Member-only story
I relish those occasional serendipitous, rejuvenating, and life affirming casual encounters.
October 18, 2020
I remember in college, my best friend and I would crash frat parties at the U of W. We’d often disappear into rooms with boys. I didn’t want to have sex. I wanted to wait to have sex. But I liked sex. A lot. Blow jobs seemed a suitable compromise. And I was very good at them.
I remember one party in particular, I disappeared into room with a lovely young frat boy named Dave. I still remember his name. I even remember his last name. E***. Well, I’ll have to edit that out later. I gave him a blow job. That is all. Just a blow job. Then I didn’t see him again.
My father died my senior year of college. The memories I had pushed away came up, it was finally safe. I was able to finally recognize and then articulate a label for what he had done to me: sexual abuse. And it laid me out flat. I graduated college. And went to work. And gained a lot of weight.
A few years later, in my mid-20s, I saw Dave at a party. He saw me and came and stood beside me and stayed standing beside me. Looking back, I see the attraction was genuine. I see myself as he saw me. I might have grown, but I was still that fun young woman that gave good head. I was still funny and bright and easy to be around. I still had a hold on…
