my fellow classmates, it had never happened to me and I didn’t like it. It wasn’t that I couldn’t understand him; it was that in my frazzled state I literally couldn’t hear him.

My parents were kind enough to answer their questions for me being that I was unable to. My heart was beating so hard it was all I could listen to. In the theory of fight or flight, the flight symptoms were beginning to kick in.

I turned to my parents and mumbled if I could get money for some soda. Knowing I was looking for an excuse to escape. My dad smiled and gave me enough money to run to the soda machine conveniently located just outside. Without saying goodbye I left as quickly as I could. I felt like the soda machine was some sort of saving grace. I bought a coke and then checked to see if the group of boys was still where I left them. Sure enough they were, chatting happily with my parents.

I waited for a long time, hiding behind the soda machine, hoping that my train didn’t come before theirs did. Eventually luck showed itself to be on my side. The group of young teenage boys eventually left and I gingerly made my way to my very amused parents.

My parents teased me then, and they continually teased me after. Fifteen years later to the day, one of their favorite stories is to tell about the time their little innocent ten-year-old daughter was hit on in Japan. Unbeknown to both them and me at the time, it was a moment that broke the dam. 

The Begining of the End

The day before Halloween in the year 2010 a few friends and I decided to try out a small bar near my apartment that I had never been to. It was called ‘Victory’ which ironically was involved in some of my biggest mistakes in the future... but those stories are for another day. We walked altogether to Victory passing by many people who were already dressed in costume. Once we arrived, I noticed it was next to a venue bursting with heavy metal music. We walked passed it and entered the tiny, dank bar.

I had recently turned twenty-two years old and had a summer in Uganda and a spring in Italy. During my time away I had lost weight, cut my hair short, and had gained an interest in fashion. That was not the only change that I had gone through. During my time abroad I had gained a great deal of experience on the best way to entice men into desiring me. I had gained so much confidence in the subject that I became vain. Sitting at the table with my friends I was laughing and reminiscing with one particular girl whom we will call Jen. We compared study abroad experiences, hers in The Republic of Ireland and mine in Perugia, Italy.

“It came to the point where I would leave for the night with only my keys in my pocket. No phone, no money and yet I could still come home drunk from all the free drinks offered me.” I laughed.

“Well that’s because you were in Italy.” Jen groaned. “There all men want blonde girls.”

She had challenged my capabilities with men. What I heard her say was that I was lucky only because I was in Italy, and because I was blonde: no other reason. Now that I was back in Seattle, perhaps I would find the game a little more difficult.

“Oh come on Jen! It’s easier than you think. You don’t have to be blonde or in Italy. All men are the same. I can show you!”

“Yes! Show me! Use your cobra powers to get some poor soul to buy you drinks.”

I laughed, finishing my first cup of gin and tonic and looked around. Through the window I was facing, I saw a dark haired man smoking outside in the cold with his friends. I found him attractive enough for this dare. He caught me looking at him, and I smiled. Not knowing how to react, he looked at me for a moment, and then awkwardly looked away.

“What about him.” I pointed out the window.

Jen looked behind her and nodded, “Yup, he’s good enough. Here, you finished your drink, let me get you another glass of liquid courage.” She got up and ordered more drinks.

It was perhaps another half hour before my friends needed to take a smoking break outside, and by this time the man I had seen through the window had disappeared. I joined my friends as I always did to be social. After two drinks, and being a lightweight I was already feeling a buz. I was chit chatting with the group I was with happily, being that alcohol puts me in a pleasant mood. I then saw him walking out of the loud, heavy metal venue.

“Well there he is: go cobra, strike!” Jen laughed.

I laughed along with her and nodded, turned, sauntering towards this stranger. I hadn’t planned on what to say or what to do, and so through the slight fog of alcohol and the short walk, I concocted a plan.

I saw him look at me, confused, yet curious as to why I was walking up to him. “Hey, do we know each other? I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere.” I asked.

He looked at his friend, then back at me. “Uh, I-I don’t know. Could we have possibly met at Rich Bateman’s party?”

I convincingly looked frustrated. “No… hmm, how embarrassing. I could have sworn you looked familiar.”

He laughed nervously. “I have one of those faces, I guess.”

I laughed too. “Maybe.”

“Well, I’m Jared.” He extended his hand. I shook it and introduced myself. He told me that he was there to support his friends who were playing in a band in the venue that had been playing the obtrusive music.

“Oh, wow! Well, when you guys are done, you should come and join me and my friends in Victory.” I smiled flirtatiously.

“I will.” He replied with a slightly eager tone in his voice, which let me know he would be an easy one.

I turned around and walked back to my friends who were all looking at me questioningly. I smiled at them. “Well he said he would be stopping by the bar soon.”

“Well done.” Jen laughed. “But I won’t be able to see you work. I am drunk, and I have to go home. Go on cobra, strike!” She laughed and walked away. I was left with my roommate at the time, Andrea and her boyfriend who were also both getting drunk, which meant that they would erupt in a fight soon. The three of us walked back into Victory as I waited for either Jared to come in, or for Andrea and her boyfriend to fight. As I sat in the bar I realized, being that Jen left I didn’t have to fulfill the dare she’d put me under. I could just go home and forget about this whole thing.

Then I watched Jared walk in to Victory with his friends and without saying hi or even looking at me, he went straight outside on the deck to smoke. No. I wasn’t going to forget about this, I was going to do this for me. I walked up and followed him out onto the deck.

“Hey,” I smiled.

“Hey.” He replied kindly.

“I was waiting for you, but now my friends are about to leave so now I have to go.”

“Oh no! I was just about to go inside to see you, I promise. Don’t go yet, please, I’ll be right in.” I grinned. If I hadn’t been sure he was interested before, I knew he was now.

“Alright, but if you aren’t in soon, I’ll have to leave.”

I turned and walked back into the bar. I gave my purse to Andrea, who was already looking completely unhappy and kept my keys in my pocket. While I watched Andrea and her boyfriend leave, Jared came back in.

He walked up to me and offered me a drink. “Yeah that would be great.” I smiled. “A gin and tonic seems to be my drink for the night.” Well, the first task was completed. Now I supposed all I really needed to do was… have fun.

Jared came back with two drinks in his hand and sat right next to me. Our conversation was easy enough. I found out that he was a construction worker who lived in Everett and I told him I was finishing my last year of college at an Art school called Cornish. We argued which city was better, Seattle or Portland and we talked about our favorite types of music. Eventually he asked where the nearest convenient store was so he could buy a new pack of cigarettes.

“Yeah sure, I’ll show you!” I piped up.

Now, the thing about alcohol is that it takes that voice of reason that helps you make good decisions and turns the volume down so low that its easy to ignore. At this time, when I told him that I would take him to the nearest store, that voice said that it was unwise, being that I didn’t know what kind of person he was, or if he was safe. But three cups of gin and tonic was enough for me to ignore the thought.

We left, and as soon as we turned the corner he stopped and pulled me into him and kissed me. I remember being completely amused. He kissed me so passionately that it seemed to me that perhaps he was a little desperate. Our journey to the convenient store consisted of this: a bit of walking and talking, then the conversation being interrupted with kisses. There was even one point when I realized which street we were on.

“Hey, come here.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him across the street.

“What is it?” He asked as I stopped him and pointed at the pavement below us.

“Look where you’re standing: it’s the geographical center of the city.” I beamed.

He bent down to get a better look in the darkness. “Whoa! Look at that! I would have never guessed that it would be in such a random place.”

I stepped on the plaque and pulled him close to me. A while before I had made it a point to kiss someone at interesting locations: beautiful vistas, highest points, even grave sites. This particular place seemed ideal.

We finally made it to the store then walked all the way back to the bar holding hands. I remember thinking about how strange it was when guys would want to hold hands when they only just met me. It seemed like such an affectionate thing to do and I always found it uncomfortable. But I let them hold my hand anyway.

“So, when you asked me if we knew each other, did you really think that we had met before?” He asked shyly.

“Nope. I just wanted an excuse to meet you.” I admitted. He seemed to like that answer.

We stopped by the bar one more time and ordered our last drinks, and I knew I had my limit. I visited the bathroom and found it extremely difficult to walk straight when the whole world was tipping. I looked at myself in the mirror, and was not pleased at what I saw. I was pale and disheveled with dark circles under my eyes. I had no idea how I was going to get to work the next day. How could I get rid of this guy? I knew I had given him the hope of some sort of pay off later, which I had no intention of doing.

I was tired, drunk and having a hard time functioning. Jared wanted to walk around some more, so we left the bar once again. The rest of the night was filled with making out and petting. There was even one point when a security guard came to make us move off the building’s property.

Finally we were standing with my back against a wall of some old building, and I remember thinking, when is this going to end. That was the point when Jared started saying things like, “Oh God, I want you so much.” and “So what is the plan?” and “ You know I have condoms in my car.” That was enough. I was done. My brain started to work again and logic began to warn me about how much I really didn’t know this guy, and how vulnerable I was at that moment.

I finally firmly pushed on his chest and smiled alluringly. “Walk me back to my apartment?” I didn’t even like the idea of showing him where I lived, but I had to get back there safely. I was going into defense mode.

He kindly walked me back to my apartment, and when I opened the door to walk in, I noticed he began to follow me so I turned around. “And you’re not coming in.” I said while still smiling sweetly. I could see slight disappointment on his face, but still he took it with a smile, which made me think that perhaps he was better than I thought. But I had enough.

“Can I have your number then?”

“Well that’s the thing too, I don’t give out my number either.” Which was true enough. I’d made it a rule to not give out my phone number to strangers. Especially men. I saw the smile fade then.

“Good night! I had a fun time.” Then I shut the door quickly and turned without looking back.

The next morning I had the worst hangover and some faded bruises on my neck that I had a hard time covering and feeling a little stupid and regretful. 

First Kiss

The first story I thought I would begin this blog with is a simple one. It’s simple in content, but it explains my background a little. I was raised in a conservative protestant Christian household about thirty minutes south of Seattle. I am the youngest of five girls, and we all come from a woman who had modeled in the 60s and 70s. She raised her girls to value beauty and appearance almost as much as our faith in Jesus. As a result my four older sisters became beauties, sought after by all sorts of male kind.

When I began to mature my mother and my sisters treated me like a Barbie Doll to be dressed and trained how to behave. To them I was an ideal candidate due to my long blonde hair, tall figure and green eyes. I, however, found their constant scrutiny on my appearance overbearing and exhausting to keep up with. On one hand I tried to do as I was told: straighten my hair just right, make sure my eye makeup was even, wear tight clothes to show off my underdeveloped curves, but pretend I wasn’t uncomfortable. On the other hand I rebelled: I wore baggy clothes, no makeup, and dared to put on my glasses instead of contacts.

I was having an identity crisis of knowing if I should place my worth on physical appearance, or if I even cared. I found that the more I cared about what people thought I looked like, the more I became insecure with myself. However, when I tried not to care, it seemed to creep up in my mind anyway. This confusion and insecurity made me distant from the opposite sex and perhaps just distant in general.

One day at the age of 16, just stepping out of the shower and dressing in my most comfortable clothes, my parents asked me if I wanted to join them to go to Barns and Noble, knowing my love for books. Thoughts passed through my head warning me that I didn’t look suitable to go outdoors. Had my sisters had anything to do with it, they would have forced me to take a few hours in the bathroom to look remotely appropriate. Realizing that I felt perfectly comfortable as I was, I threw caution to the wind and left looking as bland as I possibly could.

My parents and I parted ways in the Barns and Noble parking lot while they went to a computer store and I to a bookstore. However, I was stopped before I made it inside. A boy around the age of 18 stopped me and asked if I could take part in a survey. I don’t remember what the survey was about. I probably wasn’t paying much attention due to the myriad of compliments this boy gave me.

“So, uh, how old are you?”

“Sixteen” I blushed.

“Wow! Only sixteen? I thought you would be eighteen or something.”

The more underhanded, bashful compliments he would give me, the more frazzled I became and wanted to run away from there. Lord only knows how red my face was then. After a short while, I somehow stumbled over my words in attempt to tell him that I had to go.

“Oh well, can I have a hug then before you leave?” A HUG??? For my friends and family who know me now understand I’m not a fan of physical affection, how much worse was I then?

Blushing even deeper I gave him a hug and retracted as quickly as possible.

“How about a kiss?” By this time I was trying to escape, and so without thinking I turned to kiss his cheek. However, I wasn’t quick enough before he turned his head and kissed me square on the mouth. It was short and simple mainly due to the fact that I turned as fast as I could, taking sanctuary in my favorite bookstore.

Now before I move on, I need to say that what this boy did was inappropriate. I didn’t know him and he could have gotten into a great deal of trouble for doing even a simple act of kissing me like that, being that it was unwanted. I, luckily for him, was an insecure, impressionable teenager who wouldn’t have even considered this as inappropriate. I was just stuck on the compliment that he gave me. How was it that I received so much attention from someone when I looked so plain? At that age I would have thought that being that I had no makeup or sexy clothes on that I would be undesirable.

There was a French saying that struck me then about if you believed that you were beautiful, you would actually become beautiful. It was then that I realized that attractiveness didn’t really come from makeup or clothes or whether you wore glasses or not. What mattered was if I was comfortable with myself, regardless on how I looked.

Confidence, as I learned then, and have to keep on learning is a difficult thing to cultivate in yourself. But the more you have it, the more people will be drawn to you. This moment was really important for me to realize this for myself, although I will admit, I still have to relearn it all the time.