The first time I spent the night over at a boy’s house it was the summer after my graduation from high school. The boy’s name was Collin and we had been friends for a few years prior. The two of us were hanging out with a large group at his dad’s apartment and as it got later, one by one, each member of the group left. Around 2 AM it was just us. We talked alone for a long time, sitting on his bed until he eventually looked at the clock, noted how late it was and said
“Hey you could just crash here for tonight if you want. My dad is out of town so…”
My stomach lurched. I’d had a crush on Collin for over three years, a pathetically long time. Sophomore year I had literally tricked him into becoming my friend by claiming I had bad eyesight so I could sit next to him in the front row. For the next few years I kept forcing my presence on him until he had no choice but to enjoy my company. Collin had just always fascinated me. He was the type of boy people assumed rode motorcycles when in reality screamed when he saw spiders. He read classic literature for fun and listened to Morrissey. How could I not want to kiss his face?
I swallowed.
“Yeah sure”
So I called my parents and told them I was sleeping over at a girlfriend’s house. I then proceeded to curl up next to Collin in his king sized bed, hyperventilating the entire time and thanking God that the stars had aligned to put me in this situation. I was young, almost completely inexperienced with sex, and lying next to my crush of three years. It was thirty minutes before I worked up the nerve to rest my head on his shoulder. Things moved relatively quickly from there.
He kissed me by gently cupping my chin and looking into my eyes, which made me feel like I was in a John Hughes movie. We made out for about five hours until my parents texted me that I needed to come home. He groaned and kissed me all the way to the door. Before I left he played with the seam of my panties and told me I was a “great friend”.
I don’t know what I was expecting. It was obvious what he was.
The rest of the summer unraveled extremely quickly. Because the two of us were a part of a group of friends that consisted entirely of boys (excluding me), I made the decision to keep our “thing” a secret. I was very hyper aware of my situation as the only girl in the group and did not in any way want to be viewed as a sexual object or as just another girlfriend. The element of secrecy intensified the entire experience I had thrown myself into.
Collin and I made it clear that our “thing” was to remain in a friends-with-benefits relationship only. I agreed to this mostly because I wanted to make out with him. But being in this relationship meant we (mostly he) were free to make out with other people. In the beginning of our relationship I had giddily told him I didn’t care if he kissed other girls. I think I had believed he wouldn’t want to, that maybe he really did like me also, or that (even more foolishly) I didn’t like him as much as I did. I wasn’t concerned that I’d get hurt. We were just having fun.
But Collin got the better of me. Because we were such good friends he felt completely comfortable telling me about all the girls he was going to ask out, how dates with them had gone, and which ones he wanted to fuck. The majority of these conversations took place while I lay topless on his bed looking at him with a contained expression. “He might like me” was now replaced with “at least he trusts me” and so I let myself be consoled by this thought when he kissed me and undid his belt buckle.
I had broken the scared rule of being in a FWB relationship. I liked the boy. I’d known I’d liked him all along which shouldn’t even be considered breaking the rules, it should just be considered being stupid. As the weeks passed I became more and more distraught by the idea of Collin with anyone else but me. I would wait by my cellphone pleading for him to text me first. I was moody and constantly snapping at people. I even wrote some really bad poetry about him, which I still have. Looking back it was all very pathetic and dramatic, but at the time it meant the world to me.
Collin left for college two weeks before me. Now he never texts and never calls. Perhaps what is more important is that I don’t really care too much. The glamor of my blossoming life in Boston and the excitement of new people eventually captivated me, so that I wasn’t so heart broken when my phone informed me I had no new texts from him. Other boys’ names have replaced Collin’s now. A few days ago on Facebook I saw a notifications saying he had a new girlfriend and I felt absolutely nothing. Something that had hurt so much before now makes me shrug. I guess that’s what growing up does to you.
The Collin Experience was a very in-the-moment and reckless decision in my life. He made me feel excited, enraged, and insecure. I wouldn’t go back and change that though. I think I needed that experience to show me what I really wanted in a partner (loyalty, for starters). I just wish I’d ben smarter about Collin.
“Hey you could just crash here for tonight if you want. My dad is out of town so…”
My stomach lurched. I’d had a crush on Collin for over three years, a pathetically long time. Sophomore year I had literally tricked him into becoming my friend by claiming I had bad eyesight so I could sit next to him in the front row. For the next few years I kept forcing my presence on him until he had no choice but to enjoy my company. Collin had just always fascinated me. He was the type of boy people assumed rode motorcycles when in reality screamed when he saw spiders. He read classic literature for fun and listened to Morrissey. How could I not want to kiss his face?
I swallowed.
“Yeah sure”
So I called my parents and told them I was sleeping over at a girlfriend’s house. I then proceeded to curl up next to Collin in his king sized bed, hyperventilating the entire time and thanking God that the stars had aligned to put me in this situation. I was young, almost completely inexperienced with sex, and lying next to my crush of three years. It was thirty minutes before I worked up the nerve to rest my head on his shoulder. Things moved relatively quickly from there.
He kissed me by gently cupping my chin and looking into my eyes, which made me feel like I was in a John Hughes movie. We made out for about five hours until my parents texted me that I needed to come home. He groaned and kissed me all the way to the door. Before I left he played with the seam of my panties and told me I was a “great friend”.
I don’t know what I was expecting. It was obvious what he was.
The rest of the summer unraveled extremely quickly. Because the two of us were a part of a group of friends that consisted entirely of boys (excluding me), I made the decision to keep our “thing” a secret. I was very hyper aware of my situation as the only girl in the group and did not in any way want to be viewed as a sexual object or as just another girlfriend. The element of secrecy intensified the entire experience I had thrown myself into.
Collin and I made it clear that our “thing” was to remain in a friends-with-benefits relationship only. I agreed to this mostly because I wanted to make out with him. But being in this relationship meant we (mostly he) were free to make out with other people. In the beginning of our relationship I had giddily told him I didn’t care if he kissed other girls. I think I had believed he wouldn’t want to, that maybe he really did like me also, or that (even more foolishly) I didn’t like him as much as I did. I wasn’t concerned that I’d get hurt. We were just having fun.
But Collin got the better of me. Because we were such good friends he felt completely comfortable telling me about all the girls he was going to ask out, how dates with them had gone, and which ones he wanted to fuck. The majority of these conversations took place while I lay topless on his bed looking at him with a contained expression. “He might like me” was now replaced with “at least he trusts me” and so I let myself be consoled by this thought when he kissed me and undid his belt buckle.
I had broken the scared rule of being in a FWB relationship. I liked the boy. I’d known I’d liked him all along which shouldn’t even be considered breaking the rules, it should just be considered being stupid. As the weeks passed I became more and more distraught by the idea of Collin with anyone else but me. I would wait by my cellphone pleading for him to text me first. I was moody and constantly snapping at people. I even wrote some really bad poetry about him, which I still have. Looking back it was all very pathetic and dramatic, but at the time it meant the world to me.
Collin left for college two weeks before me. Now he never texts and never calls. Perhaps what is more important is that I don’t really care too much. The glamor of my blossoming life in Boston and the excitement of new people eventually captivated me, so that I wasn’t so heart broken when my phone informed me I had no new texts from him. Other boys’ names have replaced Collin’s now. A few days ago on Facebook I saw a notifications saying he had a new girlfriend and I felt absolutely nothing. Something that had hurt so much before now makes me shrug. I guess that’s what growing up does to you.
The Collin Experience was a very in-the-moment and reckless decision in my life. He made me feel excited, enraged, and insecure. I wouldn’t go back and change that though. I think I needed that experience to show me what I really wanted in a partner (loyalty, for starters). I just wish I’d ben smarter about Collin.