Again, probably not the most sensible decision on reflection, though that’s something that, really, I’ve realised more recently, as I finally accepted my sexuality, and came out to my closest friends. But leave I did, and I ended up in an all boys’ school. When I reflect upon it, I wouldn’t have made the same decision to leave, had I my time again, though having not fully come to terms with my sexuality by the age of 13, this would never have played into any decision at the time.
A seeming failure to ever really integrate and become ‘one of the boys’ was I’d admit, the main driving factor behind my decision to leave the school. There, I was most comfortable and indeed spent most of my time in the company of girls. Until the age of 13, I, like most people, went to a comprehensive school. I haven’t always been a student at a private school, which for now will remain nameless. I’m talking about going to an independent day/boarding boys’ school, and I’m trying to get across to those who’ll listen, what it means to try and grow up in an environment where, perhaps, the most active and healthy part of any young person’s life, their sexuality, is repressed, ridiculed, though for the most part, willfully ignored by teachers and adults in positions of authority around them. Our friend group has successfully gone from a normal group of friends to an orgy of friendcest.Īll Awkward Sex Stories contributors will remain anonymous to protect from attempted future booty calls.I’m talking about being middle class. Maybe they aren’t getting any at school, or maybe my basement is cursed with some sort of love drug, because breaks have become hook-up marathons. All were merely last-ditch efforts to get it on with a girl that would actually talk to them. The third player was making ground.Īt this point, over the course of only one week total, there had been some sort of sexual encounter with nearly every boy in our close-knit high school group. Can we at least kiss?” If by “us” he meant meaningless daytime sex in the summer I guess there was an “us.” Anyway, needless to say, what started out as a kiss escalated a bit. But then we’re watching “The Office” in the basement when he turns to me with pouty eyes and says, “I miss this. I had told him I wasn’t trying to hook-up with him over break, that the past was fun and all, but there was no need to relive it. He and I had messed around before, but let’s be clear, there never was an “us.” The one friend I didn’t get to see over fall break now had four days to play catch-up. You guessed it, a quick nap before breakfast turned into a quickie before breakfast.įlash forward to Thanksgiving break. My guard was down, and I was weak, tired from the night before and hungry for some hangover food - the perfect time for this player to make his move. So there we were 30 minutes later in my basement, patiently awaiting breakfast burritos. During the ride, he managed to invite himself to my family breakfast. When morning came, another friend decided to catch a ride back to the city with me. After the initial shock I was able to compose myself and hit him with the eye roll and “really dude?” The first player of the game had been successfully removed. After a few minutes of dancing I turned around to find it wasn’t just a frat boy - it was one of my boys, an old friend from high school. It wasn’t long after we started dancing at a frat party that I felt someone behind me trying to dance. When it came time for the pregame, shots were taken to the #highschoolmemories, and everyone was feeling flirty and bold. I’d say it was a joyous reunion, as hugs and anecdotes were shared. Over fall break, I went to visit my friends at the state school they go to. Whatever it is, my friends from home just can’t seem to keep their hands and private parts to themselves in the less-than-a-week-long breaks we’ve had so far. Maybe it’s the pure nostalgia or maybe it’s that exciting anticipation as you weigh the odds of whether mom is going to come down and do the laundry mid-hook-up-sesh. There is clearly something about the thrill of doing it in your mom’s basement or the enticing challenge of backseat hook-ups. The objective: How many of my previously platonic friends can I fool around with now that I won’t have to face them in the hallways of high school? It feels like going home for holidays and breaks has become some sort of game.