The Slut Survival Guide
prologue.
I could count the number of guys who had genuinely liked me on one hand. Actually, on one finger. His name was Steven, and he had recently dumped my sorry ass.
Before I met Steven, I had been 'the good girl'. While my best friends, Catherine and Valerie, went out to parties, I stayed home and bonded with my family, studied for tests, or moisturized my freakishly dry elbows while watching House, M.D. marathons on USA. Cable television was my hot date on a Friday night.
I did all my homework. I sucked up to teachers. My GPA was impeccable with the exception of one small blemish known as AP Physics, but we don't mention that. And the crown jewel of all my achievements? I was accepted early admission into Yale.
But I was also an eighteen-year-old virgin.
Although I'm not one of those kids who has a biological clock ticking that says when and where I should stop being a virgin, it bothered me because of Steven.
He had been my boyfriend for over a year and I had expected him to be the one. Not just the first-time-one, but The One. I saw him dropping down on one knee in front of the Eiffel Tower and proposing to me in fluent French. I saw our children (one boy and one girl) sitting in the backseat of our mini-van, orchestra instruments in hand and sportswear in their backpacks.
But Steven didn't see it that way.
Exactly one month ago, he cut it off. March 5th. He told me he wanted his last few months in high school to be free . He told me we would have to "break up anyway" for college, since I was going to Yale and he was going to Duke. He saw himself starting a new life and he wanted to start it now, one month before AP exams.
But that sure as hell was not how I saw it.
I saw long-distance phone calls that lasted way into the night, with lots of "I miss you"-s and "No, I love you more"-s. I saw spring and winter break visits with him waiting for me at the airport. I saw an engagement ring glistening while I took notes in class. I saw a wedding dress by the time I started medical school.
But now I can't see anything.
And that's why I decided to start the guide. Well, it wasn't my idea, and I won't take credit for it. Catherine and Valerie were the masterminds behind this plot to change my life. It was a sort of social experiment, or so they assured me. Against my better judgement, I went with it, and the leather-bound journal was born. The title page, kissed once by each of us in various shades of red lipstick, bore my messy cursive scrawl.
The Slut Survival Guide.
Before I met Steven, I had been 'the good girl'. While my best friends, Catherine and Valerie, went out to parties, I stayed home and bonded with my family, studied for tests, or moisturized my freakishly dry elbows while watching House, M.D. marathons on USA. Cable television was my hot date on a Friday night.
I did all my homework. I sucked up to teachers. My GPA was impeccable with the exception of one small blemish known as AP Physics, but we don't mention that. And the crown jewel of all my achievements? I was accepted early admission into Yale.
But I was also an eighteen-year-old virgin.
Although I'm not one of those kids who has a biological clock ticking that says when and where I should stop being a virgin, it bothered me because of Steven.
He had been my boyfriend for over a year and I had expected him to be the one. Not just the first-time-one, but The One. I saw him dropping down on one knee in front of the Eiffel Tower and proposing to me in fluent French. I saw our children (one boy and one girl) sitting in the backseat of our mini-van, orchestra instruments in hand and sportswear in their backpacks.
But Steven didn't see it that way.
Exactly one month ago, he cut it off. March 5th. He told me he wanted his last few months in high school to be free . He told me we would have to "break up anyway" for college, since I was going to Yale and he was going to Duke. He saw himself starting a new life and he wanted to start it now, one month before AP exams.
But that sure as hell was not how I saw it.
I saw long-distance phone calls that lasted way into the night, with lots of "I miss you"-s and "No, I love you more"-s. I saw spring and winter break visits with him waiting for me at the airport. I saw an engagement ring glistening while I took notes in class. I saw a wedding dress by the time I started medical school.
But now I can't see anything.
And that's why I decided to start the guide. Well, it wasn't my idea, and I won't take credit for it. Catherine and Valerie were the masterminds behind this plot to change my life. It was a sort of social experiment, or so they assured me. Against my better judgement, I went with it, and the leather-bound journal was born. The title page, kissed once by each of us in various shades of red lipstick, bore my messy cursive scrawl.
The Slut Survival Guide.
♠ ♠ ♠
Doing a re-write, since my older self is horrified by the writing style of my younger self.also, click this