Date: Tue, 18 Jan 2000 20:19:07 PST
From: F M <roostory85@hotmail.com>
Subject: "Roo" [Lesbian, High School]

This story Involves sex but none is described explicitly.

This story is about my first, and only (so far) relationship.  It doesn't
involve any sex, so for those of you searching out hard core erotica,
this is not the place for you.  This story is for anyone to read my most
painful memories, but some of my best memories as well.  I hope you enjoy
it, but keep in mind: I claim not to be an experienced writer worth
_anything_, but I simply needed to get this story out of my system.

PART I: "Genesis"

	She was just another guard member.  A new member, a beginner and
therefore wouldn't be in the sabreline.  Since she wasn't in the sabreline,
she wasn't of any concern to me.  We went through the competition season
and I finished it quite comfortably paying absolutely no attention to her.
It was my ninth grade year, my last year at the junior high, and I wasn't
about to make any obligations to anyone in a younger grade.  After all, I
_was_ going to the school in town that 90% of the students in my jr. high
would *not* attend; I wouldn't be seeing much of any of them again.  I'm
afraid my assumptions were wrong.

	Near the end of the school year, she began that obnoxious
*clinging* to me, that perhaps a young child with an older role model might
be capable of.  She began her daily messages online to me, and I dismissed
them as another "lesser" friend I had to talk to.  I found her personality
to be strikingly odd, as she continually asked questions regarding sex.
Let it be known that I had been (and still am) a nerd my entire life, never
once having sex, and hardly *thinking* about it.  (I'm rather unique in
that way, I suppose, as I soon found out later in my life that 99% of the
earth's population is controlled by sex.)  I answered them, simply in hopes
that she would just leave me to talk to my closer friends.  It didn't work
that way.  She just kept inching closer and closer to me, and without my
knowing it, we had become rather close friends by mid-summer.  Somehow my
continued, absent-minded responses to her messages had let her squeeze her
way into a rather large part of my life.  I believe there was one thing she
told me that made me realize how attached we had become as friends: "My mom
thinks we're lesbian lovers!!!!"

	That absolutely blew my mind, and not in a good way!  I had never
even given a thought to her sexuality, or my own for that matter.  I had
always taken myself to be heterosexual, and, as I said before, uninterested
in sex.  I finally settled down and realized that it's just her mom, no big
deal.  We aren't lovers, we never would be.  We could make a big joke out
of this - and we did.  We started joking around with the idea, then her
older brother Tom became completely convinced that we were in fact lesbian
lovers and constantly taunted her about it.

	We became so close, in fact, that we gave each other access to our
email accounts, and read each other's mail daily.  One day I came across a
mail sent to one of her other close friends complaining that I never hugged
her when she needed it, but I had hugged her friend (who she was writing
to) willingly.  Now, she knew I wasn't exactly fond of hugging, or any
other type of physical contact for that matter.  I had only recently
started the "hug for hello" deal because it was becoming popular, and I was
forced to become a part of it (as my other friends follow popular trends
very closely).  And even then, it was limited to those who seemed to
believe it was expected, then surprised if I don't hug them.

I never really felt she needed the superficiality of a "hello hug".  That's
exactly how I thought of them - completely superficial, trying to show such
affection that just wasn't there.  I knew who my friends were and didn't
need to hug them to be sure of it.  It shocked me to find that she wanted
me to hug her, so I quickly sent an email apologizing for not realizing
that it made her feel the way she did when I hugged someone but not her.  I
never really gave any thought to it afterwards (and I never really hugged
her afterwards either).  By this time she had been slowly revealing to me
that she was abused as a child, both beaten and molested.  She continued to
tell me that she was raped almost every week, but it was such a predicament
that there was noone to tell or turn to, so there was no way out.  I had
been in such a sheltered life, I never even realized that type of behavior
was actually happening to "real" people - people I knew.  Being as naive as
I was about these types of situations, I figured she was one in a million
of people that this happens to, and immediately felt an intense sense of
pity and guilt for her.  I grew to care about her so much as a friend I
didn't want any harm to come to her.  I felt the same way about all of my
friends, but this was the first one who was actually in some type of
danger.  I could never provide any help for her, and she cried almost every
time we talked on the phone.  I just became increasingly frustrated with
myself and my not being able to help her.  I felt extremely protective of
her, as if she had become my responsibility when she became a close friend
of mine.  I only wanted her pain to go away so she could have a good life,
and I was willing to give my own self up if it would have helped.  I did
mention the feelings I just mentioned, and I found an email she sent out
saying how sweet I was.  "Sweet" is an adjective that I wouldn't have used
about a friend, even a close one.  I began thinking about all that was
involved in our friendship, including the "lesbian lovers" idea, and all of
her somewhat unexpected comments about me made to other friends.  I finally
realized that, maybe, she liked me more than a friend.

	This epiphany brought me into an even more troublesome predicament.
Since she liked me, and wanted to become "more than friends", if I rejected
her I may cause her more pain in her life, and, obviously, she needed none
of that, especially from her closest friend.  However, I was NOT a lesbian!
I refused to think that.  But, I did remember what I said to her, and my
loyalty to her - that I was willing to give myself up to make her life
better.  On some random day, she and I were speaking in a private chat room
as we often did, she mentioned that her brother was in the room and was
commenting about us being lovers again.  She suggested we give him what he
wanted, and I agreed.  I could've used a good laugh that day.  We began
with stereotypical "sweet nothings", as most young couples in love might
say to each other.  When Tom left the room, she told me and we began joking
about what we had said to each other.  Unfortunately, one time, I had
thought Tom was out of the room and the conversation began to
get... "weird."

"That was hilarious!  What do you think he thinks???"

"He thinks it's sweet!  His eyes are tearing up!!!"

"LOL!!  my STOMACH is starting to hurt I'm laughing so hard!"

"Did you really mean what you said?"

	That last line caught me off guard.  I wasn't expecting that at
all...  I had been thinking that she "liked" me in that way for the past
few weeks or so, but I wasn't ready with a well thought out answer to that
question yet.  I was in a panic, pondering what I should do, what I should
say.  I couldn't hurt her, I cared too much about her well being.  She had
already attempted suicide before because she thought I didn't consider her
a friend (and I hadn't, at that time).  I couldn't let her kill herself
because of me.  Of course it seemed odd that she would kill herself, but I
dismissed it amongst the other different things about her because of her
abuse.  I'd imagine that it had to be a horrible experience, and it must
have affected her in too many ways to know.  I knew I had to say yes,
somehow.  I didn't want to.  I didn't mean anything I said.  It was all in
good fun for me.  But I couldn't tell her no.

"Um...  I don't want to freak you out or anything... but... yeah.  A little
bit."
	
	Soon after I sent that last message she sent me another, encoded so
that her brother couldn't understand, telling me that Tom had come back
into the room.  I couldn't believe it!  When she asked me that question, it
was for Tom's show again...  I had just screwed myself over and gotten
myself deeper into a situation I didn't need to be in for nothing!  I
panicked again and tried to think of an excuse for what I had said.  I then
thought to myself, "No.  This is what she wanted.  I have to give this to
her, it's the least I can do for her if I can't get her out of the crap
she's in."  When Tom left again, she asked about what I had said.  I denied
nothing, and she asked if we should "give it a try".  I thought for a long
time, rolling around the thoughts of her being raped, her suicide attempts,
he hard life compared to my sheltered one, what I owed her for paying no
attention to her in the beginning, my own feelings about her, my desire to
have some sort of relationship, since I was in high school and never once
had one... What I did next came from a mixture of pity, guilt, and
curiosity about relationships.
	
	I said, "sure."  It was January 11th, 1998, at approximately 2:30
pm.

PART II: Slowly, but surely...
	
	The next few months were full of timid, shy moves closer into the
realm of relationships.  We began the relationship with my strict desire to
not have any *serious* physical contact, but just a continuation of the
friendship with the understanding that there was in fact a mutual love for
each other.  However, I refused to have sex.  The thought of lesbian sex
actually rather disgusted me.  Never having been in a relationship before,
I was craving the "little things" - someone caring for me, someone holding
my hand, someone complimenting me constantly.  We held hands, and
eventually kissed. I was completely content to stop at that level of our
relationship.  If I could have, I'd have just stayed at that moment in
time.  Every day was full of "I love you"s and "I miss you"s; whenever we
saw one another there were the kisses and the hugs, and the holding of
hands.  Everything I had always wanted from a relationship.  I didn't want
anything more.

	Unfortunately, she did.  Being abused as a child, her mind was
altered slightly - she was a bit of a nymphomaniac.  She absolutely *thrived*
on sex.  Because she cared about me, however, she only subtly hinted at it,
because she knew I didn't want to.

"Have you ever masturbated?"

"No."

"Oh.  Have you ever wondered about it?"

"Not particularly."

"M'kay."

	She began, then, to get more inquisitive about sex, and I finally
gave in to the thought that she wanted to move forward with this
relationship.  We had only been "together" officially for two months, and I
still didn't feel ready at all for any sexual contact.  However, my love
for her had grown so much within the first two months, I would have killed
myself for her, if not anything more.  I decided I should let her know
soon, since she had been waiting quite some time for me to give my body up
to her.  Our chats about sex continued.

"Have you ever thought about what feeling someone else's pussy would be
like?"

<*pause*>

"Um.  I'm not sure."

"Really???  You've thought about it before???"

"I guess so."

"Would you...  well.  I dunno."

"What??"

"Well... would you ever consider letting me touch you?"

"Ummm...  no.  I don't think so.  I don't want you to feel obligated to do
that.  But I would touch you, if you so desire.  You know I'd do anything
for you."

"Wow...  I never thought you'd do that..."
	
	I never wanted her to touch me.  I didn't like the idea.  My rule
was that my pants never come off while with her.  But my life now was
completely for her pleasure and happiness.  I devoted everything to her,
thought of nothing but her and how I could make her happy.  I figured that
she shouldn't have to do anything for me this way, but I could still make
her happy by giving her the sex she craved so much...

	I knew she'd want me to "touch her" the next time we saw each other
in person - most likely at the movie theatres.  I was determined to give
her as much pleasure as she could handle, in the hopes of reinforcing the
long life of our relationship.
		
	Within a few days, we were at the movie theatre, in the dark,
secluded corner which, unfortunately for me but fortunately for her, seemed
specifically designed for teenagers making out.  She was wearing a sheer,
see-through shirt, some breakaway pants, and the evilest smile you've ever
seen.  She knew well what was coming to her, and I was nervous as hell that
I wouldn't be able to give it to her.  After the first five minutes of the
movie, we began making out, our hands all over each other.  We kissed for
what seemed like an eternity, locked by our lips in our own world,
completely detached from whatever was outside.  Only we mattered, and only
our tongues meeting one another, exploring each other's mouths, our lips
pressing against each other, the warmth of our bodies radiating toward each
other... I broke the kiss and held her right cheek with my left hand, her
tiny hand grasping onto the outside of mine while I stared deeply into her
eyes, seeing the longing and the love in them, trying to convey my love for
her and my devotion to her through my expression.  I kissed her briefly on
the lips again and went through what I felt to be my duty as her lover,
protector, and friend, despite my own moral conflicts that were swarming
throughout my mind.  Once finished, and convinced that she had enjoyed
herself, I hugged her tightly while nuzzling and kissing her neck and
cheek, and gave her another long, deep kiss on the lips.  She broke away
and moved towards my ear and whispered "Thank you."  I only pouted at her
and shook my head no.  She shouldn't thank me for what I want to do...
Giving her everything she had ever wanted made her happy.  My one goal
while with her was to make her life easier, happier.  We sat and cuddled
with one another for the rest of the movie.

	This continued for the next three months, and I expanded to
everything and everything I could do for her and to her.  She claimed to
love every moment of it, and I was glad to do it.  She eventually pouted
her way into my own pants, but, as I said before, I didn't have interest in
sex and was forced to "fake it" for her.  I never wanted to hurt her
feelings by not showing that what she was doing gave me pleasure... What
she did honestly didn't provoke any sexual pleasure, but she made me happy
she was so eager to do it & gained pleasure herself from it.  All I cared
about was her, and her pleasure - which, to her, meant her orgasms.
Nothing else mattered in my life, absolutely nothing.  At one point, near
her birthday in May, she told me one of her fantasies: To be raped by the
one she loved.  This absolutely apalled me, as I couldn't even *think* of
hurting her or doing something she didn't want to do.  I could never hit
her or cause any harm to her.  That was the type of thing I was trying to
keep her from.  I rejected the idea to her face, which was rather ignorant
on my part.  She felt insulted, but she knew I could never hurt her.  I had
told her that hundreds of times before, when she told me of her being
abused.  I couldn't imagine myself adding to all of that pain.  She seemed
to be upset, but then forget the idea, much to my relief, and we continued
with our relationship, though she seemed slightly distant.  My love for her
only grew with each passing day and her distance hurt like nothing else I
had ever experienced in the world.  She was kind enough, however, to
continue her caring words, and her reassurances that "nothing was wrong".

PART III: All Good Things...

	After both of our birthdays (and rather explicit celebrations) in
May, our relationship took a turn obviously for the worst.  She called me,
normally in tears and upset by her continued abuse.  I could only sit at
the other end of the line, crying quietly myself because I couldn't provide
any help for her, any peace.  Through all of the problems in her life, she
could find no other outlet for her anguish but self-mutilation.  I was
heartbroken that, in addition to being hurt by others, she also felt the
need to harm her own self!  I, her supposed lover and friend, sat, doing
nothing to stop her or give her help or comfort she so desperately needed.
One day, while separated by the very town we lived in and in our respective
houses, she called me.  She was, again, sobbing, and I automatically
repeated the calming words I hoped would aid in stopping her unhappiness.
Unfortunately, this was different.  She had a new reason to cry.  She
revealed to me, tearfully, that her best friend had kissed her.  I
reassured her this was of no difference to me, that it wasn't her fault and
not to be blamed.  She wasn't being disloyal.  She had more to tell me.
The girl who had kissed her was her ex-girlfriend.  I was completely
shocked to find that she had a previous girlfriend, but not unhappy (though
not happy, either.).  I was stunned, but continued to tell her that it
wasn't anything worth the tears, that my love would never be changed by a
forced kiss upon her lips.  The phone call ended as usual, with her falling
asleep at the other end, exhausted from crying so intensely and for so
long.
	
	Only a few days later, I was again bored and online on her
screenname, going through any interesting mails she had.  I found one to a
newfound friend I had acquired through the mutual visitation of web pages
and finding that we had much in common, including girlfriends.  I opened
it, hoping to learn of my new friend and that she and my love were getting
along.  I was happy to find that they were becoming friends as well, but
the mail was of an upsetting subject: Her ex-girlfriend, Rosanne.  Then I
found four words which turned my seemingly problem-free world completely
upside-down: "I still love her."  My lover was at her own practice,
unavailable for comment or an explanation that I hoped would lead to her
revelation that she had perhaps mistyped the sentence.  But, of course, it
was not mistyped.  There were others in her email that told of her missing
Rosanne, remembering good times they had.  I could hardly function.  My
body was racked with my sobs, I didn't know what was going on, I was
completely delirious for some time, absent-mindedly signing off of her
account and finding a razor blade near the keyboard.  I had no idea what I
was doing, my broken heart had completely taken over.  I had promised her
that I would never kill myself, as we had made such agreements early on in
our relationship.  I somehow knew this, but knew I wanted to die.  I had to
die, the only life I knew was gone, the one I loved was gone and back with
her old girlfriend.  The true love I felt was turned away and rejected, and
I was left with the shattered remnants or it.  I just knew I had to hurt
myself if not kill myself, and cut my arm deeply, as close to my wrist as
my half-aware mind would allow.  As soon as the razor left my flesh, my
mind seemed to abruptly come together.  The denial took over, and told me
that I didn't know what was going on.  Perhaps she was only saying she
loved Rosanne as a friend now.  There was nothing going on.  She loved you,
she told you so, and she said she would never love anyone else.  She would
love you always, you remember she told you that.  I tended to my newly
inflicted wound, and managed to convince myself she still loved me.  I
never mentioned the email to her, and its effects.  She was aware of my own
self-mutilation habits (the reason for my agreement to never commit
suicide), and, though I shall not go into detail about myself here, was
unhappy but not surprised at the new scar on my arm.  She dismissed it as
an odd surge of masochism, not caring what the reason was.  Things returned
to almost normal, as I lied to myself and convinced myself that what was
reality, was not, and that she still loved me & only me.  She was mine and
mine alone, as far as I was concerned then.  However, the inevitable
remained a foreboding presence in the deepest part of my mind, and this
reality came back to me every night, while I cried myself to sleep.

	I had to leave her in early July for a week to go to Colorado for a
national competition.  I spent the last three nights before I left crying
to her and with her.  The last night we went to the movies and we only
spent the time holding each other, with my tears falling on her shoulder
the whole night.  I knew, somehow, that it wouldn't be the same when I came
back.  My logic was breaking through my wall I put up, surrounding my love
for her and faith in her love for me.  I fought back, but the relationship
had been failing for too long...

	I came home a wreck, and needing her love to be shown.  I couldn't
live a *week* without her.  I came home and called her immediately and was
filled with the utter joy of hearing her voice come through that receiver
once again and into my ear.  I called her at least twice a day after I came
home, but there was something different.  It had begun, the beginning of
the end, as much as I had managed to avoid it in my mind.  She had started
her softball season and was not at home as much, and she seemed less
interested in me.  We spent almost one more month at this uncomfortable
stage, but our love continued to be shown.  At least, *my* feelings of love
for her never once faltered, and my intentions were that those feelings
would be shown in a neverending stream of my caring.

	The last month was full of arguments, and I was told she needed
some space.  I was torn to shreds by this news, as she told me before I
left that she couldn't live without me, that she needed me around all the
time.  I had grown dependent on this need of me, and now that she needed me
no longer, I couldn't handle it.  I cried the entire month.  Finally, it
came.  She told me it was over in a less-than-civil email to me, telling me
of her softball coach giving her what she wanted in the way she wanted -
rape.  I was heartbroken, my entire reason for being was gone.  I felt as
if there was nothing more in life that I should live for.  I still loved
her, more than I ever had, and she refuses my love at its strongest.  Our
relationship lasted only 6 months, 23 days.  But it felt as if my entire
life happened in that short time and ended, when she told me she no longer
loved me.  Everything I had ever trusted, the *only* person I had trusted
and believed in quickly destroyed any structure in my life by revealing
that everything she had said was a lie.
	
	A day after she sent her terminal email, she spoke to me again,
told me we would still be best friends.  But I still loved her, as more
than a best friend.  I still do to this day, though we have been broken up
since August 3, 1998.  

	The relationship gave me experiences I had never even begun to
think of.  I learned my own dark secrets, that I was all too easily
manipulated by my own mind into believing something that logic would
dictate is impossible.  Reality no longer existed.  There was only my world
and my love.  If my love existed, then there must be a reciprocal to that
love, and it came from her.  But the end gave me more knowledge than I
would have gained from the rest of my life.  There is a reality.  Forever
is not eternal.  Spoken words and promises are meaningless.  "Love" is
false.  What I feel must be wrong, as it is only one-sided.

	She is still a dear friend of mine, and I don't know if she knows I
still love her as much as I did while we were together.  She continues her
friendly greetings, emails, occasional messages, but every time I see her
name or see her picture, I remember our past, and it stings.  How ironic,
it seems, that we have come full circle; I became the obnoxious one,
clinging to her for dear life, while she only distanced herself each day.
But I no longer need her love.  It is only her well-being I care about once
again.  Her safety, her happiness.  She is happy, and now in love with more
than a few males (also claiming I've made her turn straight).  I hurt, but
I am happy for her as well. I will never forget how much she changed my
life, and I will never stop loving her.  I promised her I would never stop,
and I will keep that promise.

			     I love you, Roo.