A Young Woman of My Age

Moving back home has been nice for the most part. No rent, home made dinners, no utility bills and I enjoy being closer to my family. But of course there are the drawbacks, too. Little independence, living in Norwich, Kansas, lacking any semblance of a social life, no friends and frequent questioning.

Yet, the most frustrating part of moving back home is the community and the values and standards embraced by the community I grew up in. The musty, somewhat archaic mores that sent me looking for some fresh air once I graduated high school. To me, the woman in the kitchen, man marries woman and has family, God fearing whiteness was too much. Something I couldn't endorse. Not to say everyone in my town thinks this way, but it is the predominate majority.

For me, getting an education was essential. Ever since grade school I knew I was going to college, moving away from Norwich. I wanted to see the world beyond the wheatfields. I saw no reason why I couldn't do what boys did, play what they played. If told I couldn't do something I always asked why not. As I grew older I was the minority voice; Pro-Choice, Feminist, Liberal, Agnostic. I was told I was going to hell, compared to Hitler, deemed Femi-Nazi, etc. So, yes. I wanted out.

And coming back has pushed me back into the expected. Here is the most common conversation had with members of my community:
Them: Chelsea! How are you?
Me: I am doing well. You?
Them: Fine. (insert information about rest of family here, most likely a classmate who is now engaged, pregnant or married)
Me: I am glad to hear everyone is doing well.
Them. Yes.....So, I heard you graduated college.
Me: I did.
Them: That's nice. So, do you have a boyfriend or are you engaged?
Me: Um....no. I am single.
Them: You didn't meet anyone at college?
Me: Well, yes...but....
Them: Then why don't you have a boyfriend?

See, college was not a place for me to get some learning. It was a place for me to get a man. My time and the thousands of dollars of debt I am now in would have been better spent on snaring me a nice man. They are not interested so much in what I majored in or the fact that I graduated with honors. Oh, no. They are only interested to know why I am single. I am not a successful member of this community unless I have a ring on my finger or a bun in the oven.

But, my favorite part of this conversation is always the last question. What is the correct response to an obtrusive, rude question like that? The following is a list I have compiled to answer such a question.
1) I am a lesbian. (Which upon hearing the citizen would immediately call other citizens while cleaning the shit from their pants, yet sharing that they are not that surprised to hear it)
2) Because I am a fat, ugly girl. If only I could be desirable. I am only worth something, after all, if a man wants me.
3) I am deciding to do as Hamlet says and get myself to a Nunnery and give my life go God.
4) As you know, fair citizen, I am a hateful, bra burning Femi-Nazi and no man could ever love me because I castrate him with my overt masculinity and need to be superior.
5) Because I spent more time focusing on my studies and working. It is not something I am really looking for right now.

Sadly I always respond with #5, although I do believe #1-4 would make the person I am talking to more comfortable. They could understand those answers a little better. But me not wanting a serious relationship or marriage at my age??? Unheard of.

Don't believe me? Well, of the eight girls in my class, I am the only one not in a serious relationship, married or pregnant. A good amount of the boys are also married and/or have children.

For them and others like them in my town, that might be their dream or what they want. Power to them. I just know at 23, I still want to be selfish. I want to travel more. Figure out myself some more. Be independent. I do hope to one day marry, find a partner to grow and mature with, it is just not something I actively pursue. It will happen when it happens.

Yet, while I let it happen, the town tries to set me up on blind dates or scour the countryside for a suitable suitor.

Pickachu, help me.

A Picture Is Worth 1000 Orgasms

I am superficial.

I like getting compliments just as much as the next person. Especially if the person bestowing the comments is someone I am interested in. Like a boyfriend. Or a crush. Of course I am talking about those little gems like I have the most beautiful brown eyes, I am pretty, I am intelligent, I can pack away a dozen cupcakes like no other woman can. The usual.

These little boosts in self-confidence are nice and let you know that the other person thinks you're the bee's knees. Which is nice in a space where you are highly vulnerable and open. You like some encouragement that there is some mutual infatuation going on.

But....there is a certain point where compliments turn creepy. I would like to share some experiences where the creep line was crossed.

So, in a intimate, sexual relationship with someone it is nice to know you get them hot. Like, you learn the other person enjoys a certain type of touch or a particular kind of kiss. Or that they enjoy seeing you in this one pair of jeans. You know what I am talking about. It's nice to have this secret power inside of you to make the other person drool. Especially when you are sexually attracted to them, it's nice to know it's a mutual passion you share.

Well, in this case the passion and arousal I sparked was not something I needed to know.

Now, I am not a sex bombshell. I am mostly awkward and goofy, not especially "sexy." But when I was dating this guy I felt sexy. It was a nice feeling. He told me I was beautiful and smart and he loved the way I kissed. I enjoyed his cooing and wooing. I was enamored with him, too. One day we were watching television and talking. Nothing worth remembering, just small talk. Then somehow and for some reason I am not sure of, he decides to drop this bomb on me:

I think about you when I masturbate.

Umm........
.......
...........

What is the proper response to that???? There was no sexy context for it. I could maybe see that in a hot and heavy session between the sheets or perhaps a text of something implying that the thought of me made him hard, but to just outright say he jerked it to me...It made me feel beyond dirty and weird. I mean, I guess I figured he might do that and it was kind of nice to know he was thinking of me instead of say my best friend or my sister. But did I really need to know????

No, I did not. Instead of making me feel great, it made me feel sleazy. Because when he thinks about me he touches himself. Which for me means that I get stripped down to a sexual thing. Nothing more. I am purely being seen, in this context, as a sexual agent or fantasy for his pent up sexual tension. I am not being seen as an intimate partner with feelings and emotions that get shared during a sexual encounter with him. I am just a vagina and a hot mouth.

Yet, that wasn't the most awkward part. After I failed to really reply he asked, "Well, don't you masturbate to me?" I am not going to deny giving myself a hand in times of need. I see nothing inherently wrong with it. But I do not generally think of a man in particular. It is a fantasy man who knows exactly what I like and how I like it. We usually share some witty conversation before getting to it, too. Better than trashy romance novels...but probably not much better.

But I digress. I felt bad saying NO, so I fibbed a bit and told him I did occasionally think of him and his immaculate penis. Okay, maybe that was fibbing more than just a bit, but I didn't want him to think that I didn't recognize him as a sexually potent partner. Because he was sexy to me, but since he was the leading man in my reality I didn't need him to be the lead in my fantasy.

He wasn't the only one to say such a thing to me, though. This past year a guy was flirting with me via Facebook Chat. After telling me I needed to visit him the next time I was in Lawrence, he then out of nowhere tells me he was looking at pictures of me on Facebook and getting hard. What. The. Fuck. I ended that conversation abruptly.

After talking with some trusted males, they told me they wouldn't mind if a girl told them that she sought release whilst thinking of him. They would actually be quite flattered. Which is nice...but after talking to my lady friends, they agree that a man saying he rubs one out to the thought of you is creepy. Maybe on some level flattering, but...mostly creepy.

I guess in the end I have a problem with a man telling me he masturbates to me because it does only reduce me to a sexual outlet. Also because I have grown up under the assumption men watch porn and look at Playboy for such a thing. These women are just bodies. You might learn Miss January's favorite color is blue or that the girl in the porn needs her plumbing looked at and would appreciate you inspecting it with your more than adequate equipment, but these aren't real foundations of intimacy. There is a distance between the woman he looks at/fantasizes about and himself. Which makes me think the same would be happening to me if he is jerking it to me. There would be a distance or I wouldn't be a real person. Just a fantasy.

And I like being real. I like my fantasy tryst with a Mr. Darcy like male, but I would always much rather share a real tryst with a real man.

And if you ever want to give me a compliment, feel free. I enjoy the flattery. Just please don't tell me you masturbate to me.

Adventures as Miss Pross

The past weekend I played Miss Pross to my little brother and his friend that is a girl but isn't his girlfriend. (Never make the mistake of calling her his girlfriend. Shit will go down.) As I sat driving them into Wichita to see a movie and have dinner, I was struck with an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia. I mean, there is nothing like being up front and center for viewing ill-equipped high school kids start to venture out into the abyss of relationships to make you feel all the angst, butterflies, and anxiety that defines your teens.

I flashbacked to days of immediacy and urgency that controlled everything. Everything in high school was high stakes and could, like, totally ruin the rest of your life. Heartbreak, a C, a fight with your friend, your parents ignorance of your own unique problems they would never understand. High school was a time that was always in ALL CAPS and accentuated with exclamation marks.

Which got me thinking about the things I did or did not do in high school.

I never thought having a boyfriend was the end all be all. Yes, I felt the pressure to have one. I had hormones racing at the speed of light, so of course I wanted to find a guy to explore those urges with, too. But....I never felt that if I didn't have a boyfriend, I would die. I had a good handful of boys ask me out. I was kind of interested in them, I liked hanging out with them, but I just didn't feel like dating them. So, I said no, to the utter horror of my girlfriends and mother. How on earth could I turn down a man who wanted do take me out in his truck? Didn't I know what I was turning down? Umm....yes, I did. In most of those cases, I knew for a fact the guy was more interested in getting in my pants then getting to know me. I hated the whole basing my value or worth on the caliber of boy I dated.

I quite honestly was more concerned with my grades and going to college. Boy crazy never really fit into a description of me. I had priorities and boys just never were one. Which is probably why I got the prude nickname.

But, prude I was not. There was a brief stint during my sophomore year that I am not necessarily proud of because I looked outside myself for worth or acceptance. I hung out with some girls who used there bodies to get attention from boys. They fascinated me. I just remember thinking that if these girls were all doing it, then it must be normal, and obviously it had great results. So, I joined in for a couple of months. I flashed some guys, made out with some guys, let guys feel me up. I wouldn't go any further, which made me a prude and tease, but I knew from my best friend that if I did go further, I would be a slut. After a couple of months of this, I hated myself. Those boys didn't like ME, they liked my body. I saw my friend get in deeper and deeper, getting hurt emotionally, actually getting hit by her boyfriend, being called names. I got out. I knew that for me, being objectified was not what I wanted. I found myself again, gained more confidence, and decided that my relationship with boys was something I wanted to be based on more than sex and the pursuit of it.

That's not to say that I didn't have the occasional hook-up in high school with guys I was not dating. They were situations where I was good friends with the guy and we ended up making out. It was fun and it was a good way to release some of that pent up sexual frustration.

Now, as a twenty-three year old woman, I feel like those high school experiences have paved the way for my present outlook on life. I like boys. I really do. I like having fun hook ups with guys I feel are on an equal footing with me, i.e. we both are in it to have fun and we both have mutual respect for each other. I like to date, but I don't actively pursue it. I can see myself getting married and having children, but that is not my objective for now. Now, I want to get to know myself better. Travel. Establish a career.

Moving back home has made me think even more about my priorities. Over half my class is married/having kids. I am the only girl in my class not in a serious relationship. Townspeople ask me why I am not engaged at community functions and hoe-downs. Sometimes I feel lonely or pressure from this, but I stop myself for getting to worried. This is the "expected" way of life for me, not the reality of my life.

And, if high school taught me anything it was that I set my own expectations and y=mx+b.