Darla's Home

When I was little, the only thing boys were good for was a good punch in the nose. I remember boys as pretty nasty bullies and how badly they teased me. I got into a bit of trouble with them, and their parents and teachers. I learned early on that adults didn't like their precious little bullies getting beaten up by crazy Darla.

I spent most of the next few years pretty much ignoring boys, and most other people too. I had enough other stuff in my life making me miserable that it was easy to not notice boys and they eventually ignored me too.

Then, something happened. Somewhere around age 12 I actually started looking like a girl, only bigger than all the other girls in class. I was bigger than all the boys too. I was always the tallest in my class. In sixth grade I passed 5 foot 10 inches. And while I was still very skinny, I was developing a bit of curves, and boys starting noticing again. My chest was not very big, but it was about the same height as most boys eyes, so it was easy for boys to notice.

Even though I had proven myself to be far from dumb to my teachers, I was still treated as not too bright by my classmates. I still rarely talked, and my speech, when I did talk, was still not so good. I was still very much a loner. But even though boys noticed me, I was pretty sure most were still afraid of me, being bigger and stronger then them, and many knew me when I was pretty good at making bloody noses.

Life in school was just existence, I mostly stayed away from everyone else, and they mostly stayed away from me. Things began to change in seventh grade. Even though I rarely talked, I did watch everyone. I was good at knowing what people were saying, and reading their movements. For example, I saw a girl saying she liked someone but was afraid he would laugh at her if she asked him out. I had already seen him saying he thought the girl was hot, and was thinking of asking her out. So, I told the girl that the boy liked her, "give him a chance and he would ask you out." She did, and he did, and suddenly I got some respect from the girls in class. I had talked very briefly to the boy before the girl approached him and said I knew she liked him, so he was ready for her.

Being quiet, and watching a lot, I learned many secrets among my classmates. I even learned secrets about some teachers who would talk quietly in corners away from the students. Another example, one married teacher was apparently having an affair with another teacher. That turned into a scene of some kind a few months later, with the one teacher screaming at the other during lunch period. Apparently he finally decided he wasn't leaving his wife for her. Wonder how that's working for him now?

In addition to helping a few classmates move on match-ups, I helped some classmates with advice on dealing with parents. Who would have thought that if you actually talked to your parents, without screaming, they may actually listen once in a while. Some found out I actually was good in class, and I helped some with classwork. For some reason, there were some things they couldn't quite get when they were listening to the teacher in class. After I explained that same something, they understood. Even some of the worst bullies from a few years earlier came to me with problems. They tried acting tough, but they all knew I could break them in half if I wanted. Some of the teachers even noticed I was helping people, and that their grades in class were getting better. By the end of eighth grade, even though I was still very quiet, it appeared I had made quiet a few "friends." I say "friends" because, other than coming to me with problems, no one really came to me just to talk or just to be with me without needing something. I had respect that I didn't have when I was younger, but I still really had no friends.

Except, of course, James. He was always my friend since we shared cribs and playpens as babies. But he was very popular, so the older we got, the less we were together, and almost never in school. If he wasn't busy with his friends, we would sometimes hang out at his house after school or on weekends. My house was never a good place to hang out. At least not until after mom's cancer surgery, which I talk about elsewhere.

Outside of school, other than James, I was always a total loner. Home life was bad, so I usually hid in my room, James house, or I just wandered around the neighborhood trying to be invisible. I spent a lot of time with my dog. I read a lot. I liked dogs and books much more than people.

I think some boys thought maybe I was easy, since I was so quiet, and some still considered me as not too bright. Some made rude suggestions, hoping I would be fool enough to say yes. Sometimes they tried getting a quick feel. Maybe they thought I would let them, just to get some attention. One boy tried it, and I wasn't ready, and he got a little bit of a feel, ran away, and laughed with his friends. Others then tried. A few twisted fingers, or arms if they got real nasty, usually put them in their place. I usually wouldn't say anything. I would see the hand coming, they were not very good at being sneaky, and I would grab, twist, and let go, pretending nothing had happened. I think part of the game was to see if they were fast enough, they weren't. I did reminded a couple of them I was good at bloody noses. That game ended pretty fast.

Then came high school. There was always a lot of talk about music, and bands. My hearing was still not so good, even with better hearing aids, so music was never much of an interest to me. There was also a lot of talk about sports, the only sport I followed was Eagles football. I usually watched the games alone, or with James if he wasn't hanging with friends for the game. Who was seeing who was the top gossip. Even bigger gossip was who was going how far. There were always people hand in hand, or arms around each other. Many people were pairing up. I still saw more than I should, and I was still the go to person when people needed help. Especially in computer classes. The teacher encouraged classmates to help others in class once they finished with an assignment. I was usually the first done, so I spent a lot of time helping others. I helped with other classes too. The only class I usually was pretty useless in was Spanish, languages were just not my thing. I don't know if it because of my hearing, my dyslexia, or just a plan lack of interest in foreign languages, but everyone learned pretty fast that I was not the go to person for Spanish.

I never participated in any teams, groups or clubs. I was still very much a loner and not a team player.

As I mentioned, I still watched a lot. I knew who the sluts were, both male and female. I knew who the cheaters, thieves, druggies and drunks were, as well as those with other questionable moral deficiencies. I was always careful with secrets, I didn't want to do anything to hurt anyone. Their was one nice couple, both guys, who I guess didn't want anyone to know. I knew but never told anyone, not even James, it was no one elses business. They came out late in senior year, and pretty much everyone was ok with it. I was pretty sure about a few female couples, but since they never came out, I really can't be sure.

In spring of sophomore year, I helped a couple classmates with a serious issue and controversial solution. That's in another part of this story about Choices.

I also knew a few who I thought were actually nice people. They were in a definite minority. My best friend, actually my only real friend and best friend forever, James, was not one of the nice people. He was very popular, one of the athletes, and a partier, and chased pretty much anything with boobs, except me. He didn't smoke, like so many other classmates, but he did drink too much. I hated when he drank, but that's another story. We had a special relationship. We knew nearly everything about each other, and trusted each other. We shared almost everything in our lives. We didn't discuss everything in detail, there were just some details, especially about what he did with some of his dates I really didn't want to know too much about. He was always honest with me, and he was the only person I trusted. I knew most of his secrets and some of them were very colorful, and he knew mine some of which were very dark. I would trust him with my life. The only thing he could not be trusted with was my heart, he was a definite playboy type. But I accepted him as he was, and he accepted me as I was. And there was that promise we made, if we were both still lonely and unattached at 30 (would we ever really be that old), we would get together and marry. We laughed a lot when we made that promise, but I guess that kind of makes us engaged. I helped a few times with his babe hunts as he called it. And once, the only time I asked him for help with a guy, he came through for me.

One of the boys that I put on the nice list was a wrestler named Frank, and James was also on the wrestling team. They were close friends even though Frank was a year older. So I asked James for a bit of help. That Saturday, after the last day of sophomore year, James set us up at a neighbors end of school bar-b-que. I'm not sure what James did, or said, but Frank spent a lot of time with me at the bar-b-que. We had a pretty good time together. Frank and I hit it off right away. We spent a lot of time together that summer. We went biking a lot, and hiking. Mom bought me a gym membership at the local gym, where Frank already had a membership. So we worked out together a few times a week. I'm pretty sure I impressed him with my strength. We also swam a lot in the gym's pool. He looked great in a bathing suit.

One problem I had was eating, sometimes I forgot to eat. I was trying to put on a few pounds, I was pretty skinny before I started dating Frank, but since I usually never got hungry, I sometimes forgot to eat. After two weeks at the gym, and still running a few miles every morning, I realized I was loosing weight, fast. Over six feet, and only 118 pounds, I was looking boney. Frank even said I was loosing too much. So I upped by calories, a lot. Mom wasn't happy about that, her grocery bill went up a lot too. Frank also took me out for lunch at least once a week that summer. By the end of summer I was over to 140 and feeling pretty good about my weight. And a lot stronger with all the time we spent at the gym. Still a bit too skinny, but not boney anymore. By the time school started in September, we were a solid couple. He was a senior, I was a junior, so we didn't have any classes together. But we always ate together for lunch. He was allowed to use the car a lot, especially on bad weather days, so he would pick me up for school. No one liked waiting in the rain, or snow, or 10 degree weather, for the bus. And if he had the car he would usually drive me home, unless he was busy after school with wrestling.

Mom didn't like him, because he was a boy and therefor MUST be bad. I had the Talk about boys with her years earlier. Once I started dating Frank, mom would bring up the talk a lot. She didn't trust me to not get in trouble. It was getting to be almost daily talks about how dangerous boys could be. But I told her I was not dropping him just because he was a boy. We went to church together every Sunday, taking turns with which family we sat with, his or mine. We would then have lunch together with that family. Mom tolerated him, and I think even started to accept him in my life. Mom was always afraid I would do something stupid. I told her Frank and I had already discussed sex (and mom almost passed out I think), and that we both agreed we were waiting until we got married.

During my discussion with Frank I showed him a poem I had written.

Frank and I would often watch TV at his house in the evenings. One night, mom was out for the evening and Frank came to my house. We would make out during commercials, but it was a show I wanted to watch so I would stop and watch TV when the commercial ended. Then the show ended and we started making out. Somehow, he ended up laying down on the couch with me on top. I was really enjoying it, and based on the usual male sign of enjoyment, I knew he was too. I didn't mind him getting an erection, as long as he made no signs of wanting to do anything with it. In fact, the first time it happened, he got embarrassed and apologized. I told him it was ok, in fact, I would be worried if I didn't make him have a reaction while we were together. We had agreed right from the start, no sex, he was to keep it in his pants. We had joked about it a bit but we both firmly agreed. He knew I was planning to wait for my wedding to "give away my maidenhood." He also said he wanted to wait until he was married. So when I felt him under me, I didn't think anything about it. Well, nothing I hadn't already thought anyway.

I could feel him under me fully awake, and we were both enjoying making out. Suddenly he stopped kissing and said "Darla, stop, I'm about to..."

I didn't understand right away, he's about to what? I was really enjoying being on top of him, I guess you would call it very aroused. It took a few seconds while he was trying to stop and get me off him. That's when I understood him. I started kissing again, and I pressed down on him with my hips, hard, and moved up and down a bit. I didn't want to stop. He then started kissing back again and pressing back up against me and after a few more seconds, he went all stiff, and a little sound came out of him. I looked at his face and he looked almost like he was in pain, with his eyes closed. I felt him below me really pressing up and it felt like he was twitching a bit. He suddenly stopped moving at all, said "Oh" and looked really weird at me.

I think we were both a bit shocked. I asked him what happened, was it what I thought it was. He said yes. I asked him if it was good, he said yes. I said "you're very welcome" and gave him a big deep kiss, and said I enjoyed it a lot too, which I did even though I was no where near an orgasm.

It was late, past time for him to leave. So we stayed there a few minutes, just kind of hugging a bit with a few little kisses. He was still swollen under me, but I could tell he wasn't very hard anymore. Then I said he had to go or he would be late getting home. As he was getting ready to leave, I said thank you and hoped I didn't make him too messy down there. I assured him I was ok. I reminded him that he kept it in his pants as we had agreed, we didn't plan that, that it just happened, but not to expect it to happen again. I kissed him goodbye for the night, we would see each other tomorrow, and he left. I had no idea what he was thinking when he left, he was unusually quiet. I hoped I didn't mess things up between us.

I thought about what happened for a while. It was kind of mixed feelings. Getting a guy to ejaculate because of what I was doing to him is probably not the most astounding event in the history of humankind, but it was a pretty big deal for me. I hadn't planned for him to have an orgasm, we had agreed no sex. But we didn't have sex, we were still both fully dressed. It just happened. I was glad he enjoyed it, but was really afraid he would want to do it again, a lot. I didn't want that. Part of me really wanted it, a lot, but I wasn't ready for that. And all through these thoughts, I thought about how it felt, and wondered how it felt for him. He seemed to really enjoy it, even though he made a really weird face. I was really enjoying it, and realized how much I didn't want to stop. I think that scared me the most, not wanting to stop. What if I couldn't stop next time, and went further, really had sex. A little while later I went to bed and could not sleep. That night, for the first time ever I masturbated, thinking about what we did. After that I had a pretty good nights sleep.

The next day, we got together and talked. A lot. We talked about a lot of things. But the first thing we talked about was last night. We talked about how nice it was, and about how scared it made both of us about messing up our relationship. Yes, he was scared I would be upset. I assured him I was just as crazy about him as ever, and he assured me he felt likewise. We agreed not to let that happen again, unless we both said ok first. After we talked about last night, we agreed not to talk about it again, and we talked about lots of other things, mostly to just keep from talking about last night. I didn't tell him I masturbated, I already knew that was not a subject boys discussed.

We made out, a little, and he left. I was happy, I was pretty sure everything was ok between us. That was a couple weeks before Christmas. And I was looking forward to spending the holidays with Frank. We had a great time together through Christmas and New Years. We still made out a lot, but were careful not to have a repeat of that night. Everything was great, life was good.

I did discuss the entire thing with James a couple days later when I saw him, remember, no secrets. We even talked about masturbation. We had talked about that a few times in the past, that's how I knew guys never discussed it. Well except for James talking to me. When I finished telling him everything, he looked a bit shocked, he didn't expect that from me I guess. But he congratulated me, even hi-fived me and gave me a fist in the shoulder. I'm not sure if it was for what I did with Frank or what I did alone that night.

Things were going great with Frank. Until a few weeks after New Years. That's when mom told me about her pending retirement, and her plans for us to move to North Carolina. With those words, my world crashed down around me.

I never cry, but I was barely able to hold in the tears when I told Frank the next day. He already knew that next year he would be spending the school year away at college, about an hour and a half north, but was planning to spend every weekend home so we could be together. But I would be moving 8 hours south. We both agreed that really sucked, but didn't know what to think next. I knew a long distant relationship, with him in college with lots of pretty college girls, was a no win situation. But I didn't say anything about that, yet. We agreed not to worry about anything yet, it was ages away. Yea, I thought, ages, 6 months, and I smiled at him, hiding my tears. I wanted to enjoy the time we had left, but I knew, once I moved to North Carolina, it was over. When was the last time a long distant teenage romance lasted.

I wanted him to be happy. But we continued as if nothing happened, like nothing changed for him, or for me.

I was torn. I didn't want him to get closer to me, just to end it all in a few months. I didn't want to get closer to him, it was already too painful just knowing that in 6 months I would have to say goodbye. I even tried thinking of a way to stay when mom moved south. But I knew that would never be allowed.

I also thought about that night. I wanted that again, I wanted him happy, I wanted to be happy. But I was still very adament about waiting for my wedding night.

A few weeks, then a few months, went by, we still had fun together, and we didn't talk at all about me moving away, or about that night. I was mostly happy, as long as I didn't think about our pending move.

One night we were at his house watching TV, and making out. I wasn't thinking about where my hands where and I put it down there for a moment, and felt that he was having his full normal reaction when we were making out. I pulled my hand away immediately. But I thought about that touch while we kept kissing. It was hard not to think about that touch, and I remembered that night again. I was very tempted to talk about that night, and try it again. But I knew it was a bad idea. It was only a month before school ended. He was graduating and then he would be getting ready to move away to college. And I was probably leaving for the deep south even sooner. I never cry. I cried a bit in bed that night.

I was falling in love. And, every moment of every day, I knew the clock was ticking, soon I would have to say goodbye. Falling in love, and breaking my heart all at the same time.

It wasn't until graduation that we seriously talked about me moving away. I still didn't know when. Mom found a house, but didn't have a closing date yet. But it was only a month or so away at the most. It was a great cloud of uncertainty and sadness looming closer every day. It was getting harder pretending that it wouldn't happen. I was having a harder and harder time being happy when I was with Frank.

Then mom gave me the date. That was it. No more pretending it wasn't going to happen. I called Frank and told him. He wanted to come over, I told him no, I was busy.

The next couple days, he called and wanted to come over. I said no, I was busy. I couldn't see him, my heart was breaking and I couldn't bear to tell him. Finally he just came over. I never cry any more. I cried on his shoulder.

He tried to make promises, we would be together forever no matter how far away I was. I couldn't let him do that. I explained my fears, me being so far, him in college with lots of other women around. It just wouldn't be fair to him, or me, to make him keep such an impossible promise. I told him he needed to live, not wait. Not to be afraid of hurting me, or breaking a promise, if he did meet someone. That wouldn't be fair to either of us.

I told him we should just enjoy the few weeks we had left, then say goodbye. He still tried to make promises. I stuck my mouth on his, kissing tends to stop boys from talking, then whispered, don't ever make promises you can't keep. I knew they were impossible. I did let him promise that in 4 years, after he finished college, if he was still alone, and I was still alone, and he wanted to see me, I would be happy to get together. A lot of if's.

A couple days before moving day, he came over. I took a break from packing, which by the way is exhausting and painfully emotional work when you really don't want to move. We spent about an hour together, then I said goodbye. I never cry, as a few tears rolled down my cheeks after he left. It was over, I didn't see him again.

Mom and I spent most of the next day in North Jersey, loading up a rental truck with a lot of grandpa's furniture. He was planning to move down with us soon, so as long as we had the truck now was a good time to grab some of his stuff. Mom drove the truck home, and we started loading in our stuff. It got dark and we were still loading the truck. Bed time and we weren't done, so we finished in the morning. The truck was full, but the house was still pretty full too. My sister and cousin would still be living there while going to college. Mom said we would need to fill another truck on our next trip. My uncle came down from New Jersey to help finish loading the truck, and drive it to our new home. I road in the truck, but wasn't allowed to drive, I was still a pretty new driver and the truck rental company wouldn't let me be one of the drivers. Which I guess is good, even though I never cry, it would be hard to see while driving with the extra moisture sitting in my eyes.

Late that night we arrived in North Carolina to start my new life.

We had a casualty on the trip. Coming out of the Baltimore tunnel, mom's trunk opened, loosing my laptop, and my sister's bag with, among other valuables, her laptop. A very nice way to start my new life.

I meet Bob a few weeks before college started. Mom and I were taking a tour through the campus, and Bob was our tour guide. We met again my first day of classes, and started dating by the end of the week. He seems very nice so far and things are going very good with our relationship. We celebrated New Years Eve together here with my family, he spent the night (alone in the back room) because mom didn't want him driving home on New Years at 1 AM. I cooked him breakfast. I've cooked dinner for him a few times, but this was our first breakfast together and, even with mom and grandpa there, it was very nice. I didn't get a Happy New Year email from Frank, and I didn't send him one either, and I think that's the way it should be. We are not part of each others life anymore, but I'll never forget him, and I'm sure he'll never forget me.

Bob and I haven't done what Frank and I did that night, but our relationship is growing much stronger, and I feel very close to Bob. I'm not ready for any real major commitment yet, but who knows what the future holds. We also have the same, wait for our wedding night, agreement. I'll talk more about Bob later, as I know more myself.

Summary
Now that the guys my age are entering manhood, and should be getting serious about their life and their future, what do I think about them? One thing I've learned about boys is they are all pigs. What makes a nice guy versus a slug is how they behave with their piggishness. There are guys that simply don't care much about others, as long as THEY get their jollies off, they are perfectly happy. Many guys are arrogant, thinking they are God's gift; whereas they behave as if they are really from that other place. I think most guys have good intentions, they plan on doing the right thing. But something gets in their way, and they show their piggishness in all its grossness. Sometimes it's greed, or jealousy, or anger, or laziness, or they make drugs and alcohol too big a part of their life. Frequently, it's that little brain down between their legs that just gets the better of them. Hopefully at least some of them will become nice guys when they grow up a bit more.

From my years of observations, I believe there are very few actual nice guys. The ones who will be honest with you, and treat you like an equal, with respect. Guys that do the right thing just because it's the right thing. They can be shy or very outgoing, athletic or not, brilliant or not so bright, gorgeous or not. The important thing is they care for themselves and others, are honest, and are willing to work with at least some ambition (but not all consuming) to make life better for themselves and those around them. Everyone is different, and there is no such thing as a perfect guy, or a perfect girl. A nice guy accepts other people as they are in all their imperfections. To find a nice guy, who is not already attached, and who likes you, and who you like, is probably the greatest challenge in all of existence. So far in my life I have avoided the worst of mankind, except with my fist. I've gotten close to three guys, James, Frank and Bob. James, even though he will always be very special to me, my best friend forever, he is not one of the nice guys. I hope he grows up and finds real happiness. Frank was truly one of the nice guys, and I will always have a special place for him in my heart. Bob is still a work in progress. We've only know each other a few months, but things are good and I'm pretty sure he's one of the nice guys. Time will tell.

Another update, February 18, 2013.
ummm.... Did I really just say yes! Bob proposed last night, and I accepted! I'm shocked at the question, and suprised at my answer, but very happy. I'm sure it's the right answer. I've been pretty sure Bob was the one since New Years, but still, I'm shocked. I wasn't expecting him to pop the question yet. He was so sweet. I won't go into any of the details, but it was a lovely proposal. Last night alone in bed there were a few tears, but, a first for me I think, they were happy tears.

And now I have to tell mom, and show her the sparkling new jewelry on my finger. She's not going to like it, but that's too bad. We plan to wait until at least June next year, 16 months away. I will have my Associates degree then, and Bob will be starting to take over the family business by then. I will be 20, Bob will be 22. We want a simple wedding, here at my house. We have plenty of room for the occasion, if mom says ok. So much to think about, to plan. And I guess I have to take better care of my fingernails, I'm guessing everyone will want to see the ring. Short broken fingernails with chipped nail polish just doesn't go well with the new sparkly addition to my oversized hands.

Fantasy
Since this chapter is about boys (and my various experiences and relationships with them), and I'm an avid reader, I thought I should also comment on some of the sensual literary scenes I've read. They are obviously very unrealistic, at least for most of us. Fantasies. Most are kind of messy and gross. There are the many and varied Romance Novels. There are the novels with some gratuitous explicit scenes. Most seem to be written with a wam-bam nasty stick a swollen thing in and get your (the guy's) rocks off. Some seemed to be a bit more on the feminine side, softer, more sensual, and maybe even a bit more romantic. But still, they seemed a bit over messy.

A couple years ago, after I read a few novels with what I thought were unnecessarily graphic details, I thought about writing my own sensual fantasy. I hadn't read many such steamy scenes, but I have read a few. And I knew a little about about myself. So I wasn't sure how good, or accurate, I could write on the subject. But at the ripe age of sixteen, only a few weeks after that unexpected incident with Frank, I wrote a short sensual fantasy I called Free Spring. Since it was very shortly after the first day of spring, and the incident with Frank, I thought the setting was appropriate for the mood I was in at the time. I read the Fifty Shades series more than a year after I wrote this short story, and I think I wasn't too far off in my, umm... descriptions. So if you're brave, I hope you enjoy my first attempt at being literately erotic. Free Spring, First Spring

Another fantasy I think about sometimes had it's origin in my young childhood. I remember when I was about eight years old, and on vacation. We went to Busch Gardens. I liked a lot of the rides, especially the ones where I went upside down very fast. Since I was pretty tall for my age, I got on to some rides I was probably too young to ride, they were of course the most fun rides. Bro and sis liked the rides too. Mom and dad liked the tour through the brewery.

We also had a tour through the area where the Clydesdale horses were stabled and trained. There was one barn where I could see a few Clydesdale real close, I could almost touch them. I didn't know what was going on with one of them at the time, but apparently it was thinking very fondly about some pretty filly. A certain part of him was very impressive, and I remember very clearly what it looked like. I stared at it for a while before anyone else noticed, then suddenly mom said something like "O My!", and sis just laughed. Mom grabbed our arms and said something about this being no place for young girls. I kept staring as mom dragged us away, sis still laughing. I didn't know what it was, but I thought that Clydesdale was very beautiful.

I'm quite sure I will never see a man who could ever be nearly as impressive. I hope, once I find the right man for me, I don't compare him to what I remember that day at the Clydesdale barn. But sometimes at night, when I'm lonely and wish I wasn't, I think of that beautiful horse, and think of myself as the filly that he was dreaming about. It is a very nice fantasy. Afterwards I don't fell quite so lonely.

And any guy who tries to indicate that he's got a baseball bat, I'm sure he's really more like a tooth pick compared to that wonderful equine creature.