"...the crooked shall be made straight..."
I spent some time going through the boxes. Most of it finished its interrupted journey to destruction, but I also encountered some things I wanted to keep. Most of these I had no recollection of ever writing or receiving. I found Valentine cards and love letters--from both guys and girls. It was a bit confusing to read through them, to say the least. I found a journal in which I expressed my illicit feelings for members of my own gender, and which also chronicled my escapades of revenge with the opposite sex. I found a notebook I had entitled "Story Starts" which had numerous beginnings to stories of all types--none of which I remember writing. At the very bottom of the box I found a tiny notebook on which I had scrawled "STRAIGHT (to Hell)".
Curiously, I opened the notebook (again, not something of which I have any memory). There were very few entries, all of them descriptions of experiences I had in which I felt "straight", or at least less gay. On the last page I had expressed how these feelings felt foreign and frightening. I was a little sickened that I had felt them at all, and that the experiences had ever occurred. It was obvious that I found everything in the notebook upsetting and revolting.
As I read the anecdotes and thoughts written, I realized that most of the experiences were fairly mild, and probably developmentally appropriate for a heterosexual teen. I was also interested that in the descriptions I expressed none of the disgust revealed by the epilogue. I simply recorded each occurrence, and sometimes the expressed feelings accompanying an experience were the opposite of what I had written in the final notebook pages. One experience filled me with wonder--another David who made a sizeable impression--I had forgotten it.
"We left for string clinic on Wednesday. We had rehearsals all day Thursday and Friday, and our dress rehearsal on Saturday morning. We performed our concert that afternoon, and left for home early Sunday morning. We had evenings to ourselves. This trip was short on chaperones. Our conductor put several friends and I in the largest hotel room. We had a sort of suite which was situated at the end of a building, and had an outside entrance. The room had a small sitting room and two adjoining bedrooms. L said we definitely needed a party with a room like that. She called some local friends she knew (guys) and asked them to bring more friends. There was one friend, David, she wanted to set up with my older sister, so she asked him to come early. He did. He was not interested in my sister.
"David walked into our room and asked to be introduced to everyone. L pointed my sister out. He walked over to her, talked for a moment, then sat by me. I ignored him. Since I was staying a few nights (and sharing a bed) with some rather gorgeous females (two of them I would love to make out with--maybe at the same time--I'm going to hell), the last thing I wanted was to have an interested male around. David didn't say anything to me, but he stared. Finally he asked, "Are you wearing contact lenses?" I decided to look at him. As guys go, he's probably very good looking. Blonde, blue-eyed, great smile, nice body??? (like I would know--L told me later that every girl in the room wanted to jump him). I said I was, he asked if he could see them. Bored, I took one out and handed it to him, telling him not to lose it. He disappeared into the bathroom, asking me to follow. I didn't.
"'Samantha--come in here, okay?' L told me to stop being an idiot and go see what he wanted (in the bathroom?? Come on!!), so I went. David asked me if he could try on the contact lens. I said, 'Okay--whatever...' and started to leave. He grabbed my arm and said, 'Tell me how you do it.' I took out my other lens and demonstrated putting it back in my eye, he did the same with the lens he had, then walked out to show everyone his new contact lens. Okay, I was laughing at that point. I really didn't think he'd do it, and I also thought it would hurt him if he did. Sort of gutsy and very unsanitary, to say the least.
"He came back and couldn't get the lens out (imagine that!). I helped him remove it, then washed it about sixteen times, and put it in my own eye. From that point on I had a shadow. David came to our rehearsals ate lunch and dinner with me and arranged a party at a friend's house for Friday night. Thursday night, when we were all at our hotel room he pulled me outside so we could 'talk' (this is me gagging a little), and amazingly that's all we did--except he kept touching me and playing with my hair. I said I was a little ticklish and he was bugging me. He didn't stop, just said something stupid about my skin being soft and touchable.
"On Friday we found out the party would probably involve lots of booze. Being on a school trip, (and not having permission to leave our hotel in the first place) we decided it would be better not to go. David showed up to pick me up. I told him I couldn't go because if we got caught with alcohol, even if we weren't the ones drinking, we'd be suspended. He said he'd take care of it. I said, 'I don't believe you can do that. In fact, I don't believe you can go one weekend without getting drunk.' David had a friend with him who said, 'I don't think I've ever seen you not drunk on a Friday night.' David said, 'Okay, I won't drink--no booze this weekend. And then Samantha has to make out with me.' I said no. 'Just for one minute?' No, again. David's friend leaned over and whispered in my ear, 'There is no way he'll stay sober. No way. Tell him you'll give him one kiss.' So, feeling that the friend was probably right, I made the deal.
"We went to the party. True to his word, David got all the booze to disappear and the party became much smaller immediately. We played silly Mormon games, which were actually pretty fun. I, however, was getting nervous because without beer, David was going to stay sober and I'd made a deal I didn't want to follow through on. Mid-way through the night, an older friend showed up with a case of beer. He walked to the kitchen, followed by David and his friend. All my friends started making bets as to how many beers David would drink. Five minutes later he appeared next to me, 'I told him this party was booze free. And I didn't drink any.' I was starting to feel sick.
"Ten minutes before midnight we started cleaning up so we could go back to our hotel. David grabbed my hand and pulled me into a bedroom. He closed the door. I said, 'I don't want to kiss you.' He said, 'Sam, I stayed sober tonight because I wanted to be with you. It was really fun. I'm glad I did. The deal is off.' Then he gave me a hug. I was a little surprised and looked up at him to see if he was serious. He just grinned at me. But then, and I don't know how it happened, we were kissing--and it wasn't horrible. I wasn't afraid or sick. I didn't want to throw up. Truthfully, I think I liked it. It makes me wince to say this, but I even felt that knee instability that L tells me about when she describes kissing a guy.
"David wasn't smiling when we stopped kissing. He hugged me really tightly and said, 'We should go.' I said yes, but he didn't stop hugging me. He asked if he could kiss me one more time. To tell you the truth, I was a little curious to see if the effect would be the same, so I agreed. The effect was not only the same, but there were other feelings that started and this time those did scare me, because I've never felt those toward a guy before. He stopped kissing me, and said, 'Wow.' (my thoughts exactly) I said, 'We have to go.' So we did.
"I know all my friends know I made out with David, who I barely know, and they all think I'm a slut (which I am--just not with guys). David and some other guys were in our hotel room all night Saturday night--we just stayed up and talked till about 5:30, an hour before we had to board the bus. I let David cuddle with me (something I never do) and it was actually kind of nice. I kissed him a couple of times more--just to see if it felt the same--it did.
"I find this all very confusing. David gave me his address and phone number. I didn't give him mine. I don't want to see him ever again."
I'm thinking I need to get rid of all my past writings. They make no sense to me--especially the ones in the "STRAIGHT" notebook. Besides, there are way too many David's in my life as it is.