My First Boyfriend

My first boyfriend’s name was Justin.  We were sophomores in high school, 15-years-old, and I don’t really know why we started dating.  I was taking an introductory photography class and he was also in photography, but at a different time in the day.  We met in the dark room once after school, where he complimented me on one of my developing pictures.

I was flattered, but I didn’t think anything of it.  I hung the picture to dry and started working on another one.  I wasn’t good at multi-tasking in the dark room yet, and I was always nervous about pictures turning out right, so at that point I would only work on one at a time (I later ended up taking the advanced photography class, where multi-tasking became my specialty, thank you very much). 

Anyway, Justin was cute, and another day in the dark room he said, “So, you’re on the dance team aren’t you?”
“Yep,” I replied with a smile.  I loved being on the dance team, because dancing was, and still is, my favorite thing.
“So, since you’re on the dance team, I take it you’d never go out with a guy like me.”
“And what kind of guy are you?”
“I don’t know.  Just seems like I’m not your type.”
“Well, I don’t really know you very well, so I don’t know if you’re my type or not," I said, trying not to smile at how witty I thought I was being.

Truth is, I didn’t really have a type, so I had no idea if he was it or not.  We went for a walk after my pictures were all hung to dry, smoked some cigarettes, and talked.  We decided he could be my type and I could be his, even though the high school social divide was there.  Not many girls on the dance team would date guys with jet black mohawks, and vice-versa.  Justin asked me out while we were smoking cigarettes on the bleachers and holding hands.

We dated for three weeks.  It was a friendly and mutual break up.  We both liked other people, it wasn’t dramatic because we didn’t really fool around very much so there was no heartbreak over sex, and one day he intended to talk to me about the situation, I just brought it up first.

“Do you think this is going to be a long-term kind of thing?” I asked.
“I don’t know, why?”
“Well, I was just thinking about it, and we seem to be more like friends than a couple, and I’m fine with that, but if that’s the case maybe we should just be friends.”
“That’s fine with me, I was thinking the same thing.”

We hugged, kissed, and I closed my locker and went to class.  We managed to do all this within the four minutes you’re allowed between classes, and I walked in and took my assigned seat behind my new crush: Tommy.

I had later told my friend, Jordan (you’ll hear more about him later), about Justin and I.  He asked if I liked someone new, and I said yes but wouldn’t tell him who it was.  I know he’d make fun of me, no matter who it was.

Justin and I remained friends until he went to a different school and we lost contact.  At an event where student bands perform original songs, I saw him again.  That time, we were both seniors and I had just broken up with another boyfriend.  He didn’t have the mohawk anymore, but he was still a punk rock guy.  We hugged and briefly caught up.  I realized he was drunk.  He asked if he could talk to me privately, I said sure, and we ended up in the guys’ bathroom.

He pulled me into a stall with him and locked it behind me.  It all happened so fast that I didn't realize what his intentions probably were.  He said, “I’ve missed you,” and started kissing my neck.  I said, “Justin, stop, you’re drunk.”
“That doesn’t mean I haven’t missed you.”
“We dated for like three weeks almost two years ago, that doesn’t make sense.”
“Let’s just have fun,” he said, and started kissing me as I was lightly pushing him away.
“Let’s not do anything we’ll regret,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“Trust me, I won’t regret this,” he said, smiling and pulling at my shirt.

OK, this just got 10 times more uncomfortable.  I kept trying to reach behind me and unlock the door, because if I could just do that, I could push him really quick and get out.  I had enough gossip flying around about me (some things I wish were true, some I wish weren't true, but I'll probably never tell which is which!), the last thing I needed was to have someone walk in the bathroom and think I was in the stall doing it with someone.

I heard the door open and someone walked in and must have heard us arguing.  The person asked, “Is everything OK in there?"

"Oh!  Jordan!  Is that you?"
“Emma?”

I quickly unlocked the door, somehow, with two people and a toilet shoved into a stall I managed to open it with lightning speed, and started fixing my shirt and said, “Jordan, please trust me, it’s really not what it looks like.”
“You don’t have to answer to me,” Jordan said.  He was a year older and already graduated, but he had a few friends still in these student bands so he came to support them.
“Well, I don’t want you to think I’m slutty or something,” I said, because that’s the last thing I needed.
“Don’t worry about it, kid,” he said as he put his arm around me and we walked out, leaving Justin drunk and confused.  I later heard he puked and got kicked out of the event.  That was the last time I ever talked to Justin, and about the millionth time Jordan had rescued me from an uncomfortable situation.