And it was. She walked down the hallway, turned to face me and very bitchily and loudly said, “Ahhh… you forgot about me.” She stood there and stared at me, while we all looked at her… all kind of frozen for a really long, awkward moment. And then she turned around and stomped back up the stairs.
I kinda looked at the guys and they took the cue, packed up their stuff, and headed out through the basement door. I said goodnight, took a big breath, and headed upstairs.
She was sitting up in bed, arms crossed. I rolled my eyes in my mind. I’d just had enough.
I told her I felt trapped and that this just wasn’t working. I don’t know. A bunch of other BS. She immediately switched gears from being angry to begging me not to end it. That she’ll change. That we can both work on stuff. “Let’s fight for us,” blahblahblah.
She was crying really hard. She knew there was nothing she could say. There was nothing more I wanted to say. I just walked out of the room. I didn’t ask her to leave. It was like 1am. I walked back downstairs and went to bed and assumed she’d be gone in the morning.
And then she came down again, and kind of quietly sat next to me as we all continued to play. It was… guy time. We wanted to swear and rip ass and have no filter. But you could tell everyone had kind of moved from R-rated to PG. It was just dampering the guy time.
So I said something about how she should head up to bed because it was late and that I’d come up to say goodnight at the end of the game we were in the middle of. She went upstairs and seemed cool enough with it.
The game ended, and then we started another. And another. Aaaand I totally forgot about Stacy. Which yes, it was my fault. But she was impeding on the friend time that I specifically told her was going to be happening that night.
Something like an hour had passed, and then I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Oh fuck. It was Stacy. I forgot about her.
One weekend, it all came to a head. It was something like a month into summer break, late June or July. I had told Stacy that it was a bad weekend to come stay with me, as I was having some guys over and we planned to hide in the basement until late in the night playing video games together. Just… being dudes.
She complained about how this was her first weekend in a long time where she didn’t have to work. That her family is driving her crazy. She said she’d come over, but when my friends showed up she’d just retire to the guest room and read and go to sleep. I knew her better than that, and knew that was total bullshit, but stupid 19-year-old Owen gave in. I let her come down to stay.
So that night the guys showed up, as planned. But she did not stay up in her room, as planned. She came down multiple times talk and hang out with us. Like ok, coming down once to say “hi” to the boys was cool. We were competing against each other in these video games and couldn’t pause the game, but all the guys were really nice and polite and answered her questions, looking away from the TV for a second to act kind of interested. She pleasantly took the hint and headed back upstairs, only to come back a half hour later because she just HAD to tell me this and that and the other thing.
Nine months into our relationship was the start of summer break. It was the first time I really noticed I was feeling trapped. Just like at school, she was always around. I think she came to my parents’ place and slept in the guest bed more days than she was at home sleeping in her own bed. Which I understood, because her family is a bunch of freaks.
But, summer was different than the school year for me. I was coming home to 3-4 really really close guy friends, all of whom were single, and guys I’d known since 5th grade. They didn’t understand me needing to split so much time off for Stacy. It was always poorly received. And then, when I was with her, I’d be bummed that I wasn’t with them… they were probably playing poker or sitting in someone’s basement playing some 2-on-2 Halo 2 or something. And I was on my parents’ couch with Stacy. Blah.
Things just kind of plugged along for a while. We went back to school to start second semester. We continued to have sex, but not a ton, as we obviously both had roommates. It was actually pretty lame. We had a system down where we knew this roommate or that roommate’s class schedule, and we basically had a schedule of when we could have sex. It was usually in her dorm and it was usually on the couch.
We did mix it up at times, though. At night, when most people were asleep in their rooms, we’d sneak down to the basement of the dorms where they had individual study rooms with just one desk and a chair. We’d sneak into one of those, close the door, turn off the light, slap on a condom and I’d bend her over on the floor. It was risky and sexy and such a… “college” thing to do. Many times we heard someone coming and had to stop and quickly pull our pants back up and cower in the corner, hoping they wouldn’t come in. No locks on the door or anything.
But overall, we were just inseparable. It was never just Stacy, or it was never just Owen. It was always Stacy and Owen. We ate every meal together, we spent every weekend night together. That whole first year of college we didn’t drink once. We’d just sit in a dorm room and cuddle and watch movies and order pizza or go out for dinner. We really were a pretty lame, old couple, especially for only being 19. I don’t know, we were ok with it.
I was isolated, though. People had given up inviting me to things, because they knew I’d either say no or I’d want Stacy with me. I knew my roomie was so sick of her, as she was always in the room. We never really had bro time, because I either wasn’t around or she was with me. But I had just absolutely latched onto her and depended on her for everything and vice versa… we just didn’t stray away from that. Looking back, I felt 100% trapped. But at the time, I didn’t know any better. It was my first real relationship. Just a dumb 19-year-old boy.
I obviously had no idea what I was doing, so I laid down and she got on top of me. My heart was pounding as she fed me inside her that first time. She leaned in to kiss me and then slowly started sliding up and down. My hands were on her hips and I would thrust into her as she came down on me.
I was overwhelmed by the feeling. It was so foreign yet was exactly as I expected it to be. The last 19 years were all pent up, and with the anticipation so high, I naturally didn’t last much more than a couple minutes. Stacy wasn’t on birth control and we weren’t using a condom, so when I couldn’t hold back anymore I pulled out and came on my stomach.
Huge smiles on our faces. I remember my face being completely numb from breathing so hard. Ho-ly shit.
Luckily (for both of us) I was ready for more.
With her still on top, I slid back in and lasted longer. 10, 15, 20 minutes. Something like that. And then I pulled out and came again. I had no idea it was possible for me to do that, 20 minutes apart like that.
She collapsed into my arms and we just laid there and kissed and told each other we loved each other over and over.
I eventually went to the bathroom to clean up, and I just remember looking in the mirror like, “You just had sex. YOU… just had sex.” I just had sex.
So it was January, and I had just turned 19. Winter break was almost over. Stacy had come and stayed at my parents’ house for a couple nights. The rule was that she couldn’t sleep in my room. We had a guest room for her upstairs right next door to my parents’ room, and my bedroom was in the basement. But we would hang out in the basement living room until it was time for bed.
After everyone else was asleep, we moved to my bedroom and started fooling around in my bed. We had to keep it quiet, as my parents’ room was right above mine and it was an old house, so you could hear everything.
Just like telling her I loved her that first, time, I was impulsive again. I didn’t plant to have sex for the first time in my life that night. But we did. We were naked in my bed, fooling around. Touching each other. And then I just asked her, “Do you want to have sex?”
She replied, “Really? Are you sure?” And I was.
3 months went by. 4 months. In December, when school was out for winter break, she came home and met my family and I met hers. She’s very personable and outgoing and sweet, so my family fell in love with her.
Her family was awful, though. Her parents haven’t been happy for a long time, but are still together. Stacy would always fight with her mom over the dumbest stuff. Big fights too. Her mom was crazy. Truly. I’m not even coming from a biased place of being Stacy’s boyfriend when I felt that. She seriously needed counseling and I think something was wrong with her, psychologically.
And Stacy’s brother got those crazy genes from the mother. He was living in the basement of the parents’ home. 22 years old. Absolutely no friends. Very awkward around people. He would explode and yell and cry if he didn’t get things his way. One night I was at their place and we were going to order pizza. He wanted one brand and we all wanted another. When he didn’t get his way, he started crying and yelling, swearing at us all and slammed the door on his way out. Fucking crazy guy. It was always uncomfortable in that house.
We spent every day together. She was always in my dorm room or I was in hers. Everyone else would go out drinking or do something else social, but we would just be alone together. We didn’t make any friends. Aside from Stacy, my only other friend was my roommate, and he was hardly around as he was a big partyer.
And that ate away at me. I did feel myself getting closer and closer to Stacy, but I also felt pretty alone. I wasn’t taking in the college experience at all. It was fine, but it wasn’t. But I was so blind to how unhappy I was with it all until I looked back and dissected it after it was over, which is a LONG time from now…