<![CDATA[My Site - Excerpt 2 - About a boy]]>Wed, 25 Nov 2015 19:58:33 -0800Weebly<![CDATA[Excerpt 2 - About a Boy]]>Wed, 06 May 2015 00:54:06 GMThttp://diaryexcerpts.weebly.com/excerpt-2---about-a-boy/excerpt-2-about-a-boy            Love at first sight is something film makers use to cut down screen time. Real love is so much more romantic than that. Real love is soft, sweet and sincere. It doesn’t grab hold of you in an abrupt moment of lust; it sweeps over you like a fresh spring breeze that makes your whole body tingle. My love came to me when I least expected him, but when I needed him the most. Working was a given in our house hold. When we moved to New York, I got a job. I followed my father’s lead and put work above my emotions. I was in the midst of depression, but still I managed to smile and take customers’ orders.  Nevertheless, I was insufferably quiet, and devoted to my insecurities. 

            Hank and I were friends for months before it progressed. He was the one friend that I had made in this new town. He did so by showing a genuine interest in me. He was not detoured by my shyness. He asked me direct questions, which required a direct response from me. He pushed me beyond the point when most people would have given up to my silence.

            I pushed so hard for my first boyfriend and it had been a disaster. With Hank things progressed on its own; without me forcing it at all. To this day, I’m not too sure how we did end up on a date. One evening when I was working; Hank stopped by my register. We began discussing our schedule. Hank said he had Thursday off, and I happened to also have Thursday off.

I said nonchalantly; “Well, what do you want to do?”

He said; “Oh, I don’t know. You want to do something?”

I said; “Sure, why not?”

            That was it, simple. He left, and I was frozen at the register debating if we had made plans for a date. As it turns out, he walked out to his car in the same confusion. “What just happened? Is this a date?”

            June 3,  was the day we had agreed to meet up. I had spent the last few days trying to figure out if he was interested in me, and had come up empty handed.  I had learned from an episode of “Doug” that if he pays for dinner then it’s a date. With this information in hand I set out to determine once and for all; date or not. He picked me up in his van. We went to dinner first. We talked awkwardly over our noodles; discussing our family structures and past experiences. The waiter came over and set the check on the table. I set nervously with wet palms in anticipation of my answer. He took the bill and paid for dinner. I shifted with anxiety as my moment of relief, flooded my mind with more questions. “So is this really a date? Does he like me? How much can you trust a cartoon character?”

            We went to go to the movies. When we got there, he paid again. I was not as convinced this time; and I starting to strongly question my trust in an animated caricature. We got our popcorn and sat down to watch the show. My palms were moist with sweat; as we set in silence.
Hank says in an off the collar remark, “I wasn’t sure whether this was a date or not.”
I was stunned; and spent some time trying to interpret this encrypted statement. Realizing that I needed more information; I sucked up my courage and said, “So, is this a date?”

Once again, in a nonchalant tone, he said “I don’t know, do you want it to be?”

I reply, “Do you want it to be?”

Again cool as can be; he says “I don’t know, I guess; if you do.”

I reply, “Yeah, I guess.”

So it was a date; I guess. Even though we had confirmed it a date; I didn’t feel very relieved about the situation. I wasn’t sure if he really liked me, or if he just felt trapped by the circumstances. I spent the whole movie more aware of the slight movements he made, than the film. I kept waiting for him to grab my hand; but he didn’t. In a moment of strength; I reached my hand out. He took it, and cupped it in his. Finally, conformation that he liked me; my body surged.  

        As it turns out, Hank liked me just as much as I did him. We were both too shy to act on it, and too insecure to believe that the other person was interested. However, once we had confirmation that we both felt the same way; we became inseparable.


            Three days later I was aching to kiss him. We walked through the woods and down to the river. Sometime, years earlier a tree had fallen over, and it now supplied us with a perfect bench. We sat down and continued talking about the frightening ascent into adulthood. As we sat conversing, a deer on the opposite side of the river walked up and began drinking the water. We were both silent as we watched him drink from the spring. He drank for a long while and never took notice of us watching him. After he pranced away, Hank looked at me and asked me what I was thinking about. I answered honestly, “The kiss”.

        I stood up on our log in nervous embarrassment. He stood up too. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me passionately.  It was the kiss that I had been anticipating; not just for the last three days, but all of my life.  He kiss was perfect; sweet and honest. We opened our selves up to each other. The two of us connected and both our bodies surged with excitement as we were locked together.

            Hank and I fell hard, and we fell fast. We spent every moment that we could together. I suddenly had a zest for life that I had not had before. Things that had once seemed arbitrary were now exciting. We went bowling, mini golfing, and saw movies. But mostly we talked, and when we weren’t talking; we were kissing. My lips were chapped and sore from hours of making out. But, I enjoyed the felling. It was a reminder of Hank when he was not near me. At night, as I laid in my bed, I could rub my hands over my sore lips and still fill his lips upon mine. I had made many mistakes, and I didn’t want to repeat any of them with Hank. I wanted him desperately, but I kept control over my urges. We just kissed. He never pushed for more. Hank has always been a gentleman. I fell in love with his gentle nature.

        There was a great urgency to learn everything about each other that we could. I felt like someone that had been near death with thirst, now that my cup was over flowing; I could not drink enough. We talked for hours; for days. I divulged every part of myself to him; as he did to me. I found myself able to do something with Hank that I had never done with anyone before. I cried.  I cried hard, and I shook with emotion as all that I had been inside me, flooded out. It was a freedom I had never known before. He held me close and listened. He listened as I told him about the holler, about school and being teased and rejected. He held me tight when I talked about religion, depression and disappointment. When I told him about my struggles with femininity and feeling limited by my gender; he told me that I could be or do whatever I wanted to. And I believed it, when it came from him. With Hank by my side I could do anything, or be anyone; at the same time I was finally comfortable with being myself. Sometimes he would take his turn to release his disappointments. As he cried I would hold him. I listened as he told me about his own life, his own struggles with feeling inadequate and ignored. I held him, and he held me; this is what love is.

            For all our days spent in each other’s embrace; one dark cloud hung over us. Europe. I was set to leave for a month to somewhere where he could not follow me. This trip had once seemed like an escape to somewhere exciting. But now it seemed more an obligation that I had trapped myself into. I had found freedom with  Hank and I did not see how anything could be beautiful without him. Still, with $1,000 of my own combined with the $1,000 of my dad’s hard earned money, plus months of my parents bragging. There was no way I was going to get out of it. We would have to dislodge ourselves for a month.

            The night before I left, Hank and I talked on the phone all night long. Neither one of us wanted to hang up; so we held out for as long as we could. Still, the morning came all the same. I grabbed my bags and my mother drove me to the airport. I met up with the large group of thirty, 16 year olds and three chaperones. We all wore the same blue polo shirt, and found each other easily. We flew for 13 hours in total.  The plane we flew on was huge; with three rows of seating instead of the customary two. It offered a movie and headphones that played bad music. Mostly everyone just slept.

            We arrived in Rome, Italy; feeling jet lagged and disoriented. The city of Rome is a contrasting setting. It is a bustling urban city; over populated and engorged with traffic. The streets are crammed with small vehicle as people on scooters speed through the congestion. Amongst the city there are spontaneous sites of Ancient Roman Ruins. The heavy contrast is confusing yet astonishing. While in Rome, we visited some ruins, the Colosseum, the Pantheon, the Vatican, the Sistine Chapel and Michelangelo's Creation of Adam. We spent a warm afternoon in Piazza Navona listening to street musicians sing in foreign but transcending voices. Each site was equally magnificent and inspiring. My eyes struggled to take in such beauty as my mind struggled to comprehend the history that was infused in these sites. The Creation of Adam, resided in a surprisingly small room in comparison to the world wide influence that it has inspired. All the art work that covered the walls and ceiling of the Sistine Chapel were a testament to how magnificent men can be.

            We traveled north to Florence and saw Michelangelo’s David; which was much larger and impressive than expected. Our large tour bus continued north to the Leaning Tower of Pisa.  Italy was infused with glorious beauty. Even the country side that passed outside our windows was breathtaking. We floated by miles after miles of hill top vineyards. The warm sun glistened upon the vines and quaint cottages as we traveled. We saw sights that made my eyes water with appreciation for such beauty. Yet in all this majesty that was bestowed upon me; I felt uninspired.  I saw these structures with eyes half open, for I was only half there. The rest of me resided across the Atlantic.

            I squandered this experience. Every sight, smell, or taste that I encountered; I took it in with thoughts of Hank. I looked upon “The Creation of Adam” and reminisced on the love that had just been created. I ran my hands over the cold stone of the Colosseum and thought of Hank’s warm touch.  When we got to the Leaning Tower of Pisa, I gave the structure just moments of my time. I spared enough, to appreciate the exquisite details that are carved into the white marble; noticing that the tower itself is quit stunning. However, being at a tilt; gave it a fun play-house-mirror effect. These combining qualities have easily won it the esteem that it deserves. We took the customary goofy pictures, where we pretended to being holding up the tower.  However, I spent the most of the day there walking up and down the line of merchants, finding my Hank the perfect miniature of the Tower.  It was one of the few things he had asked me to bring back to him (a through back to the Superman 3 movie). I spent most of my day comparing the sizes, price and tilts of the miniatures in order to return to him the perfect trophy.

            In all we spent one week in Italy. Then we traveled to France. I found France to have similar gorgeous countryside and stunning attractions. We took time to marvel at many of these displays. However, the majority of our week in France was spent with an assigned “host” family. The students were split into groups of two and trusted to the surrogates for four days. It was an attempt to teach us about daily life in another country, and at the same time give the chaperones a much needed break. I was paired with an equally shy girl named Angel.  When are bus stopped in Cannes, we were picked up by a grey haired, hearty woman in her mid-50’s. The two of us set in the back seat of her tiny car and politely answered her questions. She took us to an older historical building, and we dragged our suitcases up the three flights of stairs to where she lived.  She spoke rather good English (as most everyone did that we encountered). As we lugged are belongings upward; she explained that we would both be staying in her daughter’s old bedroom. Her daughter had recently moved out, and her husband worked long hours and would not often be seen.

        The apartment was small but effective. It had a suitable living room area that was centered around a floor stand TV, a kitchen with a dining room table stuffed in the midst of the appliances, and two sufficiently sized bedrooms. We dropped our things off in our room and attempted to watch TV. We quickly discovered that the foreign TV was futile to watch without being able to speak French.

        Staying with a host family was a nice change of pace. We had been going from one historical monument to another since I had arrived. There was so much to take in. I was interested and appreciative of each experience. However, they were all starting to run together in my mind. Slowing down for a while gave me a chance to gain perspective. During this time I realized that fundamentally; people are people. There are cultural differences amongst all of us. However, at the core; we all have the same fundamental needs and concerns.

        Our host spent her days chasing after her family, in hopes of holding them together. Each night she would prepare a meal, set it out at the table and we would all join together to eat. Her daughter would be obligated to show up for dinner, and leave shortly after. Her mother was trying to hold onto her; and she was trying to establish her freedom. The father was concerned with finances and supplying his family with the food that we sat around that table and eat. They spoke of politics, friends and fond memories. During the day our host took us grocery shopping. Granted, she bought her provisions at corner stands, instead of a store. However the same requirements were enforced. I don’t know why we as humans tend to concentrate more on what the differences between us; as opposed to the similarities. I have learned that there are more of the latter. The scenery varies, and the dressings evolve; but the core remains unchanged.  We are all spinning around at the same speed; attempting to survive and grow through this journey. When we strip everything down; take away the titles, the labels, and the bias; we are all simply human.

           Two and a half weeks into our trip; we moved onto Spain.  I am not sure if it is because it was our last stop, and the country we spent the least amount of time in. Perhaps it is because time began to deceive me. Either way, Spain is the country that I can currently remember the least of. I only have one distinct memory of Spain. However, it is one that will remain with me for the rest of my life.

        We arrived in a small Spanish village; looking every bit the image you would see on a post card.  Tall, antique buildings of every color imaginable; lay out before us. We began to hike through this town, as if the elaborate architecture was simply a pathway to a more important destination. This path went up; continuously up; as we climbed the hill of cobble streets. We hiked this village in an effort that brought doubt of a worthy destination. For a group of grumbling teenagers and three outnumbered adults, this climb seemed endless.  We complained about the time involved, the effort exerted and the ache experienced. Then, at last we reached our destination; the top of the hill. Standing on that grassy pedestal; I saw one of the most beautiful sights my eyes are ever going to witness. Looking out on an ocean of grassy hilltops; the world weaved up, down and inside of itself. The sun whispered through the clouds and rested in soft rays across the meadows. I observed complete peace. My eyes filled up with tears. I let them fall. I cried honestly and openly and I was proud to do so. It was my gift of thanks for such a moment.  When we had begun this journey at the bottom of the hill; the hill top looked ordinary and un-impressive. We griped through the journey, and worried more about our aching legs then the need to find our way. But once I got to the top of that hill, I found an incredible gift. No matter what happens to me in my life, I will always be able to close my eyes and recall the beauty that I saw on that day.

        Even there; at the threshold of paradise; with the whole world at my feet; there was somewhere else I would rather be. There was one place, only one other place that I would trade for that moment; that is in the arms of my Hank. I knew then that I would trade anything else that this world could offer me; for him.  I don’t know if everyone has a soul mate, but I know that I do. I had found him, and I longed with every part of me to return to him.

        I flew back on July 22nd. My parents picked me up at the airport. They assumed I was the same girl they had dropped off, but I wasn’t that girl anymore. For the first time in my life I knew exactly who I was and what I wanted.

        I loaded my luggage into the back of the car and climbed into the back seat. I was surprised to find Luke (my older brother) sitting next to me. I had not seen him in six months; his 18th birthday when he left to move in with my aunt. As it turns out, she had enough of his antics and passed the “Hot Potato” back to my parents. They begrudgingly picked him up on the way to get me. I had been expecting to be bombarded with questions about the trip and all that I had seen. However my family was strangely quiet. We drove the three hours home, in silence. They were all concerned with the thoughts in their own minds. My parents were obviously unhappy to have to take Luke in. He was obviously equally distraught with his failure to fly. We all passed the miles inside our own minds. The silence did not bother me. I also had a bounty of thoughts that needed organized.

         I had spent the last month dreaming of my love. Now as I finally approached him, I feared that perhaps he was a dream himself. Was my knight in shining armor just a fairy tale? I had built him up so high. How could anyone keep their balance on such a pedestal? I knew it was unrealistic of me to dream so openly. I feared my heart shattering along with the illusion.

        It was far past dark when we finally got home. Blake (my younger brother) had waited up for my return, and we were equally happy to reunite. It was late and I departed to my room. It was larger than I remembered. I laid in my bed as my stomach flipped inside of itself. I was back home; back inside my large bed, next to the closet I used to spend my days hiding in. I waited out the hours because there was nothing else to do. When the sun began to shine again; it became time to see if my dream was really a man.

        Hank called early in the morning to verify my return. He came over shortly after. I watched out my front window as he pulled into my driveway. He stepped out of the van looking every bit the man I had spent my month recalling. My anxiety doubled with every step he drew closer. Unable to take the suspense; I walked out my front door and met him half way. We did not run open armed; as in a predictable romance movie. We tip toed; both cautious and unsure how often the other had reflected on our combined memories. He asked me if I wanted to go to the reservoir. I did.

        When we got there, we climbed the grassy hill to the water’s edge. We looked out at the waves. He had once thrown his watch into these waters in a grand romantic gesture. It had symbolized the lack of control time had upon our love. We stood there now looking out on that water; feeling a lack of control ourselves. Unable to take the suspense any longer; Hank took me into his arms and kissed me. I felt his lips upon mine. His lips, his touch, his scent; I breathed it all in. It was instant. It was exactly what I remembered. His watch sat somewhere on the bottom of that reservoir, and time really did stand still.

        Hank has since described my trip as being the loneliest time of his life. We both suddenly went from feeling complete and blissful to being alone. The difference was, while I was in Europe, he was stuck in Ohio with nothing to do. In the three weeks we had been together, we turned every corner of our town into a landmark, and he could go nowhere without these memories. 

            Hank and I were completely dissolved into one another. My body shook with the need for his touch. I wanted him more than I had ever wanted anything else in my whole life. I wanted him inside of me, but it was not purely sexual need. I wanted our bodies to connect in the same way that our souls already had. It was a need to show the physical manifestation of our love. I wanted him, because I wanted every part of him to consume every part of me, until we were ultimately connected in body and soul.

            As badly as we both yearned for this connection, we did not act on this need. It wasn’t until a year later that we finally conjoined. I was two months shy of my 18th birthday when I finally became a woman.  Hank and I did not rush into our love. Nor did we rush into the need to express our love. We strolled, we did not run. We let our physical needs progress in slow steps, and we took time to enjoy each step that we did take. We did this, largely because I was uncomfortable with my own needs. I was curious, but I was also afraid of my curiosity.  I battled between my sexual urges and my lack of understanding them. Hank was the constant gentleman. He was comfortable with his own body in a way that I had never been. He didn’t shy away from his urges, and never felt ashamed or guilty. Still, he waited for me. He never pushed me, and we continued forth at the same pace. With each stage that we slowly progressed through, there was difficulty in finding my balance. I would be comfortable to a certain line. In a moment of passion and need; I would cross that line. Then I would immediately feel regret and disgrace. The overwhelming feeling of need gave way to an overwhelming feeling of shame. I would often begin to cry because I had not fought back this need.

            Hank would be left with the nearly impossible job of trying to help me become comfortable with my own body. He did so out of love. He did not understand why I denied myself release. But that was what I had been taught. I had yet to accept the notion that sexuality could be liberating. I was stuck in this old fashioned idea that sex was something disgraceful. I let other people’s expectations and tribulations affect the experience that Hank and I shared together. It took me a great deal of time to realize that it is actually something quite beautiful. I slowly became comfortable with each stage that we encountered. Eventually the need to have his hands upon my body, over through the shame I felt in allowing him access.

            When two adults enter in a harmonized sexual experience, both healthy in mind and body, they have the ability to bring each other to complete ecstasy.  I now know that God would not give us the capacity for such an experience and then curse us for appreciating this gift. Under the right circumstances; when not manipulated and deformed; sex can be an expression of love and appreciation.

            It was a year’s time before I felt that I was finally comfortable with making love. We wanted it to be a magical night of dinner, dancing and love. It was painfully cliché, but ultimately we decided it would be prom night. My parents granted me the rare gift of not having a curfew. We would both be dressed in our best, and the night of romance seemed the perfect opportunity.  

             I wore a satin blue strapless dress. I was never much for dresses, but it serviced, and it made Hank smile in a way I had not seen before. It was the first time I had ever seen him in a tux. He was tall, demanding and exquisite; he took my breath away. He didn’t look like all the other boys, playing dress up for the evening. He looked like a man, and I felt like a woman in his arms.

            He brought me the customary corsage, and we took the customary pictures. Our parents gushed, and we allowed them their due delight. However, that night was not about prom for me. I felt like I had already lived many different lives and I didn’t feel as young as I ultimately was. I didn’t feel like a young girl, getting dressed up for a juvenile dance. I instead felt like I was a woman, finally ready for the conformation of my experiences.

            Hank took me to the prom, and we danced. However, neither one of us were entranced by the overstuffed room filled with balloon bouquets and pop music. I was not captivated with that moment. Instead, my mind remained transfixed on the hours yet to come. I could not remember a time when I had ever been so nervous. My hands shook in anticipation of his touch. The crowd, the music, and the balloons all began to feel like a distraction from our real intent. We stayed for some time, and we danced, we tried to put on the charade. Hank wanted me to fully experience my prom, but I was not interested. I did not know these kids, and I had no reason to want to spend my night with them. The only person there that I wanted to spend my night with was Hank, and so we left after just an hour.

            Hank’s parent’s had a large plot of land. Tucked far behind their house, they had a camper placed next to a fire pit. It was a permanent camping spot; meant for late nights of sitting around a camp fire. Robert and I drove to his house and walked quietly out to the camper. We headed inside and he locked the camper door behind us. We were at last alone, and we dropped any charade of being concerned with prom. The couch had already been converted into a bed in anticipation of the evening. Hank asked me how I was feeling; my voice shook with honesty as I answered “scared”. With nothing else to be said, we started kissing. Soft and sweet pecks. His lips tasted as exquisite as they always did. I unzipped the back of my blue satin dress and let in fall to the floor. I stood in my black strapless bra, panties and garter belt. He moved his hands over my waste and moved upward to seize my breasts. My body surged with appreciation.

            In a great effort to not lose control of our resolve; we paused for a moment to relax our hormones. I stepped into the bathroom to apply spermicide. When I returned, Hank was lying on the bed and he had already put on a condom.  I walked over to the bed with the undeniable knowledge that I was going to lose my virginity. I laid next to him, and he pulled a blanket up over us. We kissed for some time, until he climbed on top me. He positioned himself and slowly slid himself into me. The fit was much tighter than I expected, and I could feel him inside of me. I was so nervous that I had trouble concentrating on the pleasure. The knowledge of what we were doing consumed more of my mind than the desire. I lost track of time and space, and eventually we laid naked and wrapped in one another. We held each other for a long time and talked. I was relieved mostly. I had finally had sex, and I had done it with someone that loved.  I was glad to not have to concern myself with the burden of protecting myself anymore. I was completely open to him, and that is what I wanted to be.

            After that night, Hank and I began having sex often. I got myself put on the pill without my parent’s knowledge. The first time was special, since it was my first time. However, once we got more accustomed to do it, I enjoyed it much more. Since nervousness and fear did not consume my thoughts; I was able to relax and enjoy the ecstasy. We were finally able to have fun exploring each other’s bodies, and our own capacity for pleasure.

 

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