I remember I had a fight with my friend when I touched a boy for the first time and I didn't tell her. She got mad with me, not because I didn't tell her but because I'd done it in the first place.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
I once threw a water balloon on a girl because I caught her cheating on me. She was kissing my friend and I thought, 'Oh, this can't be happening.' It was bad and I was much older than you think throwing a water balloon. I was 14.
When I was in high school, I hid in the back seat of an old boyfriend's car when he was out with another girl. He finally found me, but not until after he had made out with her for an hour.
When I was younger and my parents used to always slap my hand if I was picking my nose or if I was running around screaming I was told to shut up.
My best friend and I went to sleep-away camp every summer. We'd share stories of making out with boys, but we never did, so we made it all up. My real first kiss was at a friend's house when I was in junior high. He was such a good kisser, and we're still close friends!
It wasn't that I got pinned against my locker, but I was intensely aware that the things I valued weren't shared by anyone. Girls didn't like me, and I had few friends.
I was in preschool and a girl actually kissed me on the cheek. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what it meant, so I instantly grabbed her face and kissed her on the lips. And, then I got suspended.
My girlfriend in eighth grade had been asking her friends when I was going to kiss her. At a dance, my buddy said, 'You better do it now!' I went in for it. I felt like the coolest person on the face of the earth. A week or two later, she broke up with me.
I was sort of traumatized by girls in the third grade. Because there was a girl in my third grade class I had a crush on. I bought her a box of Valentine's Day chocolate. And I put it in her cubby with a note that said something like, 'I am deeply in love with you, Your Secret Admirer.' And I didn't sign my name.
Time and time again, as a boy, I was humiliated. I celebrated my first day in long pants by going to a dance where I fell sprawling on the floor, and was so ashamed that I jumped up, ran away and left my girl to get home the best way she could.
I told my mother at about the seventh year of therapy that I had been abused sexually by my father, and she hung up the phone on me.