Showing posts with label College. Show all posts
Showing posts with label College. Show all posts

and it all began IV

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

I sat in the middle rows, not too far from the stage since I wanted to hear everyone loud and clear. The show started with a couple of artists who weren’t up to par with the next act.

The 5’2 young college student came on stage and belted, “his eye is on the sparrow”. My stomach dropped, my mouth watered, my eyes glued to her, my heart was melting and every hair on my body were as hard as a porcupine’s back. Not only was I amazed at her capability to sing but also I felt every note she was projecting and so began a long crush with Hope.

Hope had a girlfriend on campus and everyone was aware of it. I knew that my chances were extremely slim as they were utterly in love with each other. Whatever feelings I felt were there and obvious – I smiled and looked away when I saw her, I talked about her all the time and I’d ask people about her. It wasn’t something I could have avoided and buried. During the course of the semester, I would see her around campus with her friends and girlfriend in her arms and my heart would just ache. What I wanted more than anything was the happiness and the love they both shared.

The remaining of the semester I had given up on Hope and I had moved on and I was seeing The Tennis Player.

She and I met through mutual friends and immediately clicked. We exchanged AIM and phone numbers and thus began a week of constant text messages, emails and long phone conversations. And by the second or third day, they started to get pretty smutty. And Tennis Player said she wanted to see me. And so I decided to visit to her– about an hour from where I went to school. And we went over our schedules together, and decided that two weekends from now worked out perfectly for both of us. We were both really excited, and I began to plan our weekend. What we’d do during the day. Like any new juvenile “getting to know you” relationship, we opt for a movie at her place. We talked for hours about how much we liked each other.


And then they just stopped. And the text messages and emails no longer came in. And I was puzzled, but just thought that maybe she was busy at school. And one night, I decided to go to her AIM profile. Which were just photos of her and friends goofing off, getting drunk, driving around and that kind of thing.

And the most recent entry was four days old. It consisted of photos from a party at her School. And in almost all of them, Tennis Player and some girl who looked to be over thirty had their arms around each other. The girl had wrinkles and looked like she smoked for years. And her clothes looked old and cheap. And I didn’t hear from Tennis Player for several days after that. And one day, I clicked on her profile and she had written about being in a relationship. I knew then, I wouldn’t be welcomed at her place for a fun, sex filled weekend. Out of the blue, she messages me to tell me that she had met somebody and it had gotten serious pretty quickly and she hoped that I wouldn’t be mad.

And that was that.

My sophomore year began, Hope had broken up with her girlfriend over the summer and her and I began to chat…

To be continued

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And it all began...Part III

Tuesday, October 2, 2007

My first year of college was total chaos. I partied like it was my last days on earth before meeting the devil for a lust fest. I met Turkish around the end of my first semester. She was one of the prettiest girls I have ever met. Long flowing dark hair with very deep olive –green eyes, her skin so soft and with a touch of caramel – a rich Turkish Mediterranean color with an alluring body dressed very hipster-ish/trendy. She had an infectious smile and great laugh, which were to die for.

Turkish and I met at one of the local college bars down in the East Village. I noticed her staring at me and since I was young, drunk and ballsy I marched right up to her and said:

“I know you are interested, I’m interested.”

And she replied, “I know.”

The Turkish took my hand and lead it to her neck, which forced me to caress her cheek, and we kissed.

And kissed more and more…

Just writing this makes me quiver. See, that was Turkish. She was beautiful and super sexual but not a lesbian. It didn’t bother me too much since I wasn’t too much into the gay scene anyway – how can someone say that they are gay and hooking up with guys. It wasn’t right for me. Especially when I was in the stage where I was discovering myself. I knew I was gay but I didn’t know until I replayed all the memory videos in my head – the Barbie situation, the best friend and the touching, how I felt when I saw a girl. It all added up at that point. Accepting myself was a different story.

I went home one weekend, and when I came back to school, everyone knew who I was. It was fine because I didn’t have to deal with saying “I’m a lesbian” – people knew.

My second semester was a new beginning, Turkish had left the country to study at Oxford and I stayed in NY. Since everyone knew I was a little lezie, all the girls had the occasion to experiment with me. I became the big dyke on campus. I was okay with that, since I didn’t make any commitments with anyone.

My weeknights and my weekends were spent boozing – don’t ask how I managed to graduate. But there was one night when I really didn’t want to go off campus. All I really wanted to do was stay in and I read a flyer about talent show on campus. It was far more interesting to me than going out to a college dive bar.

Before I go on, I should state that I'm a creature of habit in many ways. Despite my intense wanderlust for far off places and my tendency to become involved with glamorous yet troubled women, I like a certain bit of stability in my routine. Boozing was habitual, but it wasn’t something I couldn’t live without. My friends didn’t understand that.

It was right after my tennis practice, I rushed to my room, dropped my gym bag and headed straight to the auditorium.

That night I heard the most amazing voice and for the first time I said to myself:

“She is absolutely perfect”

To be continued….

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It all began...

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

I am known to chase skirts like a sailor. But add some shots to my evening, I become a pussy hound. I chat up strangers at the bar and then try to pressure them into making out with me. I have talked many straight girls into a bathroom stall in this state through a mixture of confidence and shameless flattery.


I grew up like any other privileged children at my boarding school. I met my best friend there and we played lots of games. I was 9 mind you. We managed to play house, doctor and my favorite – teacher. Our evaluations turn into elaborate role-playing games, which ended with us exploring each other’s genitals in my tree house. I felt guilty about what we were doing, but since every sexual encounter was masked in the guise of a game in which a male and female character had sex, I could sort of pretend it was all just make-believe. We never peeped a word and till this day we both won’t admit to having played doctor.


Around the age of 12 (soon after I left boarding school and came to America) I had a best friend and his name was Mark. He was my first kiss along with major bonus package of feeling me up but we never had sex. These experiences I had growing up caused me to consider myself “bisexual” (I was in HS – don’t worry) but now that I look back at it, I was craving the attention of someone who would perform these naughty acts. It didn’t matter if it were a boy or a girl. Hands and lips felt the same with both genders.


I started my freshman year of HS with a boyfriend and I supposedly had a boyfriend until my senior year. But truthfully, he went to the all boy schools and I went to the all girl school of my town. He had no clue who and what I was doing. When I met my friend Butch, I was totally open to the idea of a lesbian relationship. She was butch. Package included : short hair (I just got out of bed hair but pulled back in a pony) stocky cause she played some serious softball for the team and wore men clothes outside of our habitual catholic school girl skirt and button attires.


I don’t really know what drew me to her. Butch was a senior when I was a tiny freshman shrimp. She wasn’t anything I wanted in a person but she provided me with a satisfied service, which was a total plus. Everyone knew she munched the carpet but they never assumed anything happened between us – big save.


Nothing attracted me to Butch but somehow whatever we had lasted two long exhausting years. She did drive a nice Jeep Wrangler – soft-top and always spoiled me with goodies. I had my own personal chauffeur and I was ok with that.


Our relationship fell into a pattern of supply and demand. I demanded something, and Butch supplied it, although often with a sexual price tag attached. I didn’t like that one bit. 1) She was practically a man – pubes flowing everywhere and I sure was not ready to floss 4 times a day. And 2) she wasn’t what I called a pretty young woman. I tried to break up with her several times, but every time I managed to tell her I was done she’d show up after my tennis practice with a car trunk full of presents for me. Surveying the booty, I still wanted out, but, well, I really wanted those presents too.


In truth, Butch was deeply in love with me; the sexual exploitation resulted from the fact that not only was I probably not even attracted to girls, I definitely wasn’t attracted to her. And for my part it didn’t occur to me that not wanting to have sex with someone was grounds for breaking up; I always worried more about how others felt about me than how I felt about them. So I threw myself as heartily into lesbianism as I had my affairs with men, even growing fond of lesbian movies and anything gay - RENT.


A budding teenager, I also cheated on my grown-up lesbian girlfriend left and right. She couldn’t even leave me alone at a party while she went on a beer run before I was chatting up some cute college-aged girl I didn’t just have sex with girls behind her back; I had whole relationships. Remember my boyfriend? Well he was in my umbrella of relationships as well.


When I left for college, I left behind Butch, Mark and my other side dish. I wanted a clean slate, I wanted no one to know of my pass and so, my little liberal college was my escape - lesbians of all sorts purring at the inexperienced “bisexuals” . The good thing was, I already knew the words to all the Ani Difranco songs that are required college-girl listening and I fell hard for a girl I will nickname Turkish.

To be continued…

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I am trying I guess...

Monday, July 9, 2007

Growing up, I always held the ideal of the 'NY woman' as my aspiration -- fashionable, feminine yet assertive, tough, and always extrodinarily put together. I acheived my goal when I was 18, during my first year of my women's college experience. I was always well dressed, 15 lbs thinner, make-up on perfectly, the perfect first date who laughed at the the dumbest jokes and struck the balence of making a woman feel like a million dollars yet making her second guess whether you were completely into her. The year I began my first year of college, I was unstoppable when I went out. I would walk into a straight bar and I would end up pushed against the wall being ravaged by some hot sexually confused woman.

Now let's examine where my I am 6 years later. 15 lbs heavier, forgotten how to put on make-up, there is something always eskew with my outfits (yesterday I ran out of clean clothes and had to febreeze myself and this morning I got deoderant all over my black summer dress that did not quite fit perfectly), and I lost my nasty streak -- the streak that made women find me so insanely attractive.

See, my undergrad was co-ed, but I considered it more of a women’s college due to the lack of men and the absurd amount of lezies and bi curious girls from no name towns. So, with that said, my “women’s college” education made women more assertive, allowed us to pursue our intellectual potential with minimal male classroom domination and all in all, a women's college education makes us better humanbeings. If I am such a better humanbeing, why am I pining away for the days when I was 18? The days I would laugh in a girl’s face if she didnt kiss well, buy me my drink on time, or wasn't hot enough for me. Granted, I am a nicer human being, I no longer laugh in girl’s faces, give everyone a chance (because there may be a diamond in the rough), and try to keep in mind that even the less fornuate looking women are humanbeings with a story to tell.

Fuck my education, college gave me a conscience.

Living in sweatpants for 4 years will mess with a girls sense of fashion and her self esteem. Granted during those 4 years I worked on my "self:" I can debate the validity of Nietzsche, hold intellect in the highest regard, and value life experience rather than the mall experience. I learned to value myself as an intellectual as opposed to a cute well put together NYC Lezie. Hence why I have been sorta single ever since. Living in those sweatpants taught me that sometimes fabulous people dont always look so fabuous.

For the past two years, having become a bonafide NYer, I have tried so hard to become the woman I once was..the woman who always had her hair- did, always had a quick joke, an a cigg dangling out of her mouth ( not too sexy I suppose). The woman who would never get horribly drunk, who sipped her vodka as opposed to chugging, and cured hangovers with water and fruit as opposed to scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast. I tried hard within this past year to become the woman I was at 18 but since I work in publishing, and there are no eliglble lezies who I work with, I went back to old habits – the partying, the “I don’t really give a fuck look” You may have chugged coors light back in the day, my friends and I chugged shots of absolut vodka while playing power hour.

Now that I have everything in place that would force me to become the woman I have always wanted to (appearance and alcohol consumption wise, everything else I am really happy with myself), I think I forgot! This morning I got my deoderant all over my black summer dress. Instead of making a big deal, scrubbing it out, I shrugged my shoulders and rationalized that we are all human, as I pulled my hair back into a messy bun.

WHAT THE FUCK?!

I have spent the last 5.5 years romanticizing the messy intllectual, the quiet one with a nose in her book, who always looks slightly astray. I am 24 going on 25... I am working with cute straight ladies with probably even cuter friends. Oh 18 yr old me...where are you?

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