Scary Curves

I really didn’t talk to a girl until I was in college.  I wasn’t completely hideous or anythng – well, I was a little too tall and thin and a little self conscious I guess.  I had plenty of guy buddies, but girls – completely terrified of the entire species; and the pretty ones – well, it was a lot safer to look at them in magazines thank you very much. 

They have pretty much classified every possible roadblock to happiness as a medical or physical abnormality (if your mind wanders a little you have A.D.D) – except this.  The term ‘shy’ just doesn’t seem to cut it.    In ninth grade one time I received some very clear signals that a girl liked me; and not just any girl but one who ran with the pretty and popular crowd.  This was way out of my league and a disaster that sent me into full avoidance and denial.  I knew my limitations, this had to blow over and of course it did. 

 Did I spend just about every minute thinking about girls?  Oh yes, and I had a fully active sex life with myself.  My imaginary but highly climactic sensual encounters were with people like Heather Locklear or Jenny McCarthy or Kirstie Alley (the Cheers version – not the DWTS version); pretty much any cutie in tight clothes I might have seen walking by earlier in the day, it didn’t take much.  At-least a couple times a day though privacy could be a challenge.  I didn’t learn to use my hand; I needed to be laying down on a bed, on a towel with the underside of my stick absorbing the friction.  Wondering how amazing it would be if someday I could have unencumbered access to the real thing.  That was way too distant a thought – it was in the too good to be true category.  For now, I could imagine anyone I wanted.  No girl with a tight shirt who crossed my path was safe from being burnt into my memory for an upcoming fantasy.  I went to bed early a lot.


Posted on September 21, 2011, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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