Part III of Wolverette’s 3rd Print Issue

Posted: April 13, 2010 in Past issues

“I did some seriously stupid stuff in high school. Yeah I know, so did you. We all did. For the most part, we learn from these things that we did as children; skipping classes and drinking in the woods. But what I’m talking about is after those drinks, after things got cloudy.
I’m talking about those sticky situations we get ourselves into. In bedrooms and bathrooms and backs of cars. Hookups, of course. For many of us, they’re part of growing up, something to laugh about the next day. Barely even worth mentioning. But there’s a lot left untold by the ambiguous term “hookup,” and how it actually impacts a person.
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After a year or so of doing stupid shit, kissing boys that I didn’t like and going into rooms with them, the repercussions set in. I felt heads turn as I walked by, and I could hear murmurs of gossip behind me. I thought I was sexually liberated, that I was having fun and pleasing myself. I attracted guys because of this, because I was confident and hot.
Around this same time, I also started to get another strange feeling. A sort of numbness. It wasn’t sad. More bland, than anything else. I didn’t connect to people much, I didn’t talk much. I couldn’t concentrate in class, and I couldn’t bring myself to do any work. I slept a lot.
I had fun on the weekends because I got to drink and the boys fell over me and I was glad that they paid attention to me, that they liked me and wanted to be around me.
It wasn’t until I backed away from that scene that I saw the correlation. My depressed feelings were directly linked to my excessive drinking and hookups. I thought I was sexually liberated, boys thought I was easy. They didn’t like me or like being around me, after all. They just wanted to get some.
There’s a fine line to draw between harmless fun and self-destructive behavior. If you can indeed draw that line, that’s phenomenal, and I’m happy for you. For a while my crazy ways actually were fun, but the situation got too out of hand.
This thing I’m saying to you I say without a trace of judgment. I just want to relate to you my experience, so that if you’re in a similar one, you might be able to identify it sooner than I did.
I’m merely asking you to ask yourself if you enjoy yourself when you hookup. If you do, that’s great. Keep safe and have fun, I say. But if you don’t, remember that you don’t have to do it just because it’s what you’ve done before.
I once shared a bed with a male friend out of sheer necessity. There were no other beds in the house where we were staying, and this one was a double, so why not? He has dated one of my close friends and I thought he was a pretty cool guy. We went to a party, and I blacked out before I got on the bus to go home again. A couple days later, things started to come back to me.
I remembered thinking that I had heard this friend of mine saying he liked to cuddle when he slept. So, in our bed, I rolled close to him for an innocent cuddle. My body was limp, and I was almost asleep, almost dreaming. I thought maybe I was dreaming. But I soon realized that the hand I felt inside my underpants was real, it wasn’t a dream. I rolled over, and went to sleep next to the wall.
What happened to me borders on rape. I didn’t fight it, but I didn’t want it, I didn’t solicit it. I was barely aware of it. It scares me how the people you think you know can turn into monsters. I tell you all of this because I want you to know that you don’t have to do this kind of thing, not if you don’t want to.
You don’t owe anyone anything. If your gut tells you you’re in a bad situation, you’re in a bad situation. Do what makes you happy and be safe, but don’t let anyone else make you feel that you have to do anything at all. And if you’re like I was, and you expect to get love that way, figure out how to love yourself first, then love will come to you.
I don’t mean to sound like a condescending mother. I’m sorry if I do. This is just something I’ve been thinking about lately and I thought I might tell you about it.”

written by Bailey, who is a sex columnist at the Aquinian, a University newspaper:

„I write constantly. I don’t think about it most of the time, it just happens. I express myself better in print. I think clearer in print. The reason I write columns like this one is because I want to help. No one in particular, except maybe myself. The things I describe in the column are of course true, and they are also very unfortunate things. But I feel that if I can write them, tell someone about them, share information and maybe make someone feel less lonely in a bad situation, then those things I talk about become more than just unfortunate.

I tend to say that it is the anecdotal that it most powerful, so I try to demonstrate my point, whatever it may be, with examples from real life. I am nineteen years old. I am young and naive, I’m pretty certain of that. But I’ve gathered tidbits of wisdom in my short life (or at least I like to think so). The best I can do with this wisdom — this information — is share it.“


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