Girl loosing the Virginity
Sex Stories
2012-06-06
Between my excessive love of eyeliner, his vintage band t-shirts, and our matching giant headphones, we were a pair made in alterna-heaven. Dylan was a year ahead of me in our small private school, and quietly mysterious. He was my indie hero in a sea of Lacoste polos and Lilly Pulitzer dresses. We made eyes at each other from across the room at play rehearsals and lit-mag meetings, but we knew each other only from afar, until a literary-magazine convention one weekend at Columbia. After a late-night talk on the train back to New York, we began a month-long courtship via the written word. He wrote me cryptic emails, I wrote him poems. We barely spoke in public but shared our deepest secrets over email. On my sixteenth birthday, Dylan took me out to the park and confessed that he was in love with me. We knew were soulmates. We were in love utterly, completely, disgustingly, like only artsy theater kids could be. We knew in our hearts, or maybe our libidos, that we would be together forever. For some reason we thought we had to keep our burgeoning romance a secret, because we were both in prominent roles of the school play and we thought it would be a conflict of interest. Since we kept missing cues due to our frantic hookups backstage, it didn't stay hidden for long. We talked about having sex the same way we did everything else: in the high-stakes terms of teenage Shakespeareans. We planned the moment in excruciating detail. I made sure to brush up on internet porn.
2012-06-06
Between my excessive love of eyeliner, his vintage band t-shirts, and our matching giant headphones, we were a pair made in alterna-heaven. Dylan was a year ahead of me in our small private school, and quietly mysterious. He was my indie hero in a sea of Lacoste polos and Lilly Pulitzer dresses. We made eyes at each other from across the room at play rehearsals and lit-mag meetings, but we knew each other only from afar, until a literary-magazine convention one weekend at Columbia. After a late-night talk on the train back to New York, we began a month-long courtship via the written word. He wrote me cryptic emails, I wrote him poems. We barely spoke in public but shared our deepest secrets over email. On my sixteenth birthday, Dylan took me out to the park and confessed that he was in love with me. We knew were soulmates. We were in love utterly, completely, disgustingly, like only artsy theater kids could be. We knew in our hearts, or maybe our libidos, that we would be together forever. For some reason we thought we had to keep our burgeoning romance a secret, because we were both in prominent roles of the school play and we thought it would be a conflict of interest. Since we kept missing cues due to our frantic hookups backstage, it didn't stay hidden for long. We talked about having sex the same way we did everything else: in the high-stakes terms of teenage Shakespeareans. We planned the moment in excruciating detail. I made sure to brush up on internet porn.