Names and identifying details changed to protect the not so innocent. Good stuff starts at ~*********~
I met Kellan in high school through – suspend your disbelief for just a moment – French club. Oddly enough this was the basis for what remains to this day one of my most intimate friendships. In high school, every emotional experience is technicolor, loud, world-consuming. Baring your soul to your best friend at 16 is all the more vulnerable because you haven’t yet learned all the reasons you need to hide it.
When we started dating we were absolutely smitten. As time went on – you know, the breathless pace of a high school year – I was increasingly frustrated that he wouldn’t mirror our emotional intimacy with the physical. He worshipped my body, let me suck him dry in the darkness of his car in the driveway, but couldn’t get over his Catholic guilt to consummate it with me. We got so close over and over again, and every time I went home dejected and unsatisfied. So, out of frustration and pent-up sexual tension, I fucked his best friend on prom night and that was that, or so I thought.