“And you are….” he went on.
“Sorry, I’m Mischa.”
He smiled. “And you’re obsessed… with what?”
I glanced down at my shirt. “With everything,” I said playfully. He had no clue. “With you now,” I added. “You’re my newest obsession.” The words shocked me — it wasn’t like me to flirt at all. And despite the fact that it seemed like I was joking, I knew I was deadly serious. I was already obsessed with him.
Luckily, the feeling was mutual. We ended up hanging out, and all getting a little drunk. I was happy and tipsy when he walked me back to Charlie’s — I was sleeping over at her place. After that, we were inseparable. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that he was extremely sensitive, that he was smart and loved books as much as I did, and that he wrote all his beautiful songs himself. And also, that he was a great cook. His Italian grandmother had taught him to cook when he was younger as she was his primary caretaker when his parents worked — both his parents were teachers.
We’d only been together two weeks, and I already knew he was the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with.
Now, as I stare at Brian’s browser history, it feels like a dagger to the heart when I see that just yesterday, he stalked her Facebook page again. Could they really be involved? There’s no indication of a relationship. He’s always with us… he does work late occasionally, and by late, I mean six or seven. Could they be having their trysts then?
Or maybe he just likes to watch her online. He’s as obsessed with her as I am. Perhaps she doesn’t even know he exists. For some reason, she doesn’t strike me as a little whore. It could be very innocent — just a middle aged man indulging in a common fantasy — the chaste school girl. I know for a fact that’s exactly Brian’s type. I think it’s one of the things he liked about me when we first met, the fact that I was sweet and innocent, still a virgin.
Our first time wasn’t quite as I had envisioned. For months, Brian and I just kissed and fooled around. We would often lay together on the pink ruffled silk bedspread of my twin bed. The bedside lamp was always on, my family often gone for the night, soft music on the radio, perhaps my favorite album, possibly Alanis’Jagged Little Pill.
I knew my first time would be with Brian, I just didn’t know exactly when it would happen, when I would be ready. He was patient with me, despite the fact that he knew how great sex could be. He’d already had it with two ex-girlfriends, girls who were no longer part of his life, he assured me.
I was a little scared of sex. It wasn’t only all the STD and pregnancy fears I’d learned about in health class, but it was the actual act of it. I’d heard that it would hurt the first time. Every time, we got anywhere close to having sex, I’d tense up. Thankfully, Brian was always very understanding.
We did almost everything else. At first, we’d kiss and explore and dry hump. We could easily bring each other to climax this way. Eventually, we both wanted more. We moved on to mutual masturbation and oral sex. When he first explored me with his tongue, I was forever lost to him. It felt so amazing, and the orgasm he gave me the first time was better than any other one I’d had before. I quickly learned to perfect my blow job skills, even going as far as reading an article inCosmopolitan. I wanted to be the perfect girlfriend.
We were together for six months, and we still hadn’t had intercourse. I didn’t feel rushed or pressured. I still wasn’t ready.
Until…
We had gone camping with friends on Memorial Day weekend, a little secluded spot at one of the state parks. I don’t even remember the name of it. I do remember the red tent we shared, the ripped faded jeans he wore, the red sweats I ripped up running in the woods. I remember the taste of beer on his lips, the feel of his unshaven beard on my skin.
I’ve never been much of a drinker, but I’d had my share of colorful coolers that night. I was feeling good, loose… flirty. Brian’s buddy, Danny, was sweet on me, and I knew it. He was cute, not as attractive as Brian of course, but cute enough; a blonde fringe fell over his blue eyes, and he wore a Superman t-shirt. There was something nerdy about him, and I could relate to him more than to any of Brian’s other friends. We often chatted and laughed.
I sat next to him at the campfire, and leaned lazily against him as Brian strummed the guitar, entertaining the small crowd with his beautiful songs. I’m not sure why exactly, but Danny thought I’d look cute with braids, so he took the liberty of braiding my hair. I looked like a dark haired Pippi Longstocking. We laughed. We were having a grand old time.
Until Brian ruined it.
He tore me away from Danny, and told me I’d had enough to drink, that I should get to bed. He dragged me to our tent, holding me by the arm. He didn’t exactly force me in there, but almost. I was livid. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“You’re drunk, Mischa. You don’t drink much, and you should be careful.”
“Who are you? My dad?”
“Well, since you don’t have one to look after you… yeah, I kind of am.”
That was a low blow. He knew how I felt about not having a father. I was broken up about it. And to this day, I’m convinced it’s part of the reason I’m so messed up. All my therapists have been in full agreement.
I pushed him with all my might, and he tumbled on our air mattress. Brian is a good head taller than me and about fifty pounds heavier, so that was quite the feat. “Stop bossing me around,” I snapped and dashed out of the tent.
He ran after me of course. As soon as I reached Danny who was standing by the fire, I pulled him down to me and planted my mouth on his. For a split second, he froze, but next thing you know, our tongues were a tangled mess.
Brian pulled me off him. “Mischa, you’re drunk.”
I realized that he was right. Iwasdrunk. I let him drag me to our tent again. As soon as I got inside, I pulled him to me and kissed him. He pushed me away. “You wanna fuck me, Brian?” I purred. “You can have me now… I’m ready.” I tried to kiss him again but he pushed me away a second time.
“No, you’re drunk.”
I felt hurt and rejected. Ugly even. I slapped him and fell down on the mattress. He stayed with me all night, making sure I was okay, that I didn’t choke on my own vomit. Funny enough, I didn’t vomit at all — I’ve always had a strong stomach.
The next morning, he was still by my side. I felt groggy and had a headache. He smiled at me. “Feeling better, sweetie?”
