I was 13.

He was 16.

I'd like to think that the only reason why I "fell in love" with him was because I just grew closer to him when his best friend and my boyfriend started to ignore me. It's not. It's because I've always been a lusty creature.

George was passive, a gentle one who wanted to stroke my hair like a china doll. He had this vision of me as chaste and innocent, something to be deflowered only on my wedding night. We would hold hands and he would kiss me on the cheek bashfully. When I would nibble on his chin, he would giggle and pat me on the head, gently pushing me away from him. I wanted to share my desires with him. I wanted his gentle hands to take me. I've long since left any sense of innocence by that time. I was a "connoiseur of fine films" by that time, having watched my first porno at the age of 9. Few 12 year olds can joke about how the school photographer looked like Ron Jeremy.

Bob was a kindred spirit. Lusty and tall and big and sweaty. I would call him late at night and cry my eyes out about how George was rejecting my advances. I shared with him all my fantasies, what I wanted to do with George. What I wanted George to do to me. He comforted me, and I sought the comfort of his words.

My break up with George was messy. Bob was institutionalized for a few weeks, my parents were notified that the school thought I had a suicide pact with George and Bob. George, angry to discover his best friend was talking to his girlfriend about him, dropped his long friendship with him. And then I was made to choose.

My hormones got the better of me. I chose the one who could satisfy me. For weeks, he would call me from the hospital and talk to me of the time when we would be together. The emphasis was always on the physical. "I can't wait to hold you." "I can imagine you kissing me." "I want to feel your eyelashes flutter upon my face." He was released from the hospital and we talked for hours a night on the phone, either talking or online on the chat system where we met. We planned on meeting as soon as we could.

It was a few weeks before my eigth grade graduation. He took a train down and I met him at the train station. We couldn't keep our hands off each other. We found an isolated spot in the local park and let our hands roam and explore. I wanted to soak him all up and not leave a drop (roam). I felt (roam) drunk. We didn't go all (roam) the (roam) way (roam), but we came frighteningly close when we thought we heard some commotion coming our way. We hastily composed ourselves. It was a pattern to continue for the duration of our relationship: always taking advantage of those times when we were marginally isolated from our keepers to explore each other.

We thought we would be together forever, but she was waiting for me. Lust is a fleeting mistress and she lost interest in Bob. She called to me to like another and I kissed another's lips. Bob found out and became angry. I didn't care. I wanted to be free of him. Lust wanted to be free from him.

He eventually let me go. I heard he married the next girl that he dated, a tall blonde that we both used to hang out with.

I went on, arm and arm with Lust to other boyfriends and lovers. I even had an umfriend[1] for a while. Even after I met the love of my life, I could hear her whispering in my ear and found myself enraptured by three men since we've been together. But I ignore her. And she goes away.

Thankfully.

Lust is a harsh mistress. I've learned she's difficult to satisfy and isn't really concerned with my happiness. She's got her own agenda and catering to her makes me feel hollow inside. So hollow.

[1] umfriend -- a friend that one has a physical relationship with, purely for physical satisfaction. Origin is from the phrase that comes in describing this person. "This is my... um... friend."