The Love Lagoon (Part 1 of 2)

The Love Lagoon

I’ve always been scared of girls.

The Origin Story

I am too shy to talk to girls first. Perhaps this stems in part from things my older sister did to me when I was in grade school. On separate occasions she told two girls I had crushes on how much I liked them. One of these times I was at a church dinner where the girl was, too. I felt so embarrassed I went to my mother’s car, hid on the floor, and pulled a blanket over myself. As I grew my reactions were perhaps more subtle but nonetheless resulted in the same states of awkwardness and hiding away. I ended up going through many years of life not knowing how to talk to a girl without feeling embarrassed, without blushing if they spoke to me.

Kayla was the first girl to ever give me her number. We were in the sixth grade and I’d had a crush on her for two years. One afternoon in school she told me to call her. That night I sat on my bed, door locked, for ten minutes before I worked up the nerve to ring her. Her younger brother answered which made me even more nervous. I said “Hello,” but when he asked who it was I froze for thirty seconds, then asked him to hold on. I stood up, circled my room, then hung up. The next day at school I didn‘t mention the incident, and she never asked me to call her again.

Later in the sixth grade I ended up dating two different girls, though to call them girlfriends would be a very liberal use of the word. The first girl was Kim. She asked me out via a note. I replied via the note. We didn’t speak a word to the other that day. I hardly ever talked to her in school, and we never spent a single moment alone with during our relationship. We talked a few times on the phone, but only if she called. I broke up with her in November because I didn‘t know what to get her for Christmas. My other “girlfriend,” Krissy, came a few months after Kim. This relationship was even more of a joke than the last. One of her friends asked me out for her. I never spoke a word to Krissy for the entire week that we dated until one night at the ice rink when I had a friend of hers inform her I was calling off the epic whirlwind romance. She yelled at me saying I was an asshole. Even when I had a girlfriend, I still didn’t know how to talk to a girl. Kayla, Kim, Krissy. The silver lining is that I’ve never had another period of my life that I can associate with the initials KKK.

I never kissed any of these girls. I may have held Kim’s hand, but even that might be taking liberties with history. At middle school dances I never asked girls to dance, but every now and then a girl would ask to dance with me. Sometimes we would grind. This is how I discovered erections.

A touching father-son moment:

I was twelve years old. My father, a farmer, and I had driven out to a field in his pickup to test the moisture levels of some wheat. The field was near our house but further than we could walk. After we finished testing the moisture we got back in the dusty old farm pickup that had a rug for a seat cover. Instead of turning the engine he sat looking forward, silent, before facing me. He took in a big breath and then began the first of what would become a lifetime of uncomfortable speeches, saying, “Nolan, we need to talk about something.”

“Yeah dad?”

“Son, I want to put your penis in my mouth.”

That’s not what he really said.  What he said was, “I want to explain to you about what sex is.”

I was embarrassed, and the only thing I could do was nod in affirmation with his statements. The old pickup was so silent during the times he‘d wait for a response, that the seat squeaked when I nodded my head yes.

“Nolan, sex is something that a married man and woman do when they love each other.”

Nod

“A man puts his penis inside a woman’s vagina, and that is when sex happens. They can do it to show their love, or to try make a baby. Some people call sex “screwing” but I don’t like that word, so I don‘t want to hear you saying that ok?”

Nod

He said that he had learned about sex from his friends and he wanted me to learn about it in the right and proper way.

He continued his speech, telling me it was natural to like girls. He touched on the topic of erections, saying “You probably have started to get them, maybe at school dances.” The man knew his stuff. From start to finish the talk was ten minutes, but it’s a ten minutes I still think about a dozen years later. I didn’t even dare look over at him for fear of being the first boy in recorded history to die of embarrassment. When he said everything he wanted to say he drove me over to my cousins’. Right before I got out of he left me with these parting words, “You will probably start to notice hairs growing on your privates soon and maybe in a year we will have another talk like this.” Thank god that talk never came to fruition. As well intentioned as my father’s advice was, I’ve always felt a little scared from then on if we were alone together, afraid he’d want to spring me with another seriously uncomfortable talk about some topic he felt it was his duty to educate his son on. He actually did do this from time to time over the years, but none were ever as bad as that farmer to son sex talk.

Porn Life

Porn scared me. I’d never seen a naked woman except the time I accidentally walked in on my older sister changing, and the times that my mother didn’t know I was around and so walked from the shower to the laundry room with no towel – big nipples and hairy crotch everywhere. I can remember being at my cousins’ or sometimes my friend Sam’s in middle school when someone would get out a porn mag or video from their backpack. If this happened, I’d go into another room, or pretend to be occupied by something like thoughts of furniture. I felt guilty and knew my parents would be ashamed. Though not very strict with religion, we were a Catholic family and porn was an ultimate taboo.

Thankfully I eventually came to my senses and realized the magnetic power of the pussy. At my cousin Kyle’s my boy cousins and I would sit in their parents’ upstairs office, door locked, and pass Playboys around to one another. This was not to get off. I didn‘t even know what that was, it was just an excitement in its own to be looking at these naked girls without knowing exactly why you felt the need to. Knowing you’d be in deep shit if you were caught somehow made it even more thrilling.

During this period of late middle school I had embarrassing fantasies after going to bed for the night. I’d pretend my bed and pillow were a girl, usually Kayla, or whoever I was crushing on. First we’d be at a big rock concert where I wowed the crowd as the lead singer. Then suddenly Kayla and I lay in bed together. I’d make out with my pillow on these nights, pretending different parts were either the lips, cheeks, or neck. I’d rub my body against the bed, trying to create the feeling of someone else being there even though I didn’t know what that actually felt like. I’d talk to the girl pillow, and since I was in complete control of the conversation I always felt confident and said the right things. I didn’t understand girls or sexuality at all, but I craved intimacy and something to quell the raw hormones that had been erupting in me.

We learned in health class that the average male our age would get something like ten erections a day, but I was probably averaging thirty to a thousand. I was a horny farm boy growing up outside of a small town and I’d never been kissed. Who could blame me?

And now, let’s masturbate

An inside joke my friend Nathan and I had in high school was saying “Je vais joue au avec moi.” Rough translation: I am going to go play with myself.

I did not know what masturbation was, so the first time I did it was on accident. One night I decided to find out how big my penis was. I locked myself into my room with a plastic ruler. I knew I had to stimulate myself so using my right hand I rubbed and with my left I put the cold plastic against me to measure. It was hard to get an accurate read because my penis curved like a broken finger, but I believe the final measurement ended up somewhere between one and twenty five inches. I had reached my full length, yet I kept on rubbing because it felt so good, so ticklish. And then I came. Semen ran down my tummy. I freaked. What just happened? I thought I was sick. That there was something seriously wrong with me.

Had a nest of maggots just sprayed out?

Sitting on my bed, staring at my body, cum dripping on my favorite blanket, I wondered if I needed medical attention. I was too scared to tell anybody. I went to the bathroom and cleaned myself. Despite being so freaked out I wanted to jerk off more because it felt incredible. I’d finally found a release valve for my horniness. I did it again, and again, and several thousand more times after that.

Masturbation soon became the main focus of my life.

Fuck school, fuck my parents, fuck God, fuck showers — masturbation was more important than all of them.

We got the internet around the same time that I figured out what onanism was. 14 Year Old Star Trek Geek+Just Having Discovered Masturbation +Internet=A lot of time spent alone.

I found several websites with free naked pictures that changed every day, and several more with live cam feeds. I acclimated to this masturbatory porn life with ease. The fact that the computer was upstairs, far from my parents, and right next to my room did not help any. My method would be to jerk off, peek out the door, and then waddle across the hall to the bathroom with my pants halfway down, my crotch wet. One time I was partway out in the hall, semen everywhere, before I saw my mom reading my little sister a story in my sister’s bedroom across the hall. I had to waddle backwards into the room before I could be spotted and shamed. Once I was jerking off and my mom pounded on the door saying, “Nolan, I‘m coming in.” I had been really close to orgasm, but I zipped my pants up, and ran over to open the door. Unfortunately as I opened it the pressure from my jeans against my crotch was too much and I jizzed in my pants with my mom staring at me. She didn’t know what happened, but this probably isn’t something I’ll want to put on any dating résumé’s under “previous experience.” That was too close of a call. From then on I brought a roll of toilet paper with me into the office that way I could clean up at the source. I convinced myself that no one else knew what I was doing in there for so many hours every day.

The office was a great testing ground of experimentation; I was mixing chemicals like a mad scientist and creating new masturbation formulas every day. At this point I was jerking it three times a day and spent the rest of the day thinking of when I could do it again. I’d go up to my bedroom during commercial breaks, drain one in a minute, wipe up, and return to the TV without having missed any of Freaks and Geeks.

After we got a new computer, my parents installed some software to track what sites their children visited. Not being able to access it regularly, I lost interest in Internet porn and pornography in general. I found out that I enjoyed having fantasies in my head involving girls from school more than watching some AIDS case get fucked stupid.

In the movie Me, Myself, and Irene there is a deleted scene where the main character Charlie warms up a watermelon in the oven, pokes a hole in it, and then fucks it. It was inspiration. I didn’t have a watermelon, but I looked in the fridge and found an apple. Any round fruit should do, right? I warmed it up after carving out a hole into its center. I went into the bathroom and tried poking my dick inside; the hot juices burnt me, but still I tried to fuck that apple into a pile of wet mush. It was uncomfortable, unsexy, and did absolutely nothing.

What else have I fucked, you ask? I had my childhood teddy bear that my parents gave me. Did I stick one to twenty five inches into Mr. Teddy’s guts? Yep.

“Knock knock?”

“Who’s there?”

“Me putting a Hugo’s grocery bag over my penis and trying to suck myself off, but with no success.”

“Oh I see, well was it paper or plastic?”

I also attempted to simulate a vagina by sticking my dick into an empty toilet paper roll. As I shot semen out the other end, not into a girl, but onto the wall, I thought, “Why am I trying to fuck something that people wipe their ass with.”

Is There Something Wrong With Me? The Questions I asked. The things I told myself:

Why don’t I have a girlfriend when every boy around me has had several?  Why can’t I just figure it out?

I feel more isolated and depressed every day; it never gets better. Masturbation is just a distraction from the loneliness of not having a girl in my life.

I have so much anxiety, the longer it goes on the more impossible it feels to approach girls.

Do people only see what is wrong with me, the dork? Am I ever going to figure out a way to let people know something besides my shyness? Am I just too weird?

It’s hard to go to school in the morning. I wake up and stay in bed as long as possible. I hug my pillows. I don’t want to go out there.

I’m so alone.

GILFS:  Like a MILF, but instead with grandmas.

What you need to know:

Scientific Fact from the Junior Science League Reference Book:

GILFs are natures #1 cause of massive attack erections.

OK so GILFs.  Have you ever been at the local bingo hall and seen a fine honey over 60 bending over to pick up her dentures? Yeah that’s what we call a GILF. Check for them at your local grocery store.

Recipe for GILFling Pie:

One cup Joan Rivers

One half pint of Martha Stewart

A pinch of the GILF I met in church the other day

Roll in flour

Fake bake at 25 degrees on a non stick cookie sheet for 45 minutes to one hour

Lap it up.

I don’t know how I got into GILF’s. When I became interested in them in high school, I did so as a sort of joke — but they became legitimately sexy. Once I was at a casino and when a pretty damn good looking lady around sixty five sat down next to me, I chatted her up, hoping that it would lead to some lever pulling back in her room.

Do I fantasize about women who are inappropriate for me because knowing I never had a chance is easier than facing rejection? Would they take me or would they reject me too?

Rejection I’m sure.

Quitting Time

He always quits early on the job

I’m the one in charge, I decide when he’s done

He does this too often

I think I have to let him go

I see him hunched naked in front of the mirror

“Stand at attention old boy”

I put the revolver to my crotch

“You’re fired”

*Click*

Would I ever blow off my penis?

No, I need all the length I can get.

High School Life

I thought that moving from my small school, where I’d always known the same girls, into a big school with new people would help me get a girlfriend. But I had a fundamental misconception of what was cool with girls and still didn‘t know how to talk to them or socialize in general. I was a Star Trek nerd, did not have many friends, was chubby, wore hideous glasses, and was dressed by my mother (jeans that were preparing me for the flood, t-shirts that advertised Tony‘s Pizza). I spent a lot of my time sitting in the library, avoiding people, and roaming the halls by myself. If I saw girls from my classes I would either turn down a new hall or look at the ground as I went by them, too shy to even say hi.

I’d hear guys or girls talk about how excited they were to be dating someone, only to dump that person a week later for someone new. I felt angry at the people who claimed to be devastated by someone that had dumped them, only to be in another “serious” relationship soon after. How could they complain?

Honestly I felt happy if I could even get one or two girls a year to notice me.

Also during this time I started frequenting pawn shops with my friends, who didn’t have girlfriends either, and bought hundreds of movies and CDs. Movies were my way of staving off loneliness back then. I fell asleep most nights watching some bad comedy, trying to not think about my life. But I eventually grew tired of this and came back to that feeling of wanting a girl.

My first big time high school crush was on this beautiful black girl I met my freshman year. We chatted over MSN all the time (knew each other through mutual friends). She thought I was funny, but despite having English together I always avoided her in real life, and we ended up not talking after freshman year. Although I could be smooth and cool on the internet, I still clammed up and had little to say in real life. After things with her fell apart I felt that I was some inconsequential loser who would spend his whole life watching movies at three in the morning, alone, jerking off and groping his pillow. Despite how flimsy our friendship was, she was one of only about two girls that I could even claim to be semi close to in high school.

An almost revival of our friendship happened senior year, and even though I was a little more confident in real life, I was still too scared and embarrassed to talk to her on a regular basis. At one point I was so pathetic that I forced my younger sister to show me e-mails the girl had sent her. The two of them became friends; my sister even had the girl over to our house and went to her graduation party.

The time she came over I did not know beforehand, and answered the door wearing my boxers and a too small Radiohead shirt, at eleven at night. I felt like a dipshit.

After her I started to think about the kind of girls I’m attracted to. Fucked up.  Broken noses. Gap teeth. Weird. Smart but innocent. Well dressed. Old. Already pregnant. More confident than myself. Independent. Anyone who would take me.

Then my senior year of high school I finally got a girlfriend.

——————————————————————————————————————-

Part 2 can be found here: Love Lagoon Part 2

One thought on “The Love Lagoon (Part 1 of 2)

  1. You’re seriously awesome!

    When a married man & married woman love each other!!! ha ha ha ha ha!!!!

    When I was a kid, I was led to believe by my Catholic raisers that every girl was born with a baby in her (so I felt special) and when she got married – only then – it came out. The other girls at school laughed their fucken arses off, when I told them what I knew about it all.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s