Roo

This story Involves sex but none is described explicitly.

This story is about my first, and only (so far) relationship. It doesn't involve any sex, so for those of you searching out hard core erotica, this is not the place for you. This story is for anyone to read my most painful memories, but some of my best memories as well. I hope you enjoy it, but keep in mind: I claim not to be an experienced writer worth anything, but I simply needed to get this story out of my system.

PART I: "Genesis"

She was just another guard member. A new member, a beginner and therefore wouldn't be in the sabreline. Since she wasn't in the sabreline, she wasn't of any concern to me. We went through the competition season and I finished it quite comfortably paying absolutely no attention to her. It was my ninth grade year, my last year at the junior high, and I wasn't about to make any obligations to anyone in a younger grade. After all, I was going to the school in town that 90% of the students in my jr. high would not attend; I wouldn't be seeing much of any of them again. I'm afraid my assumptions were wrong.

Near the end of the school year, she began that obnoxious clinging to me, that perhaps a young child with an older role model might be capable of. She began her daily messages online to me, and I dismissed them as another "lesser" friend I had to talk to. I found her personality to be strikingly odd, as she continually asked questions regarding sex. Let it be known that I had been (and still am) a nerd my entire life, never once having sex, and hardly thinking about it. (I'm rather unique in that way, I suppose, as I soon found out later in my life that 99% of the earth's population is controlled by sex.) I answered them, simply in hopes that she would just leave me to talk to my closer friends. It didn't work that way. She just kept inching closer and closer to me, and without my knowing it, we had become rather close friends by mid-summer. Somehow my continued, absent-minded responses to her messages had let her squeeze her way into a rather large part of my life. I believe there was one thing she told me that made me realize how attached we had become as friends: "My mom thinks we're lesbian lovers!!!!"

That absolutely blew my mind, and not in a good way! I had never even given a thought to her sexuality, or my own for that matter. I had always taken myself to be heterosexual, and, as I said before, uninterested in sex. I finally settled down and realized that it's just her mom, no big deal. We aren't lovers, we never would be. We could make a big joke out of this - and we did. We started joking around with the idea, then her older brother Tom became completely convinced that we were in fact lesbian lovers and constantly taunted her about it.

We became so close, in fact, that we gave each other access to our email accounts, and read each other's mail daily. One day I came across a mail sent to one of her other close friends complaining that I never hugged her when she needed it, but I had hugged her friend (who she was writing to) willingly. Now, she knew I wasn't exactly fond of hugging, or any other type of physical contact for that matter. I had only recently started the "hug for hello" deal because it was becoming popular, and I was forced to become a part of it (as my other friends follow popular trends very closely). And even then, it was limited to those who seemed to believe it was expected, then surprised if I don't hug them.

I never really felt she needed the superficiality of a "hello hug". That's exactly how I thought of them - completely superficial, trying to show such affection that just wasn't there. I knew who my friends were and didn't need to hug them to be sure of it. It shocked me to find that she wanted me to hug her, so I quickly sent an email apologizing for not realizing that it made her feel the way she did when I hugged someone but not her. I never really gave any thought to it afterwards (and I never really hugged her afterwards either). By this time she had been slowly revealing to me that she was abused as a child, both beaten and molested. She continued to tell me that she was raped almost every week, but it was such a predicament that there was noone to tell or turn to, so there was no way out. I had been in such a sheltered life, I never even realized that type of behavior was actually happening to "real" people - people I knew. Being as naive as I was about these types of situations, I figured she was one in a million of people that this happens to, and immediately felt an intense sense of pity and guilt for her. I grew to care about her so much as a friend I didn't want any harm to come to her. I felt the same way about all of my friends, but this was the first one who was actually in some type of danger. I could never provide any help for her, and she cried almost every time we talked on the phone. I just became increasingly frustrated with myself and my not being able to help her. I felt extremely protective of her, as if she had become my responsibility when she became a close friend of mine. I only wanted her pain to go away so she could have a good life, and I was willing to give my own self up if it would have helped. I did mention the feelings I just mentioned, and I found an email she sent out saying how sweet I was. "Sweet" is an adjective that I wouldn't have used about a friend, even a close one. I began thinking about all that was involved in our friendship, including the "lesbian lovers" idea, and all of her somewhat unexpected comments about me made to other friends. I finally realized that, maybe, she liked me more than a friend.

This epiphany brought me into an even more troublesome predicament. Since she liked me, and wanted to become "more than friends", if I rejected her I may cause her more pain in her life, and, obviously, she needed none of that, especially from her closest friend. However, I was NOT a lesbian! I refused to think that. But, I did remember what I said to her, and my loyalty to her - that I was willing to give myself up to make her life better. On some random day, she and I were speaking in a private chat room as we often did, she mentioned that her brother was in the room and was commenting about us being lovers again. She suggested we give him what he wanted, and I agreed. I could've used a good laugh that day. We began with stereotypical "sweet nothings", as most young couples in love might say to each other. When Tom left the room, she told me and we began joking about what we had said to each other. Unfortunately, one time, I had thought Tom was out of the room and the conversation began to get... "weird."

"That was hilarious! What do you think he thinks???"

"He thinks it's sweet! His eyes are tearing up!!!"

"LOL!! my STOMACH is starting to hurt I'm laughing so hard!"

"Did you really mean what you said?"

That last line caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting that at all... I had been thinking that she "liked" me in that way for the past few weeks or so, but I wasn't ready with a well thought out answer to that question yet. I was in a panic, pondering what I should do, what I should say. I couldn't hurt her, I cared too much about her well being. She had already attempted suicide before because she thought I didn't consider her a friend (and I hadn't, at that time). I couldn't let her kill herself because of me. Of course it seemed odd that she would kill herself, but I dismissed it amongst the other different things about her because of her abuse. I'd imagine that it had to be a horrible experience, and it must have affected her in too many ways to know. I knew I had to say yes, somehow. I didn't want to. I didn't mean anything I said. It was all in good fun for me. But I couldn't tell her no.

"Um... I don't want to freak you out or anything... but... yeah. A little bit."

Soon after I sent that last message she sent me another, encoded so that her brother couldn't understand, telling me that Tom had come back into the room. I couldn't believe it! When she asked me that question, it was for Tom's show again... I had just screwed myself over and gotten myself deeper into a situation I didn't need to be in for nothing! I panicked again and tried to think of an excuse for what I had said. I then thought to myself, "No. This is what she wanted. I have to give this to her, it's the least I can do for her if I can't get her out of the crap she's in." When Tom left again, she asked about what I had said. I denied nothing, and she asked if we should "give it a try". I thought for a long time, rolling around the thoughts of her being raped, her suicide attempts, he hard life compared to my sheltered one, what I owed her for paying no attention to her in the beginning, my own feelings about her, my desire to have some sort of relationship, since I was in high school and never once had one... What I did next came from a mixture of pity, guilt, and curiosity about relationships.

I said, "sure." It was January 11th, 1998, at approximately 2:30 pm.

PART II: Slowly, but surely...

The next few months were full of timid, shy moves closer into the realm of relationships. We began the relationship with my strict desire to not have any serious physical contact, but just a continuation of the friendship with the understanding that there was in fact a mutual love for each other. However, I refused to have sex. The thought of lesbian sex actually rather disgusted me. Never having been in a relationship before, I was craving the "little things" - someone caring for me, someone holding my hand, someone complimenting me constantly. We held hands, and eventually kissed. I was completely content to stop at that level of our relationship. If I could have, I'd have just stayed at that moment in time. Every day was full of "I love you"s and "I miss you"s; whenever we saw one another there were the kisses and the hugs, and the holding of hands. Everything I had always wanted from a relationship. I didn't want anything more.

Unfortunately, she did. Being abused as a child, her mind was altered slightly - she was a bit of a nymphomaniac. She absolutely thrived on sex. Because she cared about me, however, she only subtly hinted at it, because she knew I didn't want to.

"Have you ever masturbated?"

"No."

"Oh. Have you ever wondered about it?"

"Not particularly."

"M'kay."

She began, then, to get more inquisitive about sex, and I finally gave in to the thought that she wanted to move forward with this relationship. We had only been "together" officially for two months, and I still didn't feel ready at all for any sexual contact. However, my love for her had grown so much within the first two months, I would have killed myself for her, if not anything more. I decided I should let her know soon, since she had been waiting quite some time for me to give my body up to her. Our chats about sex continued.

"Have you ever thought about what feeling someone else's pussy would be like?"

<pause>

"Um. I'm not sure."

"Really??? You've thought about it before???"

"I guess so."

"Would you... well. I dunno."

"What??"

"Well... would you ever consider letting me touch you?"

"Ummm... no. I don't think so. I don't want you to feel obligated to do that. But I would touch you, if you so desire. You know I'd do anything for you."

"Wow... I never thought you'd do that..."

I never wanted her to touch me. I didn't like the idea. My rule was that my pants never come off while with her. But my life now was completely for her pleasure and happiness. I devoted everything to her, thought of nothing but her and how I could make her happy. I figured that she shouldn't have to do anything for me this way, but I could still make her happy by giving her the sex she craved so much...

I knew she'd want me to "touch her" the next time we saw each other in person - most likely at the movie theatres. I was determined to give her as much pleasure as she could handle, in the hopes of reinforcing the long life of our relationship.

Within a few days, we were at the movie theatre, in the dark, secluded corner which, unfortunately for me but fortunately for her, seemed specifically designed for teenagers making out. She was wearing a sheer, see-through shirt, some breakaway pants, and the evilest smile you've ever seen. She knew well what was coming to her, and I was nervous as hell that I wouldn't be able to give it to her. After the first five minutes of the movie, we began making out, our hands all over each other. We kissed for what seemed like an eternity, locked by our lips in our own world, completely detached from whatever was outside. Only we mattered, and only our tongues meeting one another, exploring each other's mouths, our lips pressing against each other, the warmth of our bodies radiating toward each other... I broke the kiss and held her right cheek with my left hand, her tiny hand grasping onto the outside of mine while I stared deeply into her eyes, seeing the longing and the love in them, trying to convey my love for her and my devotion to her through my expression. I kissed her briefly on the lips again and went through what I felt to be my duty as her lover, protector, and friend, despite my own moral conflicts that were swarming throughout my mind. Once finished, and convinced that she had enjoyed herself, I hugged her tightly while nuzzling and kissing her neck and cheek, and gave her another long, deep kiss on the lips. She broke away and moved towards my ear and whispered "Thank you." I only pouted at her and shook my head no. She shouldn't thank me for what I want to do... Giving her everything she had ever wanted made her happy. My one goal while with her was to make her life easier, happier. We sat and cuddled with one another for the rest of the movie.

This continued for the next three months, and I expanded to everything and everything I could do for her and to her. She claimed to love every moment of it, and I was glad to do it. She eventually pouted her way into my own pants, but, as I said before, I didn't have interest in sex and was forced to "fake it" for her. I never wanted to hurt her feelings by not showing that what she was doing gave me pleasure... What she did honestly didn't provoke any sexual pleasure, but she made me happy she was so eager to do it & gained pleasure herself from it. All I cared about was her, and her pleasure - which, to her, meant her orgasms. Nothing else mattered in my life, absolutely nothing. At one point, near her birthday in May, she told me one of her fantasies: To be raped by the one she loved. This absolutely apalled me, as I couldn't even think of hurting her or doing something she didn't want to do. I could never hit her or cause any harm to her. That was the type of thing I was trying to keep her from. I rejected the idea to her face, which was rather ignorant on my part. She felt insulted, but she knew I could never hurt her. I had told her that hundreds of times before, when she told me of her being abused. I couldn't imagine myself adding to all of that pain. She seemed to be upset, but then forget the idea, much to my relief, and we continued with our relationship, though she seemed slightly distant. My love for her only grew with each passing day and her distance hurt like nothing else I had ever experienced in the world. She was kind enough, however, to continue her caring words, and her reassurances that "nothing was wrong".

PART III: All Good Things...

After both of our birthdays (and rather explicit celebrations) in May, our relationship took a turn obviously for the worst. She called me, normally in tears and upset by her continued abuse. I could only sit at the other end of the line, crying quietly myself because I couldn't provide any help for her, any peace. Through all of the problems in her life, she could find no other outlet for her anguish but self-mutilation. I was heartbroken that, in addition to being hurt by others, she also felt the need to harm her own self! I, her supposed lover and friend, sat, doing nothing to stop her or give her help or comfort she so desperately needed. One day, while separated by the very town we lived in and in our respective houses, she called me. She was, again, sobbing, and I automatically repeated the calming words I hoped would aid in stopping her unhappiness. Unfortunately, this was different. She had a new reason to cry. She revealed to me, tearfully, that her best friend had kissed her. I reassured her this was of no difference to me, that it wasn't her fault and not to be blamed. She wasn't being disloyal. She had more to tell me. The girl who had kissed her was her ex-girlfriend. I was completely shocked to find that she had a previous girlfriend, but not unhappy (though not happy, either.). I was stunned, but continued to tell her that it wasn't anything worth the tears, that my love would never be changed by a forced kiss upon her lips. The phone call ended as usual, with her falling asleep at the other end, exhausted from crying so intensely and for so long.

Only a few days later, I was again bored and online on her screenname, going through any interesting mails she had. I found one to a newfound friend I had acquired through the mutual visitation of web pages and finding that we had much in common, including girlfriends. I opened it, hoping to learn of my new friend and that she and my love were getting along. I was happy to find that they were becoming friends as well, but the mail was of an upsetting subject: Her ex-girlfriend, Rosanne. Then I found four words which turned my seemingly problem-free world completely upside-down: "I still love her." My lover was at her own practice, unavailable for comment or an explanation that I hoped would lead to her revelation that she had perhaps mistyped the sentence. But, of course, it was not mistyped. There were others in her email that told of her missing Rosanne, remembering good times they had. I could hardly function. My body was racked with my sobs, I didn't know what was going on, I was completely delirious for some time, absent-mindedly signing off of her account and finding a razor blade near the keyboard. I had no idea what I was doing, my broken heart had completely taken over. I had promised her that I would never kill myself, as we had made such agreements early on in our relationship. I somehow knew this, but knew I wanted to die. I had to die, the only life I knew was gone, the one I loved was gone and back with her old girlfriend. The true love I felt was turned away and rejected, and I was left with the shattered remnants or it. I just knew I had to hurt myself if not kill myself, and cut my arm deeply, as close to my wrist as my half-aware mind would allow. As soon as the razor left my flesh, my mind seemed to abruptly come together. The denial took over, and told me that I didn't know what was going on. Perhaps she was only saying she loved Rosanne as a friend now. There was nothing going on. She loved you, she told you so, and she said she would never love anyone else. She would love you always, you remember she told you that. I tended to my newly inflicted wound, and managed to convince myself she still loved me. I never mentioned the email to her, and its effects. She was aware of my own self-mutilation habits (the reason for my agreement to never commit suicide), and, though I shall not go into detail about myself here, was unhappy but not surprised at the new scar on my arm. She dismissed it as an odd surge of masochism, not caring what the reason was. Things returned to almost normal, as I lied to myself and convinced myself that what was reality, was not, and that she still loved me & only me. She was mine and mine alone, as far as I was concerned then. However, the inevitable remained a foreboding presence in the deepest part of my mind, and this reality came back to me every night, while I cried myself to sleep.

I had to leave her in early July for a week to go to Colorado for a national competition. I spent the last three nights before I left crying to her and with her. The last night we went to the movies and we only spent the time holding each other, with my tears falling on her shoulder the whole night. I knew, somehow, that it wouldn't be the same when I came back. My logic was breaking through my wall I put up, surrounding my love for her and faith in her love for me. I fought back, but the relationship had been failing for too long...

I came home a wreck, and needing her love to be shown. I couldn't live a week without her. I came home and called her immediately and was filled with the utter joy of hearing her voice come through that receiver once again and into my ear. I called her at least twice a day after I came home, but there was something different. It had begun, the beginning of the end, as much as I had managed to avoid it in my mind. She had started her softball season and was not at home as much, and she seemed less interested in me. We spent almost one more month at this uncomfortable stage, but our love continued to be shown. At least, my feelings of love for her never once faltered, and my intentions were that those feelings would be shown in a neverending stream of my caring.

The last month was full of arguments, and I was told she needed some space. I was torn to shreds by this news, as she told me before I left that she couldn't live without me, that she needed me around all the time. I had grown dependent on this need of me, and now that she needed me no longer, I couldn't handle it. I cried the entire month. Finally, it came. She told me it was over in a less-than-civil email to me, telling me of her softball coach giving her what she wanted in the way she wanted - rape. I was heartbroken, my entire reason for being was gone. I felt as if there was nothing more in life that I should live for. I still loved her, more than I ever had, and she refuses my love at its strongest. Our relationship lasted only 6 months, 23 days. But it felt as if my entire life happened in that short time and ended, when she told me she no longer loved me. Everything I had ever trusted, the only person I had trusted and believed in quickly destroyed any structure in my life by revealing that everything she had said was a lie.

A day after she sent her terminal email, she spoke to me again, told me we would still be best friends. But I still loved her, as more than a best friend. I still do to this day, though we have been broken up since August 3, 1998.

The relationship gave me experiences I had never even begun to think of. I learned my own dark secrets, that I was all too easily manipulated by my own mind into believing something that logic would dictate is impossible. Reality no longer existed. There was only my world and my love. If my love existed, then there must be a reciprocal to that love, and it came from her. But the end gave me more knowledge than I would have gained from the rest of my life. There is a reality. Forever is not eternal. Spoken words and promises are meaningless. "Love" is false. What I feel must be wrong, as it is only one-sided.

She is still a dear friend of mine, and I don't know if she knows I still love her as much as I did while we were together. She continues her friendly greetings, emails, occasional messages, but every time I see her name or see her picture, I remember our past, and it stings. How ironic, it seems, that we have come full circle; I became the obnoxious one, clinging to her for dear life, while she only distanced herself each day. But I no longer need her love. It is only her well-being I care about once again. Her safety, her happiness. She is happy, and now in love with more than a few males (also claiming I've made her turn straight). I hurt, but I am happy for her as well. I will never forget how much she changed my life, and I will never stop loving her. I promised her I would never stop, and I will keep that promise.

I love you, Roo.