First Kisses, Falling in Love, and Fingering

Hello friends! Do I even have to apologize at this point? I feel like anyone and everyone who is bothering to read this blog knows by now that my attempts to blog with any form of regularity have pretty much completely ceased at this point. Sorry guys! However, this week I will be bringing you the best of the best, what I promised to give you from the very beginning. The truth. The whole truth. And nothing but the truth. All the juicy details, with just enough changed to protect my identity. (Yes, that was overdramatic, but I’ll just be honest, putting a phrase like “protect my identity” in my secret internet blog makes me feel like a badass…. or a superhero. Or a superheroic badass. You get the point.)

And now, the real reason I’ve been such a shitty blogger of late: I fell in love.

I know, I know. I wasn’t expecting it either. Even seeing the words on my screen right now seems kind of odd. I haven’t said it enough yet, haven’t gotten used to reacquainting myself with the big “L” word. I still can’t believe that I, the girl who said she wasn’t looking for any kind of relationship, is now in a fairly serious one. Who would have thought.

His name, at least for the purposes of this blog, is…. Link. (Insert Zelda joke here.) I know its a little strange, but I think its cute. It suits him. But I’m a little biased. I’m kind of crazy about him.

Although that wasn’t always the case. I mean, I can’t deny, when I first met Link the sparks were almost instantaneous. I immediately found him attractive, he immediately found me attractive (or so he says), but even with the ridiculous adorableness of our meet cute (he commented on a book I was reading and struck up a conversation with me from there and ended up drawing me a little doodle which he gave to me before our conversation ended) I still wasn’t completely sold on him. I got a strange vibe from him… a strangely…. serious vibe. It wasn’t that I was getting a psycho or serial-killer-y reading off this guy… its just that I couldn’t help but think he was looking for a relationship, with a capital “R”, something worthy of writing home about, something that skipped over the silly little unlabeled fooling around and flirtations I thought I was looking for. So, after exchanging numbers with him and sending a few flirty texts back and forth, my conscience got the better of me. I didn’t want to lead him on. So I told him. I gave him The Speech.

“The Speech” or at least my version of it is a delicate thing. Its the gentlest of letdowns, the kindest of rejections, the well-meaning reminder that I’m not looking to be anybody’s one and only. I had practiced it on at least four guys since my break up and I was pretty sure I had it down to an art form at this point. I knew all the perfect turns of phrase, all the nicest, most flattering ways of saying, “You’re great, I just don’t want to be your girlfriend.” I really thought there was no way I could ever be anything more to this guy than a passing flirtation.

To his credit, he took it well, even thanked me for being honest with him. And that might have been the end of it honestly. We might have stopped talking there. I might have missed out. But he didn’t give up. We kept talking. And then we started hanging out. And then there came… The Kiss.

We were taking a walk and it was raining a little. Not a lot, just occasionally misting down a shower of drops. It was cold, and windy, and I was shivering, and laughing to cover the fact that I was shivering. It was one of the very first times we were alone together… no friends to drive home the fact that this was NOT A DATE, and I was starting to feel that difference. Almost immediately he had grabbed my hand, and I hadn’t resisted… it felt strangely natural. We were having fun, talking easily, although I, in true Cassie form, had started babbling on nervously the second his palm touched mine. But he didn’t seem to mind. He was smiling at me in a way I couldn’t quite describe, that was making my insides feel like my stomach was lined with live wires. We ducked into an alleyway to get away from the wind so he could smoke, and he lit up a cigarette (after asking if that was okay, which I found endearing) and then, when he saw I was shivering, pulled me into his arms to warm me up. He had been trying to touch me all night, and I had known it, and felt powerful because of it, and once he did… well. It was nice. More than nice. Kind of phenomenal actually. I hadn’t been held like that in a long time. My heart started pounding.

The wind was tossing my hair around and I was laughing as I tried to keep it out of my eyes. I apologized for it being so crazy– my hair frizzes and curls in damp weather, and he smiled and shook his head. “Its cute.” He said, “Its curling right here-” he kissed my forehead, “-and here,” he said, kissing the top of my head. I melted. Not literally of course, but it felt that way. It felt like something inside of my heart unfroze in a rush and I was suddenly left standing there in a puddle of feelings and crap.

And then he leaned in for the kiss and I said the dumbest thing anyone has ever said in the history of the universe. “Wait. I’m out of practice. I might be bad at it.” And then I blushed, because I instantly realized that was the stupidest thing I could have possibly said.

He smiled.

He shook his head.

And then he kissed me.

And the second his lips touched mine, I thought, “If this is a dream, this is where I’ll wake up.” But I didn’t wake up.

Instead I did something somehow worse. I started to giggle. I have no earthly idea why. I’m far from being some sage old woman, but I’m nineteen-fucking-years-old. I’m not a thirteen year old girl at a slumber party. I didn’t even know I knew HOW to giggle anymore. Sexy, grown up women don’t giggle. I feel like if you giggle, you have to hand in your woman card and go back to braiding your hair and listening to the Jonas Brothers.

But giggle I did.

I felt him start to smile through the kiss and I instantly broke away, mortified at myself and my life and how I had managed to fuck up a perfect, perfect moment. I hid my face in his shoulder and said the only thing I knew to say in that moment. “I’m sorry! Oh my gosh, I’m so so sorry!”

He laughed. Gently. Then he whispered, “Hey.” close to my ear.

I looked up at him. “Yeah-?” I said back.

And then he tilted my chin up and kissed me again.

And this time I didn’t giggle.

I just kissed him back.

And it was kind of perfect.

And after I pulled away, I saw the rain around us had turned to snow… falling softly down to the ground, illuminated by the glow of the street lamps.

I. Fucking. Know.

How. Does. That. Even. Happen.

Of course, I didn’t say this, but I already knew I was falling for him then to a point, even though I barely knew how to admit it to myself. Its hard to explain the way I feel about him. Its not just that I can say just about anything to him, that he makes me feel good and safe and that he makes me laugh like crazy and feel safe and happy all the time, its that… when I’m with him, I feel like… I’m doing something right. Like I’m right where I’m supposed to be. When I’m with him… I feel like I’m…. home.

I don’t know what that means. But. I just…. I have a good feeling about this one guys. A really good feeling.

And now comes the the real question: how’s the sex. I know what all you smut-seeking internet people are thinking. And here’s your answer: we haven’t had it yet. But more on that in another blog post.

(Warning: its about to get mildly smutty and fairly R-rated. If thats not your cup of tea, I understand, and see you next time my chaste blogger friends! :))

Here’s the good stuff: he’s hot as fuck to me, and sexy does not even begin to sum up this man. He’s older, and more experienced, and he puts it to good use everytime we’re together. We’re talking some next-level pleasure here. When he kisses me it feels like I’m transported to some other dimension and my skin flashes hot and cold and when he kisses down my neck, pulling off my shirt, kissing along the edges of my bra before whipping it off (one handed by the way) to suck my nipple into his mouth its…. well its HOLY SHIT and FUCK YES and OH BABY and all the rest. Not to mention, the stuff this kid does with his fingers…. rubbing me and finally when I’m panting for him, slipping his fingers into me and finger fucking me until I see stars.

He is by far the sexiest guy I’ve ever been with. And its kind of awesome. Its been a long time since I’ve looked forward to getting to kiss someone next, and its been longer still since I’ve seen someone, just seen them, and seen them smile at me from across the room when they first see me and simultaneously just wanted to tell them I love them in every language known to man and fuck their brains out. I’m so happy. He’s one of my best friends, he’s sweet, respectful, funny, driven, sexy, easy to be with, everything I could ever want and more.

He’s far from perfect, but he’s perfect for me, and I’m so so so so obnoxiously happy. I can’t stop smiling, I look like a fucking idiot, and I don’t care at all.

Of course, my life has been more than meeting Link, but for now I think this blog post is ridiculously long enough. Please like and comment if you enjoyed it, and new people following my blog make me happier than just about anything (minus the fantastic hardcore make out sessions). Sorry again for my absence from the blogosphere, but hopefully this tell-all post made up for it!

I’ll be back soon with new funny tales of girlfriendhood, bedroom distasters, friendship, and the utter confusion of being nineteen and in love. Thanks for reading lovelies!

xxx – Cassie

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Things I’ve (Kind Of) Learned

First things first, I am sorry for my absence from the blogosphere of late. Frankly, with school and changing jobs and my computer mysteriously breaking down and deciding to be an asshole for a week or more, I just haven’t had the time, patience, or mental energy to do anything but drag myself through the days, moaning and grunting when anyone stops and tries to speak with me. The last few days have been a series of way ups and colossally shitty downs, but today at least, things seem to have evened out a bit. Thank God.

Despite the constant flow of activity that has been my life lately, I’ve discovered strangely enough that recently I’ve been oddly nostalgic. I don’t really know why. Maybe it has something to do with it still being a relatively new year. Maybe it has to do with the fact that this is my last year as a teenager. Or….maybe I’m just hormonal.

Whatever the reason, tonight I was thinking about the last six months. Lets rewind a bit. (Roughly, but not quite) six months ago, I had just been through a brutal break up. I was incredibly self-condemning about the whole thing and was convinced it was my fault the relationship had ended, despite the fact that everyone (including the guy himself, for the record) was telling me this was not the case. I felt used up and depressed after a hellish semester in which my grades had tanked, my relationship had floundered, and some of my closest friendships had been tested and very nearly ended. I wasn’t just sad. I felt completely shattered. But worse even then that, I didn’t feel like myself. And I definitely didn’t feel like the person I wanted to be.

So I worked on myself.

There’s nothing like a good cliche to describe something that took literal blood, sweat, and tears to make happen, but I don’t know any other way to put it. The past six months have basically been a crash course in learning how to be the best version of myself or as close as I can get, and it has been eye-opening, terrifying, thrilling, and absolutely wonderful all at once. I have learned more about myself in the past six months then I previously had in the past three years. I went back to square one and built from there and I’ve never ever been happier.

With all that being said, here for your reading pleasure is a short list of all the things I’ve learned, most of which are painfully obvious but took an insane amount of time and a healthy dose of prescription Prozac to get through my thick skull. I hope this information will be helpful to any of the other poor schmucks out there who don’t know what the fuck is going on and for the record– if you’re in a shitty place, remember, it gets better. If I can bounce back from where I was, you can too.

12 Things Hitting Rock Bottom Taught Me

  1. Do what makes you happy. No, but like, actually do it. This was a big one for me. I’m a big people pleaser (surprise, surprise) and tend not to take my own desires and needs as seriously as others. I spent too much of my time worrying about what other people would think and not enough time doing what I actually wanted to do. Since my break up I’ve started writing my first novel, taken up pole dancing, and started to learn how to knit and play the ukelele. Also, I started this random internet blog. Most random list of things ever? Yes. Am I good at all of those things? Hell no. Do I give a shit? Fuck no. Do they make me happy? Fuck YES.
  2. Its OK to take compliments. If someone gives you a compliment, its okay to say thank you, smile, and take it to heart. You don’t have to brush it off, roll your eyes, or try to convince them of what a shitty person you are. That’s just shooting yourself in the foot. And your feet are nice. They make walking easier. You need them. So stop shooting them.
  3. Guys want to fuck me, and that’s cool. Pretty self-explanatory. I didn’t used to understand that this was a fact. Now I do. It doesn’t define me, but its nice to know.
  4. Once you know you’ve made someone cum but you’re not doing it anymore, it can be hard to look them in the eye. Do it anyway. Or at least try your damndest. Check your shame at the door. This can be an awkward experience, but keeping your head up and not letting yourself feel dumb are going to be helpful here. Remember, if you’re thinking about it, they probably are too. Make them think, “Damn, I wish that was still happening.”
  5. Treasure your good friends, and fuck the frenemies. Think about your friends. If there’s one who consistently makes you feel like shit about yourself, don’t be their friend anymore. I don’t care if you’ve been friends for years or if you think that’s just how she/he is. You are not obligated to put up with anyone’s bullshit.
  6. If a guy hurts you, makes you feel bad about yourself, shames you, or is embarrassed of you, please inform him that he can go fuck himself at the earliest opportunity and leave. You deserve better. 
  7. If you are in a bad situation, it is okay to leave. Killing yourself to prove a point is not the same as bravery. Sometimes being brave can mean knowing your limits and pulling back. Sometimes being brave can be taking yourself out of an unsafe, harmful, or just plain shitty situation.
  8. Respecting your body is important. Your mental health is important. Getting the proper amounts of rest, food, and exercise is important. Don’t trick yourself into thinking its not. Going to the doctor for antidepressants and dealing with my disordered eating has been an incredibly hard and often painful process, but it is a thousand times better then ignoring the problems completely and barely being able to function.
  9. It is okay to mess up sometimes. You will make mistakes. That is inevitable. You will do things you regret, you will hurt good people, you will feel as though you’ve destroyed your chances. You will backslide. You will cry. You will lose yourself. Please try to remember that while happiness is not always a choice you can make, the decision to consciously pursue happiness is. You are in control of your story. Write a good one. Every good story has conflict.
  10. If you wouldn’t say it to your best friend, don’t say it to yourself. If whatever is in your head is too mean, too petty, or too destructive to say to or about your best friend, don’t say it about your own self or body. Don’t call yourself fat. Don’t call yourself ugly. Don’t call yourself lacking. Be your own best friend. Be better than that.
  11. Failure does not kill. Don’t be afraid of it. 
  12. Don’t let anyone else tell you who you are or what you should do. Be your own person. Be strong in yourself. While relying on other people when you need a hand is good, don’t focus so much on other people supplying the love and affection you need to function that you lose sight of the fact that you can give yourself the commendation you need. Love yourself first. If you don’t love yourself, you can’t love anyone else fully.

Over the past six months, I have done some pretty stupid shit. I have made a fool of myself, I have had really rough days. I have cried my eyes out. But overall, I’ve been moving forward. Sometimes quickly. Sometimes very, very slowly. Sometimes I just have to concentrate on not sliding back. But over time, I’ve come far. I’ve learned how to love myself. And although I know I’m not perfect and I know that this will be a constant process, my greatest wish for all of you, dear readers, is that you all learn how to do the exact same thing. You deserve it.

Sorry if this isn’t the usual fare you’re used to from me. I’ll be back with more sexy, funny, ridiculous tales soon. But for now, this is what I’ve got to work with. Hope you enjoyed. If you want to make my day, leave a comment telling me about a time you hit rock bottom. We can commiserate about our paths back from total loserdom. 😉

xxx – Cassie

Baristas, Fraternities, and Strippers (Or, How I Met Darren)

To those of you who read my last blog post– you are my favorites today. I can’t believe a few people are actually reading my screwed up thoughts on the internet. To anyone who likes, comments, or follows my blog, you should know I always check out your blog in response, and I’m always amazed at how they awesome they are. There are some really cool people blogging out here in the blogosphere and I’m kind of flattered that some of those people are taking the time to check out my little blog.

And so, as a reward of sorts, and to make sure I don’t get too boring, I thought today I’d introduce you to some of the more juicy details of my current situation. After all, in my last blog I implied I was basically hella confused because there was suddenly a portion of guys who were willing to move heaven and earth to get a chance with me, so now it’s time to back track and introduce you to some of the guys who are making my head spin. A warning: I’m still not claiming to know what I’m doing, and this blog isn’t a twisted form of advice to those who may be in similar situations. I’m just a nineteen year old who doesn’t know eff-all about love or commitment, so I’m sure I’m making a hell of a lot of fucked up decisions. I’m aware of that, you’re aware of that, so let’s just have some fun and have a good laugh at the ridiculousness of my life and the power of boners in twenty-something males. Okay? Okay.

Let’s start with the guy I mentioned in my last post, who for the purposes of this online journal of sorts, we’re going to call Darren. I met Darren at the coffee shop where he works. I know, I know, flirting with the baristas is pretty much as basic as you can get, but I can’t help it. Is it just a decree from some higher power that all baristas must be sexy as hell? Seriously, all my sexual fantasies are just filled with baristas wearing nothing but their aprons and a smile. But that’s beside the point.

The first time I actually talked to Darren, I actually wasn’t single, although that has never been a fact I found time to mention to him. I promise the first time we talked I wasn’t flirting (much), I was truly just interested in trying a new coffee and asking for his recommendation. There wasn’t a line behind me so we ended up chatting for a minute, I ordered my coffee, and went on my way, though I noticed his eyes followed me as I threaded my way through the tables and the coffee-scented air to my usual window seat. I thought he was cute, but, like the good girlfriend I thought I was, I purposefully kept those thoughts at bay as best I could.

…annnnd then two days later my boyfriend broke up with me.

Yep, you read that right. Two. Days. Later. 

Of course, I was heartbroken. He was my first love. So, in accordance with the laws of the universe that decide how shitty you are allowed to look on a given day or during a given season of your life, I basically stopped trying, appearance-wise, entirely. Old clothes, hair pushed back in a messy bun, no make up, and heels? HA! Forget about it. I also wasn’t sleeping very well. In fact, my sleep schedule was so shitty I found myself in need of quite a lot of… well, you guessed it, let’s say it all together… CAFFEINE.

So I ended up seeing quite a lot of Darren. Unfortunately, I felt like warmed-over crap so I wasn’t exactly in the mood to notice anyone new. Even though. Well. I’m just going to say it. Darren is notice-worthy.

First of all, it’s his body. He’s all hard lines and smooth edges that attest to (what I later learned) is a pretty stringent work-out regime. He fills out any shirt he wears well, the sleeves pulled just a little bit tight to show that there’s some muscle hidden, taught and tense, under that fabric shield. He looks healthy and strong and he’s tall, taller than me (and I’m pretty damn tall for a girl). Then there’s his face, with his mischievous grin and his brown eyes that crinkle up at the corners when he laughs and this soft spot on his neck where I just have a feeling he loves to be kissed. And he dresses well, with that kind of casual niceness that you learn to spot when you’re picking the rich kids from the poor ones. Basically, he’s the kind of guy that you can’t really see without wondering what it would be like to rip off those nice clothes and explore every inch of him with hands and tongue until he’s shaking and panting under the influence of your ministrations.

Hey, I told you this blog was going to be honest!

Anyway, Darren started noticing how often I was coming in and gently teasing me about it, in the cutest way. I’ll never forget the second or third time I came in a row, this a few weeks after my break up when I was starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel, and Darren, who was carrying a large package of cups and napkins in his arms, said “Oh! You’re back!” and immediately dropped everything. He quickly picked everything up, blushing a little (!!!), and tried to maintain his cool guy stance.

And that’s when I knew. I flustered Darren about as much as he flustered me.

We ended up talking quite a bit that day and some other days, him coming over to speak to me when his manager wasn’t there, or me sitting at the bar to chat with him inbetween him serving customers if it wasn’t too busy. We chatted about our lives, our interests, movies, music, my ex-boyfriend, bad break ups of his, dogs and cats, which celebrities could “turn us”, and basically everything else under the sun. And it was nice. It felt nice to be listened to by such an attentive listener, someone who clearly actually wanted to be there with me. One day Darren came over to talk to me and seemed a little more keyed up than usual. My friend had told me I should get his number and shoved me in his direction, so I too was a little bit worried, wondering how I was going to close without seeming too weird or desperate. Finally, at one point during our conversation, Darren stuttered so much he had to stop and start his sentence again. Looking embarrassed he looked down, laughed awkwardly, and said, “Sorry. I used to stutter when I was a kid, and it gets worse when I’m nervous.”

I quickly reassured him it was no big deal, and silently wondered what the hell was making him nervous. After all, Darren is a hot-as-hell frat boy. I’m a nerdy English major. If anyone was going to be nervous, it should be me. But then it dawned on me when, right as our conversation was about to end, Darren blurted, “MaybeIcouldgetyournumberandwecouldhangoutsometime.”

Just like that. I blinked. Wait. Did that hot fraternity guy just… ask me out? Me? Um. ME? I actually contemplated looking over my shoulder to find the sexy sorority girl he must have been actually directing that question to. But there wasn’t a sexy sorority girl. There was just me.

So. Obviously. I said yes. I gave him my number.

And then I walked out of the door of the coffee shop in a haze of “what the fuck just happened” and immediately ran into a wall.

Yes. This actually happened. I am so smooth.

So that’s how I met Darren. The sexy coffee shop barista/fraternity guy who for some unholy reason thinks I’M the sexy one in this… let’s call it a friendship.

Sounds perfect right?

It would be. It probably SHOULD be. But. It’s not.

Darren is nice. Really nice. He’s very nice. He’s very… dependable. He’s very….

well… he’s very…. nice.

Do you see the problem yet? He’s hot. He is. And he’s nice. But… well… I don’t actually… find him.. that… interesting?

To give an example, one time when Darren and I were discussing movies we both liked, he mentioned a new film that was coming out that had an actor I had mentioned I loved in it. I was eager to discuss this, and it seemed like a fine topic, but noting my enthusiasm, Darren went on to list… about half of the entire cast. By name.

Like. He just went down a list of characters and went, “And so-and-so is playing this and so-and-so is playing this.”

For about five minutes. Which no, isn’t a long time. Until you realize that you have to smile and think of things that aren’t just “Mhm. Uhuh.” to say when he pauses for breath.

Then it seems like fucking forever.

So why am I sticking around do you ask? Well. To be brutally honest, this is why. Darren, despite not always being interesting, is very nice. And he’s hot. Have I mentioned he’s hot? And frankly… well… he’s the type of guy who when I mentioned I was looking for strippers for my friend’s bachelorette party and jokingly asked if he would want to come strip for me and my friends, he instantly replied, “I’ll totally do it. I’ll even give you an audition beforehand.”

Um. What? 

He laughed at my confused expression and said, “I would do pretty much anything you asked.”

He would… he would… pretty much do… um… what?

I have a dirty mind (or, as I prefer to call it, a sexy imagination) but that wasn’t even subtle on his part. All I could think of was him entertaining every dirty little fetish of mine. I laughed, trying not to openly pant, and said, “Well I guess you’re wetting my interest then.”

To which he responded, “And you’ve had my GROWING interest since I first saw you.” and winked.

….so. Darren is nice. Darren is very very nice.

And even though it makes me a little worried when he talks about how much I’m on his mind or how beautiful I am (considering I’m having a hard time feeling more for him then a desire to take his clothes off), I can’t help but think… maybe this is okay? I mean. He’s in a frat. I can’t be the only girl he’s saying these things to. When he texts me drunk at 2 AM, I can’t be the only number he fumbles for. So it’s okay that I’m not really feeling anything for him other than lust. …right? I’m not screwing him over by smiling and saying he’s amazing when he says it to me first… right?

Because he IS amazing… just not quite in the way he might want to be to me.

But fuck, I’m pretty damn sure Darren must be AH-MAZING at using his tongue…. when he’s not talking about cast lists.

And all in all… maybe it isn’t such a bad thing to have a fraternity guy wrapped around your finger. Because he is really nice. And I’m NOT ruling him out completely. He told me not to overthink this.

So. It’s okay that there are other guys in the picture.

….I think.

Thank you for reading this insanely long post if you’re still with me and I’ll continue the series tomorrow and/or in the days to come.

xxx -Cassie

New Year, New Worries

Hello out there. Well. I’m shocked. A few people actually read my first post out into the blogosphere. I’m amazed, and flattered, and a little bit chagrined. Hopefully I’ll get over any performance anxiety quickly though and clear up any misconceptions about what this blog is and isn’t going to be.

For starters, if you’re going to follow this blog, you should probably know I’m not a very nice girl anymore. I used to be, awhile back. I never made a promise I couldn’t keep, every compliment I said out loud was completely sincere, and every smile and glance, every time I fluttered my eyelashes at a guy or slid my hands along his skin, it was because that gesture was his and his alone. I didn’t pass out my smiles for free, and I didn’t give out my affection like party favors just for showing up in my life.

But that isn’t really true anymore.

I used to be the type of girl who noticed one guy at a time, like normal people are supposed to. Now I notice everyone. And the strange thing is, for the first time in my life, for the past couple of years, they’ve been noticing me back.

If you want to know the truth, I have a very bad habit of making guys fall in love with me without meaning to. I know that sounds narcissistic (probably because it is), but I promised not to bullshit you, so here you go. When guys see me, I can see something light up in their eyes. There’s this kind of dazed expression that comes along with it sometimes, if they’re the more romantic types, the kind of guys who think they’ve found their soulmate the first time they see me smile accidentally in their direction.

And of course there are also the guys who just want to fuck me because I have long legs and a small waist.

I’m a lot of things these days, but I’m not naiive. I’m harboring no romantic delusions. I can tell when a guy just wants to sleep with me, even when I pretend not to notice.

But what’s really strange is that I’m not this kind of girl. At all. When I was growing up, I was short and a little bit chubby, too round around the edges to be considered anything but average at best. My hair was a disaster (I hated brushing it) and my clothes were there for comfort and protection as I played with the few good friends who penetrated the walls I had set up around me as a self-proclaimed quiet bookworm. As a child, I wasn’t exactly the type that you would look at and think, “She’s going to grow up and men are going to stare at her.”

But then I grew up and shocked everybody.

Including, for the record, myself.

I’m not trying to pretend I’m some amazingly hot person now. I’m not. I’m aware that I’m not. But the fact that I’m even pretty, given the way I started off, is a minor miracle.

So basically what I’m trying to say is, I feel like I have this superpower now. This ability to make men say idiotic things, to seduce a sex I don’t even fully understand, to make guys anywhere from seventeen to thirty-five sit up and take notice. I have power suddenly. Power I didn’t even notice I had until recently. Endless power to make a man desire me, ache for me, love me, shower me with compliments, say all the things I want to hear, even pledge promises to me I’m fully aware he won’t keep.

It’s fucking terrifying.

I don’t know how to do this! No one taught me how to wield this power, no one ever told me I would need to worry about breaking hearts. I had just assumed I would always be the one who pined, not the one who was wanted. I know this sounds ridiculous. Who wouldn’t want to be desired? And I’m willing to admit, in a way its nice. It makes me feel good. But it also makes me feel scared, and frankly, really, really young.

So I’m starting this new year out with more male attention then I’ve ever previously let myself enjoy, and I don’t know what I’m doing. I really don’t. I’m not this kind of girl! I’m not the seductress. I’m not even used to being the pretty one yet. So sometimes when guys say things to me, promise they’d do anything I asked, call me beautiful, tell me they’d rearrange their schedules, their days, their whole fucking lives to be a part of mine, I have to go look in the mirror and have a quiet word with myself. I have to remind myself that though my smile draws men in now, that’s not all of who I am. I’m still the girl who loves words, who loves books, who doesn’t care as much about how she looks as society tells her she’s supposed to. I have to try to remind myself how ridiculously, hilariously flawed I am. And that makes me feel a little better.

I know, sounds healthy, right?

So last night as I celebrated with my friends and the new year rolled in and my phone flooded with text messages from friends and family wishing me a happy new year, I couldn’t help but laugh as a certain guy (who we’ll call Darren), a fraternity guy I met in a coffee shop and have been talking to for the last few months, texted me, totally wasted but still very sweet, to tell me how this year couldn’t be as wonderful as me and other compliments, telling me he would always remember all our conversations (though I doubt he remembers that one today), because Darren, like all the other boys who think they want to chase me right now, are all players in one of the biggest practical jokes I’ve ever pulled off. They think I know what I’m doing. It’s actually kind of laughable. I just really hope, sincerely and completely, that the punchline doesn’t end up being one of their hearts. Cause I might be ready to be the pretty one. But I’m really not ready to be a heartbreaker.

In fact my resolution this year is to find myself… but without hurting anyone. Including me.

Happy New Year to all and hope your year to come is full of happiness, romance, and lots of good fucking. 😉

xxx – Cassie

Another First

Hey there.

So. Blogging. I can do this right? I guess I should start by introducing myself.

My name is Cassie. Cassie Mortmain. I’m nineteen years old. I really don’t know what the fuck is going on but (as mentioned above) I’m blogging about it. Seems like a foolproof plan, right? What could go wrong?

My life these days is full of firsts. When I was younger I thought I’d feel sort of grown up by now, sort of experienced, sort of like I knew what was going on in the world, but I don’t. If anything, I feel the complete opposite of that. I’m having more firsts in my life right now than I ever have before. I’m changing more rapidly now than I did when I literally had no idea who I was.

Last year when I had to decide what to do for college I told my parents I wanted a year out. I’d already been accepted to university, already knew what I was going to major in and had a very basic idea of what I wanted to do with my life. But suddenly, out of nowhere it’s like all these doubts swept in. Like suddenly I started wondering how the fuck I was so cocky as to think I knew what I wanted to do and who I was at eighteen. And then some other shitty stuff happened.

For one thing, I got dumped.

But that’s all in the past now. I’m doing much better these days. I’m glad I took a year out, glad I took some time to figure out what I was doing. I think I know now, at least a little, and for the first time in a long time I feel like I like myself. And for me, that’s a pretty new sensation.

And that’s why I’m writing this blog. To chronicle this crazy year of mine, this insane parade of growing up, of sex, and reading good books, and crying when I feel like it, and loving life, and getting drunk, and meeting amazing people. I kind of highly doubt that anyone is going to want to read this, but that’s okay. I need a place where I can bounce stuff around, where I can talk out loud without being judged, where I can talk about being horny and being happy and being right and being wrong whenever the fuck I feel like it. There’s not going to be any rating on this blog, no filter, no message. The only thing I’m changing are the names and a few personal details. (You can’t get at me now internet stalkers!) I’m not here to change the world. I’m just here to say– fuck it. I like life. It’s time I start living it.

If you read this blog, just know, I swear I’m not this kind of girl. I’m not the kind of girl who just does and says whatever she wants. Who puts it all out there. But there’s a first time for everything.

Maybe even a first time for this.

So to whoever is listening… if anyone is. Hi. I’m Cassie.

And this is my life. 🙂