Middle School: A Hard Moment

I see her walking to her first class and imagine reaching out and revealing my feelings for her. It is important to be subtle since we are not all that close. We are on the borderline between acquaintance and friend. She is close enough to talk to. I gather my thoughts and proceed to lay my heart on the line in an attempt to jump from my previous borderline to the next. The borderline between friend and girlfriend.  

 

“You look really nice today Krista.” It comes off surprisingly confident even though tremors engulf my extremities. 

 

Fantasies of this girl become more ornately detailed as she stops in front of me. Before this moment my imagination had painted her as a surreal-y smooth, blurry face. But now I can see each individual speck and coloration of her skin, which only fascinates me more. Those split ends engage my attention and her braces shimmer in the light. She is always passively in my vision, overshadowing the boring background of a teacher pointing to a whiteboard filled with unimportant information. My scenes of desire for this girl often overtake reality. Distinct images of our hands softly holding one another emerge over a blurring background, although that has yet to actually occur. As class continues each day, my slightly larger blurred hands become more concrete searching for the smaller blurs belonging to this girl. Eventually the background is phased out by encroaching darkness. Reality becomes eclipsed and I can finally focus fully on my childishly erotic hand-holding fantasy. These dreams become slightly less blurry when I fall asleep in class. In this real-life moment of me starting a conversation with her, my blur is combined with her true form and my fantasy becomes more vibrant than ever before.  

My erection sprouts from this clarity. Seeing her in person brings me to full attention. Casually, I place one arm across the front of my waist. Gradually I lower my arm, attempting to push my erection toward the seam of my jeans. Her smile becomes unbalanced as it transitions to an odd looking smirk. 

 

Contemplating this reaction I think to myself, she must have seen my erection and is freaking out internally. Her weird smirk is just this freak out slowly leaking out as pressure builds inside her. Maybe I have drawn too much attention to my crotch by placing my arm there. Moving my arm back to its normal position may guide her gaze back to something more appropriate. Or maybe, by moving my arm a second time I will only make the situation worse. Tucking it under my waist would be far too dangerous. I refuse to let this erection ruin our moment. 

Maybe her smirk has nothing to do with my erection. Her reaction is more likely coming from the fact that she just received a compliment from someone as socially uncoordinated as myself. Maybe my confidence was too much. Maybe my feelings have been casually and improperly revealed to her.  

 

Her smile turns back to normal, putting me a bit more at ease. “That’s really nice of you to say.” Her tone reveals exactly how she feels. 

 

I played this conversation recklessly. My usual “Hey” would have been far safer and probably more effective. My confidence was unwarranted and I have rightfully received this conversation-killing response. She responded to me with the implication that I am some kind of idiot. That tone, like talking to a toddler who requires admiration for the smallest of tasks. Congratulations Jeff, you awkwardly initiated a conversation. Now step up to the podium and receive your participatory medal.  

She tried to be nice because she thinks I require pity to survive this terribly anxious social endeavor. Holy shit. She has me pegged. My play at this point is uncertain. She administered a conversation killer as poignant as texting “k” in response to a long-winded essay of someone confessing their love.  

 

Time is becoming a blur, am I waiting too long for my response? Am I creating an overbearing silence too long for either of us to endure? 

My answer comes swiftly as her face turns from smirk to a questioning expression. Her eyes briefly shift away from me, breaking eye-contact for a twentieth of a second.  

My heart breaks with it. Clearly she has lost interest in me, no wait, my ego is far too large right now. There was no interest in me to begin with.  

 

My response has yet to arrive. I am forced to utter something, anything. “I just thought you should know… 

     … ya know?” 

 

What the frick did I just say? Somehow I follow up her conversation killer with one of my own. An incredible feat, in a bad way. Similarly incredible to someone yelling out a racial slur while surrounded by members of that race. Incredibly, profoundly, impressively stupid. Stupid is all I can think to myself until she responds.  

My eyes look slightly lower as I see her lips moving. Her lips uncurl as she tells me the most precious words I have ever received. “You are so sweet.” She pauses slightly longer between “so” and “sweet,” compared to her usual speaking pace.  

 

This feels unexpectedly genuine. Maybe I have just been getting into my own head. Anxiety is plaguing my thoughts and altering the apparent reality before me. She really does love me back. No, no, take it easy. She can’t reciprocate my feelings so quickly from a lame compliment. Still, something has gone right.  

 

She quickly leans toward me and wraps her small arms around my upper body. She is holding me so tight I can’t breathe. No wait, that’s my clenching fists. Her hug has a light-bodied amount of compression against mine.  

 

My fantasies make me feel faint as their nature develops into a more sexual one. No more holding-hands, now I fantasize about The Hug.  

 

Her shoulder becomes a new horizon as I peer over it. Her cheek lies comfortably against mine. Her hair falls all the way to my elbow, the elbow still awkwardly positioned because of my hand being placed in front of my crotch. My biceps are being lovingly pressed to my sides, but the rest of my arm can still manage to move. My hand moves to become more intimately involved in this moment. The lower halves of our bodies brush together, where previously they had been separated by a hand. I am so warm. No wait, that’s her, she is the one lending me this warmth. My fingertips move to her hips, my palms wondering if they are allowed to lounge on her waist. She pulls back from me. “I have to get to class, but I will see you at lunch! Okay?” 

 

I cannot and do not respond. My mouth hangs partially open. Lips are chapped because the moisture has been sapped from my body. I watch as she jogs away. I feel like I have just finished a sprint. The back of her head fades past the corner of a school building. She is out of view. My exhales are audible and take place in quick rhythm to match my heart rate. I look down to where she had been standing, my hands still holding her hips although her body is no longer present.  

 

She really does love me.  

 

My hands proudly form into fists as I look around to see if there were any witnesses to this triumph. We were alone in that moment, but I felt together. Together with her. My first step in ages launches forward. I stumble downward, catching myself on the blue railing running down the length of the wall. I casually pull myself back up as I pursue my next step.  

 

The warmth inside and surrounding me is overwhelming. It has increased my core temperature, penetrated my pores, and turned the water in my body to steam. I am being cooked alive, in a good way.  

Thinking about entering class is making me nervous because everyone will be staring at me as the door opens. My red face and limbs will be obvious to the kids in my class as I come in late. They will come up with hurtful names like Red-hair, Red-face, or something else of such a high caliber. Then everyone will join together in laughing at me. No wait, they will be far more focused on the outline of my erection through these jeans. It’s unavoidable. This erection is beyond hiding beneath my waistband.  

Oh my gosh. She hugged me, then I moved my hand from my crotch to join in. Then she felt this thing pushing against her. My fantastical re-imagining of the events now depict a more unfortunate reality. She felt obligated to break the tension I had created with my compliment, by ending it with a pity hug. In doing so, she found herself feeling my erection full force. Forcing her to pull away. I am such an ignorant pervert. 

Or, maybe she saw my erection develop at the start of the conversation and curiosity got the best of her. She was flattered and impressed, filled with desire. Feeling me amidst the hug satisfied her and she decided to pull away. My fantasies are evolving into a much more erotic sight. 

My attention is invested in the blurs as I enter the boring background of another teacher and another whiteboard like any other day. A lack of understanding of female anatomy makes the images I see far more blurry than before.  

I don’t even notice what my classmates are likely saying about me. Several classes take place, all dominated by these newfound blurs. The lunch bell breaks my staring at these blurs. 

 

I see her sitting at her usual lunch spot. We make eye contact from a few table lengths away. She gives me an enthusiastic smile and waves me over. My trajectory continues, I bump into a random kid because I refuse to look away from her. I focus on my breathing, trying to appear calm as I get closer. Our eye contact breaks as she continues talking with other her friends. I’m walking behind her, ready to take the seat at her side. Someone at the table makes her laugh. Thank you, whoever you are. I love that laugh. I turn to face the bench, my first leg bendsupward over the bench. I accidentally brush her leg   briefly. My body twists to fit completely on the bench. 

 

It’s official, we must be together. A hug followed by eating together. Everything makes sense.  

 

I try to sneak a bit of hand-holding with her under the cover of the table. She sharply pulls away from me. She angrily declares, “What are you doing you freak!?” A lot of emphasis on the “freak.” 

 

This is an easy reaction to decipher.  

 

I get up. I’m gone. 

 

She’s gone.

  • White Facebook Icon
  • White Twitter Icon
  • White Instagram Icon