Above photo taken circa 2011.
P.S. Nothing’s wrong with showin’ a little bit of leg. God, I was so not hot.
Today, in the midst of doing absolutely nothing (and watching Netflix comedy specials), I randomly remembered an event that happened on my 22nd birthday. I woke up to a message. A Facebook message. OoohLala. Who even writes those anymore? I felt special as fuck because normally you just get the barrage of half-assed “Happy Birthday!” with a heart emoji or a cake or whatever. No, I got a message. And, from a boy!
It was from a kid I was sleeping with when I was 16 in high school. He was a German exchange student. I’ll call him “Hot German”. Fitting enough. That’s pretty much how I could describe him. He was like the kind of hot that it was like, not arguable. That dude is sexy, bar-none. No arguments. And, when he arrived, it created like a perfect storm between the girls in the Upper School.
Allow me to weave a tale. Me, Ted, and Miles’ school was very private, secluded, and elitist. Ted’s mom was the principal, too. Which definitely explains why he’s in recovery, poor thing. In the entire “Upper School”, which consisted of grades 9-12, there were maybe 175 students. That’s a quite liberal estimate as well. Ted and I’s graduating class was 43. There are schools in this country with, like, thousands of kids in one grade! That was not the case at our little coven.
So, eleventh grade. I had just turned 16. 16 was, like, a big deal. I saw all those movies. I didn’t get a car but I lost my virginity awkwardly late that summer so, boo ya! I guess…? Either way, toward the end of the previous year, our school posted pictures of students from abroad who’d be coming to visit the following year. Enter: Hot German. Ever see a bunch of teenage girls swoon like a John Mayer song was playing? That was it. Yes, I had a boyfriend, but at that point, Hot German was just a picture. A shitty, photocopied, low-res stock photo. So, I wasn’t that bent out of shape. Until he arrived. My own foreign exchange student, Laura, was staying with me at that point and they came with the same program. I had an “in”. I felt like James motherfuckin’ Bond. Again, I was just gonna look, not touch, feel me? But, that fine motherfucker showed up at my door, the sun hitting him just right so it was like a halo of sexiness illuminating this nigga (who wasn’t even a nigga but still…) and I melted. And it was at that moment. That moment where my inner voice was like, “So, you gonna fuck him.” There was no question about it; it was gonna happen.
And it did. Like, within two months. All over the place. And, I regretted it a bit at that time because A) I cheated on my boyfriend and that’s not cool and B) We had to keep it a secret. Now, the secret aspect of it was sort of the best part for a while. The sneaking around, texting dirty (ok, not even that dirty but 16-year-old-English-as-your-second-language dirty), Skype talks, shit like that. It was for all intents and purposes, an affair. A torrid affair. And, it was pretty fun at the time. I won’t bullshit. Plus, the dick was bomb. It really was.
Fast forward, it’s been six years. And, I get a message.
So, I was blindsided a bit! Whoa. Blast from the past. And, at 4:34 in the morning (which is actually 9 or 10 AM his time I realized)! Of course, he’s back in Germany, I haven’t really thought about him in years, because you know, I’m not a psycho white girl who still stalks the guy she kissed ONE TIME in 6th grade because you know, you never know… No. I’m off it.
But, I responded. We had a little dialogue. I left it at that. It was nice to reminence on my less-than-moral days. And, if given the chance, I’d still smash. Because he’s still pretty hot, not gonna lie. And, I’d like to see if the sex was actually good or I was just 16 and he happened to last for more than 90 seconds and had a decent-sized dick.
Maybe one day, when I’m jet-setting around on the European leg of my best-selling book tour, I’ll stop in Germany and we’ll casually meet up and I’ll be super cool, like wearing a bomb ass outfit with my boobies on point, and I’ll say, “Oh, Hot German, remember all of the shenanigans we got into? Ha! Ha! Oh, how immature we were” (read that with a slightly British accent, if you will. Thanks.) And, he’ll say, “Ja. Zat was zee best sex of my life, I will never experience zee pleasure of a woman like you again”. And, I’ll say, “No, you won’t. Shame.” And, then I fuckin’ bounce! BOOM!
HAHA. Just kidding. In the extremely unlikely event that would ever happen, he’ll have to bring his ass back to America. I’m not trying to go no where near Europe right now. ISIS is acting a damn fool.