The Quarterback Dilemma

Monday 5 February

Yesterday I made out with The Quarterback. I had no intention of doing any of it, but he kissed me and then before I knew it I was kissing him back and he had his hands down my pants. I wasn’t going to let him do all that to me and I was certainly not going to do all that to him, but to my surprise I found myself begging for it.

Needless to say I am horrified. He is and always has been extremely good looking; even I can’t fail to see that. However he is also and always has been what one might call a Dick, with a capital D. And a Douche. And now a Disaster in the making.

The problem is I can’t get the whole thing out of my head. It happened; I accept that and no amount of wishing it away will unhappen it. I can’t tell anyone, of course, so it is going to have to live in my head getting bigger and bigger so to speak. I have always been impulsive and this time I have gone and done it. Making out with the quarterback is one step too far. Making out with one of the people who is capable of making my life a misery was not a GOOD IDEA.

I wasn’t even drunk or high. I was stone cold sober. It was two in the afternoon for God’s sake. On a Sunday. Oh why did he have to look at me like that? With those ridiculously long black lashes? Why did he have to put a finger on my lips and look at me like that? And why oh why did I have to lunge at him like a bitch on heat?

We were arguing. I was attempting to confront him about what he did to my friend, Stu. It was a very stupid idea to do that alone. I was going to blind him with my vocabulary and ability to express a rational and unbeatable argument, but who was I kidding? Did I really think The Quarterback gives a damn about rational argument? He just stood there with his arms folded while I whined on and on about fairness and mature behaviour and … I cringe to remember it. He had this little grin on his face and was looking at my mouth the whole time, and for some reason I stopped mid sentence and found myself looking at his crotch. That did it I suppose, with a Neanderthal like him, that’s all it took. He stepped towards me and placed his finger on my lips and I lunged at him. I don’t know why!!! I couldn’t help myself and his kiss was so deep and tasted so good and then his hand was in my jeans and I was grinding into him and fast reaching the stage of no going back. And the worst bit is that I was going to stop and walk away. While he was muttering curses into my neck I was mustering the resolve to push him away, but something in me snapped and I found myself begging for more, scrabbling at his belt buckle, grabbing at him. And the boy whose name I can never bring myself to use actually had me yelping that name as he made me come. I hate him.

He was in my Math class today. He gave me a look so steamy that I was tempted to play with myself under the desk. What have I done?