Okay, Here We Go

So you may have noticed that it's not July 30th. It is August 4th. Doing some math, I owe you six posts. So, let's get started.

I think these posts will be best if they're about catch-up stuff. I'm going to start around the time I left off, which was early 2012. This is around the time that I started getting to know a girl named Kristen. It was awhile ago, and I won't pretend to remember the dates, but I will recount the experience as objectively as possible (the need for this will become apparent) and refrain from exaggeration.

Hang on, laundry.

Okay, back.

The earliest vivid* memory I have of me and Kristen is at a toga party, celebrating the birthday of our mutual friend, Emily. Towards the end of the party, there were only a handful of us in a room (I believe her boyfriend, Robert's), including her, me, Robert, and a very drunk friend of ours, Matt (we were all drunk, but he easily outshone us). At some point I was shown a picture on Robert's phone, and I swiped through a few. He asked for it back, telling me there were pictures on there not for my eyes. He pointed out that there was, in fact, a picture not two swipes away that was definitely private. The details are hazy here. Either I or Matt or someone else in the room raised some half-joking objection to being denied what was clearly a revealing picture of Kristen. Robert made an indication that it was up to her, and – establishing her lack of modesty for the first time in front of me – allowed him to show us the picture.

And show us he did, but the fun didn't stop there. This time I'm sure it was Matt who brought up seeing such a display live. Once again Robert gave her the choice, and once again she acquiesced. She let down her bedsheet toga, and we all got a good long look at Topless Kristen.

I want to say that it was at this point my brain ceded decision-making to my penis, and it retained control of my actions for the next year and a half. It certainly would be nice to blame everything that happened in that time on an imagined loss of willpower to the irresistible desire for sex.

But that isn't true. I didn't lose control. My penis didn't make the mistakes. I did.


*I will elaborate on my loose emplyment of the word "vivid" and my fascination with memory distortion in another post