Growing a Pair, Part Two

I’d like to just leave a list right here of all the awkward from hanging with the guy from Ivy University:

When I got to his place, the door was sort of propped open and I knocked to find him sort of just standing in the middle of the room with his shirt off. He just started apologizing and getting dressed and I stood in the foyer laughing hysterically while he tried to explain that it was really hot in there and he had not gotten my text that I was outside.
He kind of awkwardly apologized for my random crisis that I had when he found me. And then, for the first time ever, I saw my tumblr on somebody else’s computer. Which was really strange.
He very graciously allowed me to look at his knives and then I very awkwardly accidentally cut my finger on one. So, uh, yeah, things usually get uncomfortable once somebody starts bleeding.
He, out of nowhere, guessed with perfect accuracy the third location in this post. And then jokingly complained that now he wasn’t going to be able to go over there without it being a “blowjob place, gross”.
He figured out who Byron and Blue were. He knows them. And when he put two and two together, his face was a mixture of the expressions one might have if a) you find out Santa isn’t real and b) you find out Mark Wahlberg used to be Marky Mark. Like, the two of those blended together.
We wound up chilling for a little bit with one of my other friends and I was telling her something that wasn’t sexual had been mentioned on this tumblr and he was like, “oh, yeah, you said…” and I sort of gave him the glare from hell because I was super paranoid.
He handmade this really awesome flogger and since I’m a huge fan of DIY and being a bitch, I asked to see it in action. He let me hit him first which honestly consisted of me flailing the thing in his direction, freaking out, and then saying I wanted to do it the “kink.com” way. Which was basically just me, once again, flailing the thing in his direction and freaking out.

Growing a Pair, Part One

So, I paid a visit over to Ivy University the other day. I have been talking to the guy from my school who found my tumblr and he informed me that he would be in town. We’ve discovered we have a bunch of mutual friends so I figured I may as well get to know him.

This turned into possibly one of the most uncomfortably fun afternoons I can think of.

And, yeah, whatever. I got flogged. But it was purely academic. I swear. Just let me explain.

A Brief Tangent

I’m not sure if platonic love necessarily has a place on this tumblr, but it’s making a guest appearance tonight.

This evening, I got together with one of my best friends. He and I have known each other since we were very young. We’ve been through a lot together, watched each other grow and mature, experienced some crazy highs and major lows.

While we were catching up earlier on, he kept being playfully critical. He would raise his eyebrows at something I’d say before immediately dissolving into laughter. I would tell him I wanted him to guess something and he would refuse just to get a rise out of me. And so when he told me he wanted to show me a view he found but needed me to read directions, I was snippy back.

“Oh?” I replied, “now I’m suddenly useful to you?“

He laughed and started to drive. “You’re beautiful and you mean the world to me. Now tell me where I’m going.”

We drove until we reached a lot, where he parked his car and we started walking towards the woods. “Shit,“ I announced, “I have to pee.” I looked around before shrugging, “I’ll just do it in the woods.“

He grinned. He had been doing a stupid thing in the car where he now was overcompensating and delivering all sorts of stupid platitudes to make up for his previous infractions. “I like that you’re the kind of girl who can just pee in the woods.”

Once we were away from the road, I made him turn around, reached up my dress, took off my underwear and crouched. Just then, I saw the lights of a car in the darkness and freaked out.

“There’s a road over there,” he explained, “they can’t see you. Don’t tell me you’re getting piss shy.“ He continued to heckle me until I had handled my business, replaced my underwear, and joined him.

The woods got steep fast and I was hardly prepared, wearing a sundress and flip flops. After using branches to haul myself up, I joined him at the top. As we were technically trespassing, we kept fairly quiet as we neared the edge and looked down.

Before us was a view absolutely indescribable. Lights, buildings we’d known since we were young, even little towns sprawled out across the landscape, the rush of cars over a bridge.

I looked over to my friend and realized in how much I enjoyed sharing this view with him how much I loved him. Not in a pitter-patter way or an easily just infatuation way or a soul mate sort of way. It was more a deep appreciation for him as a person, for what he has meant to me and for what we have been to each other.

I think society does not place enough emphasis on platonic love in an overt sense. We’re quick to say we love this and that, describing anything from a flavor of ice cream to the demeanor of a reality television star, but the idea of a “great love” always seems to center on a typical romantic relationship. There’s such a trope of “loving your best friend until it becomes romantic". Aside from an occasional reference, such as the scene in Superbad where the boys declare their love for each other after their grand adventure (a scene mostly intended for comedic effect), we don’t really see the love of friends glorified in comparison to the love of a significant other.

Maybe I’m just rambling. But it got me thinking what it really means when I say I “love" a person in my life and how deep that love actually goes. It’s an astoundingly profound thing whose power, unfortunately, is often downplayed in the wake of the celebration of romantic love.

After the date from hell, I met up with a few friends to have a very necessary kiki.

We got an awesome dinner, had some drinks, and wound up laughing and gossiping in no time. I told them about my horrible date and we spent the evening joking about all the awful people we’d gone out with.

What started as the picture above quickly turned into this:

The party last night was a little bit awkward. I didn’t know many of the other people besides the hostess and soon found they were pretty flat company. So I had a bit to drink then politely excused myself after a few hours and found a text on my phone from my best friend from home about the events with Elle and SG, asking if I needed to talk.

She picked me up, got me a coffee to help me sober up a bit and instead we wound up driving around, yelling and laughing about everything we probably shouldn’t be talking about. She’s kinky like I am and has even less of a filter. It makes for some pretty interesting conversation.

I told her about Switch and we had a good laugh over both exploring our dominant sides lately, she with her new boyfriend.

“I’m not going to lie to you, I’ve shaved his ass,” she told me, completely deadpan. I nearly spat out half of my coffee into my lap, I couldn’t stop laughing the rest of the ride.

For all the healing venting can accomplish, sometimes senseless laughter is the best medicine.

Too Close

Sometimes, not all the “sexy” stuff I do is completely productive. I’m sorry to interrupt my stories about Switch to talk about the difference between the things I want and the things I should have.

Last night, I went out with a few friends. I am currently back in town for some things I need to do for my research and other miscellaneous chores, so I am staying at Switch’s place. He had some paperwork to do for his job that’s starting soon (yes, he just recently graduated Ivy University and will be moving away soon) and so he sent me off and told me to just text him when I was on my way home.

Among the people out with me was my future roommate. She and I have been friends since freshman year. To be honest, when I first met her, I was sort of really into her. But, seeing the types of guys and girls she was into, I assumed she wouldn’t be into me and pursued what turned out to be a really great friendship.

Except, last night, she was dancing all over me. She took her shirt off on the dance floor and tried to get me to do same. She kept sneaking touches, grabs, smirks. She’d barely had anything to drink and she isn’t on any level a lightweight.

For weeks she had been claiming that us living together could be a disaster. Jokingly, to our friends. Now, we were dancing close, intimately. She was whispering things in my ear, how hot I was, how she wanted to be on top of me. We danced like that for a while. We touched, we spoke volumes with our eyes when we couldn’t hear over the music, she bit my shoulder gently, kissed my neck.

“I want to kiss you,” I said during a lull in the music. It sounded stupid, but the whole situation was strange. I was going to be living with her next year. We were teetering in a threshold.

She shook her head, “we shouldn’t. We should hold off on this.”

When the night ended, she offered to walk me back to Switch’s place. Instead, I went on my own, texting him before I left. It was pissing rain outside and by the time I got home I was soaked, my calves caked in mud.

“Did you fall or something?” he asked when I came in, gesturing to my legs.

I shook my head, “just had to wade to get here.” And then, in a drunken entendre, I added, “I’m dirty. Can we take a shower?”

He turned on the hot water and put me in the shower with him. I tried to stay present when he washed me off, but my head was elsewhere. I couldn’t stop thinking about her when I was in bed with him afterwards and we had our hands all over each other.

He didn’t seem to notice the bite mark on my shoulder. I guess he assumed he put it there himself.

The issue isn’t with Switch, really. He and I aren’t monogamous. It’s the fact that now I can’t shake the thought of her, that I have to live with her with this lingering between us, that apparently she has some stuff for me, too.

And, so, I don’t know, tumblr. I can’t tell our friends because I don’t want any drama. So, I figured I’d just put this stupid longing here.

My mother came to visit for the day yesterday. I was so, so happy to see her and we wound up having a fabulous time. It was fun to show her around everywhere while my friends and everyone else was around and I didn’t have a lot of work to worry about. It was great to just give her a day and not have to think about other stuff.

We wound up having dinner with my friends at my frat. She loved everyone, everyone loved her, and I honestly miss her already. It was great to be approached for the rest of the night after she left while I was out and have people tell me they loved meeting my mother.

A funny moment at dinner was when I caught my mother checking out that guy from my frat and she nudged me and said, “well, look at the body on that guy. Do you know him?” I blushed and looked down into my plate. She laughed, “nicely done, Ivy.”

Shipping

Me: I think I am just about done with that guy from my frat. He just took a random girl home, he’s been sending way too many mixed signals, he’s also getting more and more ambiguous about his girlfriend…
My friend: No. NO. You can’t do that.
Me: Why not?
My friend: Because if this were a fanfic, I’d ship you guys. I’d ship you all day.
Me: Oh my God, stop it.
My friend: Listen, I was a dorky guy when I was a kid. But [a Brangelina-type mix of my and his name] is just too good.
Me: You definitely came up with that way too fast.
My friend: It’s a really good ship and you can’t mess with it.
Me: I can’t believe we’re having this conversation right now.

Clearly, senior year is going to be fabulous.

My future roommate and I cemented where we’re living next year today. It’s really lovely, in a great location and the common space is wonderful. While we were walking around and roughly planning what we’d do with the place, the heels on my shoes kept clacking on the wood floor.
.
My Roommate: How do you just walk around in those?
Me: I’m so short I’ve gotten used to it out of necessity. And I used to dance, so I’m sort of accustomed to being on my toes.
My Roommate: Oh, it’s like me on my knees…

On the subject of weddings (my gosh I cannot believe how many of you I actually had going):

While out last night, my friend and I agreed that if we’re both single when we’re forty, we are getting married. He is totally and completely into men. While his personality is great for me as a friend, it’s not the type of personality I’d want to be with at all. However, we’d probably be great domestic partners.

The conversation then sort of went: “Well, do you want kids?” “Yeah, I think I would.” “I think you’d be a great mother.” “We wouldn’t even have to have sex if you didn’t want to.” “That’s very considerate of you."

I’d like to imagine our reception would look like this. Because we’re really classy people.