In yet another example of someone taking pity on my recuperation and trying to help me fill the days, a friend from high school sent me a few letters I wrote her from France the summer before I began college. I was 17 years old. If I didn't want to kill myself after I had this surgery, these letters clinched it for me. Only I can't drive to the store and buy a gun.
My latest flame of one and a half nites is 20 years old, nouveau riche with medium length hair named Alex.
I’m so sad I could die. Or nearly anyway. Yes, I am back from the beach and that is why I am so sad. And it’s all because of a jerky boy. Isn’t it always?
His name is Philippe. He’s 18, has green eyes and blondish brown hair, about 5’8”, really muscular, plays tennis and swims, he has a mobylette and he drives a car. (Pretty good for a French boy to drive a car, the license is so hard to get) and he’s adorable. Ye Gods do I miss him.
One night we went to this big nightclub and Philippe started looking at all the girls. Finally, at about 11:00 pm he asked me to dance. But he didn’t (or wouldn’t) make out at all. So I figured what the hell. Then he said, “Let’s go out and sit on the swings.” So we did – he still wouldn’t make out. Then I started getting nervous. That’s when he got a brilliant idea and decided to borrow Jean-Francois’ car. He got the permission and off we went. I didn’t think anything of it – I figured – just a little parking in some remote place and then back we come. So I guessed wrong already. Well, nothing bad happened – I mean we didn’t go all the way or anything gross like that.
Well anyway – he was shocked when I said ‘no’ when he asked me to go to bed with him. Now before you drop your drawers, let me explain. In France, going to bed and performing the “acts” at my age is quite normal at my age. He said a lot of French girls do and a lot don’t. But Philippe wasn’t a boy like that. Even the nicest French boy will do it if you’re not careful. But even as much as I liked him I wouldn’t have dared going to bed with him. He knew it too and only asked me that night.
The Monday before I left Philippe took me over to his house. What wild fun. We got there and his brother was having a party in the living room so we had to go to his bedroom. It didn’t bother me because I trusted him. I thought it was kind of funny really. Then he locked the door and I stopped laughing.
Remember Gerard? Well, he finally got rid of his albino friend and now he’s alone. But after Philippe, everyone else is like hot cross bretch. It’s gonna take me forever to get over him.
It's gonna take me forever to get over that I wrote those letters. That I used the word "bretch" in a sentence, that I don't even know what 'bretch' means and that I thought an albino friend was clearly a detriment whereas today that would be an endless source of entertainment for me.
End of chat.