Part 2: Chastity

Chastity

Im fairly certain this will be a strong case for me being “good.” There’s nothing more pure than sexual purity. Pure is right there in the name. (I wanted to include a list of other things with pure in the name but it was not as easy of a Google search as I had hoped). I have spent most of my life being chaste. It’s very easy to do in the early years. Kids aren’t very sexy, first off. Although, when I was in elementary school the girls loved me. I had a buzz cut, which girls go wild for. They want to just feel the crap out of it. I, however, was not a fan of cooties. Nor was I a fan of the nickname Fuzzy Wuzzy. So I ran. I ran and I ran (a strategy I still use on occasion today). That’s being pretty chaste. Literally running from temptation. Even if the chase somehow made the girls like me more, and I was kind of into being wanted (a feeling I still very much enjoy).

I never even kissed a girl until I was legally an adult.[1] As an adult I have a reputation for being very pure. Up on a pedestal even. While a lot of folks in college receive the label of whore or slut, only I am pure enough to get the label ironically. I was a cuddle whore. It’s the most adorable way to be a slut and you don’t have to wear a condom. Although you could, nobody would know.

It didn’t start all at once. I wasn’t just finding strangers on the corner to cuddle with. Certainly not for money. (I do wonder what I could have charged). To begin, I had the same set of friends for most of my college career. Then one semester most of them decided to go study abroad. So since they were out finding themselves, I needed to find somebody to replace them. Not figuratively, I’m not that creative. I literally replaced my friends, specifically 4 girls who left, with another group of 4 girls. How convenient I thought, its like the other ones never left! They didn’t even mind being called The Replacements.

The only difference between The Replacements and my friends was that The Replacements hadn’t been in the friend zone for long. Without friend zone exposure, attraction is deadly. I ran through that group like a bulldozer. But like a really gentle bulldozer who likes to hold hands and share blankets. Being the chaste person I am, I bailed.[2] Still friendly with them of course, but I needed something else. I wasn’t looking for a casual cuddle, I needed a friend.

I moved on to another group of 4 girls. I clearly don’t learn lessons quickly, and it doesn’t help most people live in 4 bedroom apartments on campus. Moral of the story: cuddle, cuddle, scared away by overly aggressive dance floor behavior. The 4^th new Replacement was already a cuddle causality during my vulnerable moments after my first real break up. I did bail on her. No arguments there. Back to the overly aggressive dance floor behavior. I’m not going to get too into it, but first thing on my list of characteristics I look for in a friend is “ability to not put my fingers in her mouth during nelly’s hot in here.” I also never believed her when she said the tv in the common room was broken, but the one in her bedroom was fully functional but it only works if our shirts are off. I only fall for that trick if I’m in love.

There were a few other uninteresting cuddles in the mix, including one in a hammock, one in front of another cuddle victim, and an engaged girl also in front of another victim. Nothing interesting there. I definitely picked the right stories to tell.

In the end, I didn’t have sex with any of those girls which means nobody was emotionally scarred when my affections turned away from them. That’s my memory and I’m sticking to it.

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[1] Yet I had a girlfriend in middle school. More evidence of how chaste I am. The chastiest!

[2] I say I bailed, but other sides of the story may involve me falling for a Replacement. That replacement transferring schools/bailing on me. Tomato Tomato.

Blog Series Part 1: Lust

This weekly blog series is an attempt to see if I am a good boy or bad boy by telling stories following 7 deadly sins and 7 virtures. Help me decide.

LUST

This is the good stuff. I know what the reader wants. Sex, boobies, and other things I know very little about. I have a feeling my mom is not going to like this part. Though she will tell me she likes it, and that she’s proud of me. It’s lol’s of love.

The first boobs I ever saw were in a dream. Later in life I became very proud of myself for dreaming those boobs so accurately. Without knowing what they looked like, I came up with a pretty spectacular pair in my mind. She was my middle school French teacher. I am fairly sure she doesn’t know I have seen her breasticles. Mostly she just taught me how to say clock and trash can. Neither of which I said when I visited France.

That was my first experience with lust that I can remember and it happened in my subconscious. It’s since moved into my consciousness, which sucks, because now its my fault. Lust is often a negative, but everything has its silver lining. For me, that lining is not being lonely at college. Not in a slutty way Mr. Gutter Mind. Lust, or attraction, was the single element that forged my best friendships as a freshman.

The time, 2005. The place, Washington College student center. It was an acoustic guitar player or a comedian. Something during the first week to show the new freshman that fun can be had without alcohol. I was sitting in a chair, all of them filled. I felt a presence behind me. A female presence. She needed a chair and I had a chair and no friends. Perfect. I could be a gentleman and meet a female who I could fall in love with and get married to. College is great! Unfortunately we didn’t get married because she was a redhead. It’s not my thing. She did however invite me over for a game of twister with some friends of hers. I could not turn down getting intertwined with females in a competition, hair color prejudice or no. College is great!

I was the only guy at the twister party, with 6 girls who would become some of my best friends. Only 2 of them had red hair. I didn’t take advantage of the game of twister. I never went for the rarely spun “right hand on breast” or “left hand on butt.” I was still playing the gentleman role. It was Jess, Kate, Erin, Faith, Carla, and Kali. Jess was bisexual, or what I would later find out meant “I’m a lesbian, but I dated boys so my parents wouldn’t know about the lesbian thing.” Lesbian or not, she was into me. Our senses of humor were exactly the same, that is to say we were both hilariously clever. If senses of humor could sex, ours would be hot and it would birth tiny joke kids with nice boobs and a great smile (I’ll let you guess which comes from her and which comes from me).

Kate is one of my best friends. I hated her. She would not stop talking. Eventually I realized that what she had to say was interesting and smart. At the time it sounded like “blah like blah blah like, blah you know?” She also has really sweet boobs. I could probably write plenty more on that subject. She knew they were nice, and used them to tease me but also to get free Dunkin’ Donuts at 2 in the morning. So we all won.

Erin is what the kids would call my bff during college. I was a kid then and so was she, so we both called ourselves bff. I don’t remember a lot about her that night. She was fairly quiet but at the end of the night we both knew if I didn’t have a girlfriend already (didn’t I mention that? I had a girlfriend throughout my freshman year) we would probably be making out already and planning our future.

Faith was nerdy in a cute kind of way. I’m going to say she was into me. There’s no way to prove she wasn’t, unless you ask her. So don’t ask, let me have this.

Carla was the redheaded host. So no lust there.

Kali didn’t play twister with us, she was Carla’s roommate. She did not have red hair and she loved Dane Cook. I didn’t know he sucked yet, so she was cool. She had a boy who came to visit her. Probably he was there because he lusted after her. Carla also had a boy who came to visit her. He was into redheads. I didn’t say a word to these two guys. Not one single word.[1]

I was drawn to this twister party by a girl, promising other girls would be present and that they would be bending and twisting on colored circles. I stayed because the girls were fun, smart, and had nice features for me to look at. We became best friends because we figured that at some point close proximity might mean we could do the sex. We never did. Maybe we did in our minds a few times, but that doesn’t count. It’s not like having sex in your mind is a bad thing. There’s not even a word for that as far as I know.

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[1] They became my roommates for 3 years and best friends. All because we shared a liking for some specific female bodies.

Blog Series (Which A Publisher Will Read and Buy to Make a Book)

Preface

My grandpa would always ask me, “how’s my good boy?” I would always say “good” because I’m clever. Plus I’ve always indeed viewed myself as a good boy. Later in his life my grandpa started losing his health but not his sense of humour[1]. Instead of asking if I’m a good boy like a caring grandparent, he would ask me if I wanted to hear a joke. He didn’t deliver his normal joke, the kind of joke he would tell a nurse in one of his visits to the hospital when she told him she was about to draw blood: where’s your red crayon. Instead, the punch line WAS that I was a good boy. Like he was saying the opposite, that I am not a good boy. Never has an old man’s laughter made me feel so conflicted. On one hand, great joke grandpa. You had me going for 20 years. That’s Andy Kaufman like commitment[2].

On the other hand (It’s a good thing I’m ambidextrous) It made me contemplate whether or not I was a good boy. The only way for me to be sure is to recount tales of my youth and have the reader decide if I am good or bad. It’s not going to be boring like the Heptaméron, but one thing will be similar; I will not actually complete 100 tales, which is the benchmark for good writing. I’m a quitter just like that quitter Marguerite De Navarre who took the easy way out and decided to die before finishing her work.

A more manageable number is 14, one story for each 7 deadly sin and one for each of the 7 virtues that Catholics made up because they like their milk to fill up half the glass. The only problem with this structure is, I can’t remember a lot of what happened in my lifetime. I have decided to just go ahead and write out my stories with the subjective memories I contain, and supplement them with memories that may or may not be more accurately called lies. I realize lying to you probably leans the scale in favor of bad boy (which is ok because girls love bad boys) but I’m confident this will turn out good for me. If nothing else, I will have wasted a lot of time writing something that proves me a terrible person and everybody I love will abandon me. But I won’t be doing drugs and THAT is good.

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[1] I’ve always wanted to be British

[2] Commitment is one of my biggest fears. I even had to have a friend write that part for me. It won’t appear again