#7 MY SECOND (ALSO SHORT-LIVED) HIGH SCHOOL BOYFRIEND, AKA THE FILIPINO BF
Why I have to embrace the labels and the judgement, the kind of honest content I want to deliver
Last week my grad school best friend, Brittany, shared a YouTube video of a stand-up comedy routine by Leslie Liao. I think Brittany enjoyed the segment about dating in one’s thirties, but I related more to the twenties section (for obvious reasons). She talks about being single for most of her twenties and she said, “I hooked up with everybody and I crushed it. I put up solid numbers on the board.” She continued saying it’s easy to access men at that age and hard to turn down “all the men.” Have a listen, she’s hilarious.
Liao describes her twenties as a figurative sea of dicks (or available men) to wade through, too many for her to finish (like that big plate of fries you ordered when you didn’t need more). And for my twenties, this was definitely also the case. I love that she talks about her experience and openly admits it because there are many men in my life who have been insecure about my numbers.
Spoiler: it’s somewhere between twenty and twenty five and when that movie called What’s Your Number (2011) with Anna Faris and Chris Evans came out, her number in the big reveal was nineteen and the people in the film thought that was high and oh so embarrassing. I remember thinking what sort of slut shaming world is this – and also why did I go to see this film?
Also, I’m sure Brittany wondered that too since I dragged her to gems like these and our favourite of all time (to make fun of): This Means War (2012) with Reese Witherspoon, Chris Pine, Tom Hardy (then not known as a heart-throb – not that he’s ever been my cup of tea), and Chelsea Handler. Classics, I tell you. What? You don’t remember them and have never rewatched them a dozen times?
Some partners have been fine with me having “multiple” partners and others not so much. But as a side note, I was tested regularly, used protection when we both hadn’t been recently tested, and I have never been pregnant. Not that any of that “absolves” me.
I think women should be allowed to do what they want with their bodies. I think women shouldn’t be slut shamed for appreciating their sexuality or even wanting sex.
And even though I had, on the one side, parents with an open attitude to sex and the other side, the Bible Belt teaching the opposite of that, I struggled to reconcile these two sides. I thought masturbation (or touching myself) was “dirty.” I thought it was okay for someone to go down on me but I wouldn’t give blow jobs because I thought they were “degrading.” (But boy did I master the hand job.)
But then I also think about the fact that my Grammy now subscribes to my Substack – Hi, Grammy, I love that you support me but really you do not want to read this blog – and also other people I know. I’m getting personal and raw (that’s not meant to be a sex joke) – and that’s a space that makes me nervous (and a little excited, maybe?).
Sure, my close friends and even my husband have heard many of these stories told in person, but it’s different opening up that side of myself to a larger audience (even if that audience is only currently twelve people that consists mostly of my family). I’m so thankful my family supports me but also #embarrassing. Trigger warning (TW): Look away now!
So, how will the people who know me – and maybe knew some of these people that kinda vaguely knew me at some point in the timeline of my life – take the story of that time Patrick Bateman (nickname will become clear later) unexpectedly shoved a finger up my bottom during sex or that time I gave a semi-famous musician a handjob in the loo (at my own uni house) or those two times where I legit had one night stands (and didn’t regret it)? Will they see me differently?
I guess I have to take the attitude of “other people’s opinion of me is none of my business.” It’s something I will have to come to terms with if I want to deliver the kind of honest content I have set out to deliver. Right?
In fiction, you can hide behind a character, but in nonfiction, you can only tell your truth. But have I always “planned” to write this sort of thing? Maybe subconsciously? After all, why have I kept snippets of diaries, old typed-out text exchanges, emails, letters, and so many “things” around all of these encounters if some part of me hadn’t planned to do something with the material at some point? Maybe I am a glutton for punishment to re-live semi-traumatic old memories; we’ll see. I guess you’re here with me now. Thanks!
This blog is about being true to myself and unapologetic about who I am and the choices I made. Do I feel “wrong” about my sexual choices? No. But the whole church-Bible Belt teachings run deep and they’re a little difficult to untangle even now, long after I no longer believe. So, I feel conflicted in that I know a subset of people will feel that this whole venture is a “basket of sinful devilry” or whatever.
The thing is when I was discovering the person I was to become, I wasn’t always the nicest or kindest person to everyone. Deep down, I cared about people and tried to “do the right thing” but sometimes I let my selfish, hedonistic, pleasure-seeking side take over my brain. Maybe that’s normal for a twenty-something.
When I was teaching university students long ago (when I was around twenty-four), I read about how when young women and men come together for the first time, there’s often a disconnect because women are raised on Disney and fairytales and men are raised on porn. (Also, I didn’t watch porn because the church said that was bad too.)
After a few painful life lessons around sex (with the second and third people I’d ever slept with), I learned how to have sex “like a man” in the way that I liked it, enjoyed it, with no attachment, just full pleasure – with the visual enjoyment to boot. I later learned that some of those people had liked me and I’d hurt them, but that had never been my intent. I was protecting myself more than anything.
What I’ve also learned from my therapist (shoutout to Lorraine) is that – in my words, we accept the love we think we deserve – but in my therapist’s (probably misquoted) words, we fall into patterns that feel safe and familiar to us, so the “nice” guy feels boring and mundane over the really “exciting” emotionally abusive person out there, who seems full of drama, passion, and adventure.
If we are used to those uncertainties, the drama, the passion, the push-pull, then we go for that every time, like that self-destructive moth to a flame. I’d like to think I had a decent childhood so I have no idea how I got so “fucked up” along the way but I did not have a healthy relationship with dating. I chased after the wrong people when a lot of really lovely men were in front of me.
There are dozens of people who would have been a way better match than the men I chose. I always had those close guy friends who loved me enough to rescue me from said disasters, shaking their head, half annoyed and half amused by my tales of woe. And annoyed that I never learned.
I was a “hot mess” in the Southern sense of the phrase (I really love that phrase – the South has a lot of good ones). And if this had been the plot of a rom-com, I’d turn to said hot best friend and realise that he was the one all along. But real life is not the plot of a rom-com. So, err, sorry people out there I hurt. It really was me and not you.
With some of the nicer men I flirted with and didn’t date and some of them I actually slept with, when I racked up more notches on my bedpost, I thought they’d judge me for being too much. They liked me as a friend, but I wasn’t in their league to date because surely they wanted more chaste girls, the girl who they didn’t see kissing five people at the bar, not the girl who they’d drive home later, and hug goodbye to keep her out of trouble.
But that being said, as amazing as some of those missed connections, near misses, or almosts were, I think that everything in my life has led me to Michael, who has been the hands-down best thing that has ever happened to me. He is a true gift: accepting, loving, patient, kind, funny, handsome, sexy, intelligent, full of life – also good in bed (like, really really good - swoon).
I’d also like to add that I love the South. I have such fond memories of growing up there (some not-so-fond ones, some mixed emotions). Of course, some attitudes are not without their problems (racism, sexism, classism, homophobia to name but a few) but growing up in Alapaha, I absolutely loved the kind-hearted, generous, amazing adults that helped shape my life, especially my “church” family. (Don’t worry if you’re reading – but I really hope not – none of this is your fault.) Many of them have lived “good, clean, Christian” lives and had beautiful marriages and families. I never felt I fit in that box – and that’s okay. Not everyone does.
Brittany, on the other hand, even back in graduate school, was wise beyond her years. She is only a year older than me but she always had healthy boundaries with relationships.
She’d grown up in a solid family unit (a really lovely family) where both of her parents had been in the US Army. Her mother had a career with the military as a civilian but at one time, had done a degree as a marriage and family therapist (which included sex therapy).
Many of Brittany’s ideas had come via discussing them with her mother and despite her trying to pass on wisdom, I never did listen. One way I could have eased my sexual tension was via that healthy relationship with masturbation, as B had pointed out, but I never did take that on board until (too many) years later (when I was first dating Michael). But even still, B, would I have changed? Maybe not.
I was determined to find out which variety of apple was my favourite; after all, how do you know if you like Pink Ladies more than Granny Smiths if you have never tried a Braeburn?
Okay, so let me talk about my second boyfriend. That’s what (presumably) you’re here for. I don’t remember how old he was but he was in the year (grade) below me at least. I have no idea what my (is it creepy?) theme of dating younger boys then was because in later life I mostly dated older men (and married one man seven years older and now current – and final – husband is nine years older).
Maybe it was because I think no one in my year wanted to date me – or if they did they never asked – and then as I got older there were fewer older boys in the years above. Also, I made quirky fashion choices like jeans and a skirt and wore high heels with pointy toes (still my fave) most days. I think jeans and a skirt was a thing back then, though.
I digress. I also don’t remember how we met but probably in the cafeteria/entry hall of our school where all the tables were set up in the morning for students to eat breakfast (I never did eat) and mingle. All I do recall was that we went out for a brief time and I’d spend at least ten minutes in the morning in art class crafting and colouring letters to him, which he found very amusing.
He had a female best friend (also a theme) where she was also Filipino (and beautiful, of course) – let me tell you, the South has some of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. They were super close and I was very jealous of that closeness. He was also more in the goth scene (so I’d moved from skater to goth adjacent). Again, I really wanted the more preppy look which also caused friction in our “relationship” for trying to change him.
What I do recall is that he was a really good-looking boy. He was tall with beautiful skin, deep brown eyes, and one of those sparkling white Hollywood smiles. He spiked his hair (it was the 2000s) and I remember the way he held my hand.
We went to the homecoming dance together that year (so I’m guessing this was maybe my Junior year). We made out a few times but I really do not recall. Once he came back to my house to hang out and I remember us falling asleep together on my bed and not touching or kissing. I remember thinking it was odd that he didn’t want to touch me but I didn’t press it.
I also have a memory of going to his house and meeting his parents. His mother was Filipino and his father had been from Georgia and was a retired Air Force vet. His father was strict but he was friendly to me and his mother was really kind. He had an older brother and a younger sister. I always enjoyed speaking with his younger sister. She was in middle school and despite being as beautiful as her brother, she was super insecure. I remember having “wise chats” with her (I’m sure I had as much wisdom as a chocolate teapot).
He broke up with me at some point. I was hurt but I don’t remember it the way I did from my first heartbreak so it must haven’t been so bad – or my trauma brain has worked and blocked some things for me, thanks brain (kidding).
I think we stayed friendly after that and the year after, when I was a senior, I dated my high school sweetheart. I had a lot of hobbies in high school between track and clubs so even though I was a huge flirt and had a million crushes, the single life didn’t bother me (unlike when I became a serial dater later but maybe that was more conveyor belt availability).
That relationship with my high school sweetheart would take up years and years of my life (on and off for about six years) and be a toxic rollercoaster (more on that later – which will obviously become my catchphrase – should I shorten it to MOTL? Stop trying to make fetch happen!).
I’m not sure when exactly, but Filipino ex-boyfriend came out as gay with me having been the last girl he dated, which at our high school was incredibly brave. There were active Christians who told the gay kids at our school, “I love y’all but I hate your sin” or worse, “Y’all are going to hell.” Kindness. Gotta love it!
Next up, I’m skipping ahead to the man I dated right before I met my first husband. Let me tell you, I was in for a surprise…
Don’t forget to check out the other six posts I’ve written, including the one on why I’m writing this newsletter/blog in the first place.
