But first, I will show you a site. Click on the thumbnails below. I believe you will be pleasantly surprised.

So, back to your regularly scheduled self-disclosure.

I suppose I shall start at the beginning.

Let's call this girl... Jane. I had known Jane for a few years, off and on. One day, after my first year of university, I got a phone call from her, saying that I hadn't heard from her in such a long time because she decided that she was bisexual, and that she didn't want to freak me out. I said that was silly, that I'm okay with that.

Soon after that phone conversation, I got an email from her. In the email, she told me that she had been in love with me for the past few years, and was working out these feelings. A lot more was said, but she basically just put everything out there, for me to digest. At this point, I had just turned 18. Even though I had originally told her that I was 'okay with that', I never really thought about how it would affect me... and.. "in love"? with me?

I spent the summer in a daze. We had always had a sort of close connection, but I never thought of it as anything other than friendship. But, I have to admit, the prospect of anyone, male or female in love with me, excited me. The fact that she was of the same sex was a secondary issue for me. I knew that if I decided to open myself up to this relationship, that it would have to be a quiet thing. She wasn't out of the closet, and I wasn't sure I was even suppose to be in a closet at all.

By the end of the summer, after many emails and phone calls back and forth, I had told her that I would like to see what happens with this relationship. At that point, I wasn't in love, it just seemed like an exciting prospect. I was flying by the seat of my skirt.

She was, to say the least, surprised. She told me about her feelings because she felt I should know, but she never thought I would reciprocate them. It was the end of the summer, and I was moving into a house with 4 other people. I hadn't told anyone about what happened over the summer. She would drive down to see me as much as she could. We would usually get stoned and talk in my room. She would call me late at night, and we'd talk, or just listen to the radio together for the night. Needless to say, my first term marks for my 2nd year of university were a train wreck.

So, I jumped headlong into this relationship. We'd talk about "the future", we'd write melodramatic poetry to each other. We'd be at parties and stare at each other from across the room. We'd go for drives and hold hands while truckers, who could see us from their perch, would honk at us.

Looking back, I realize that if it was a guy and a girl, this relationship would seem quite wholesome. It would seem like puppy love. Or, first love, at any rate. However, I am, and always have been me, so I began wondering.... what about the sex?

I've always had a very difficult time separating sex from my close relationships. To me, sex is a display of my feelings for someone. So, if I am feeling intimate with someone, I will inevitably want to become intimate with them. Jane was no exception. We were as close as two people could be emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually (or so I thought at the time...). However, we lacked a physical closeness that was, as you may guess, very frustrating to me. We would hold hands, and be close in other ways, but I was anxious to explore this side of my newfound 'heteroflexibility' to its fullest. Looking back, I was not in this relationship for what I identified as 'love'. I was in it for the novelty of it; this was the first time someone expressed strong feelings for me, I wanted to reap all the benefits of those feelings.

She wasn't ready for me. In hindsight, I guess I was probably insensitive about her situation. Here was a gay (she later came out as a lesbian, a step up from the socially safer bisexual) woman, slowly coming out of the closet. On top of this, she was also dealing with mental (and physical) health issues. She was a cutter, she had a long standing battle with depression, and other diagnosed problems that I observed. Of course, she had intimacy issues. Even though she said she was in love with me, when she actually had me, I don't think she quite knew what to do with me.

So, I was patient. Yet a knew this barrier had to be taken down in order for me to stay interested.

One night, we went to visit a friend of hers who was staying in residence (side note: her friend, coincidentally, just happened to be staying in the same room that I lived in the year before). There was the typical dorm shenanigans going on. Then, somehow, we were alone in the room together. I was sitting on the bed, and she was walking around the room, stiff as a board. I remember pushing myself back, so that my back was against the call, and pulled her close to me so that she was sitting with her back to me, between my legs. I wrapped my arms around her, and squeezed. I was cautious, but also keen to see how far she would let me go.

I began massaging her shoulders and her back. I remember that she was wearing a navy blue tshirt, and a dark bra underneath. She was quite the opposite, physically, to me. She was tall, with a lean, athletic build. She had dark hair, and very cold brown eyes. She had a very big smile, and thin, but lovely lips. She had long, sleek fingers, but her hands were always cold.

I pushed myself closer to her, and began kissing her neck, very, very softly. I remember looking out and noticing that the curtains were open. We were on the 1st flood, and I wondered if anyone would see us. She was, surprisingly, receptive to me. She would roll her head to one side or another, her eyes closed, and she would let out small sounds when I'd place my lips on the right spots.

This went on for... 5 minutes? an hour? I don't know. I was too excited to worry about time. Eventually, though, she stood up, visibly shaken. She disclosed to me that that had never really happened to her before.

I later found out that she was prone to anxiety attacks. Anxiety attacks are often cyclical. When you are in the midst of an anxiety attack, your pulse quickens, your breathing increases, and you usually feel flushed. Sometimes, if you are in a situation that mimics these symptoms (say, being sexually aroused), it may bring on an anxiety attack, even though you do not necessarily feel anxious.

As time went on, our relationship climaxed (figuratively speaking), and then began a quick descent. Things turned very ugly, very quickly. After months of having tell me how much in love she was with me, I began to believe it, and probably began to scare her. She eventually told me that could no longer stay in this kind of relationship with me. I, for the lack of a better phrase, turned batshit crazy. I tried my hand at cutting myself (though only really succeeded once because, well, damn, it hurt. Though I still have a scar on my right forearm). One night I took a bottle of Tylenol, and woke up the next morning with Jane in my room, reading my journal, and then running out of me, with me after her, following her car down the street.

After that, I discovered the joys of heterosexual sex. I had met up with a friend I hadn't seen in awhile. I told him of the recent events of my life. We went to a strip club, then ended up in the back seat of Dodge. It was the first blow job I had ever given, poor guy (one word: TEETH).

But that's an entirely different story.



Yikes. That was more difficult to write than I originally had thought. I left out a lot of details, and drama, and characters, but I hope it was entertaining nonetheless.