emilieexposes-blog

[emilieexposes-blog]

Andy’s Exposé

How the fuck do I start.

It was the first grade-wide double lunch period, meaning that everyone was going to leave the building for the first time all together with all of their friends. Us freshmen were finally free.

I think that my mom and I had gotten into some kind of fight or that I woke up late, I just did not receive my allowance until later in the week.

I was stuck inside of the asylum-y walls of Riverside Academy. The rain didn't make it any better. Not a peer in sight. I headed to the library because where else would a cashless loner like me go.

With an extremely angsty and pissed thump, I sat into my chair, and began to grovel over some Spanish or Math assignment due the next day.

Across the library, I saw Mallard Maxwell. The little scrubish blonde boy with a constantly hard penis and few friends. We were debate rivals in middle school. I whipped his ass and  made him cry a fair share of times. Mallard and I have a weirdish friendship which I can’t explain. I pretend to obsess over him and he constantly avoids me. It works, I guess.

I go attempt to make conversation with Mallard, clad in a neon green quarter zip sweatshirt, which I proceeded to unzip because he looked like a complete dweeb. Mallard complained about how Leif Davidson, his debate partner, and a guy who was beginning to grown on me as a closer friend, had not written his case for the upcoming tournament. Upcoming, as in, that afternoon. I attempted to console Mallard. Not much happened. Mallard does this thing where he stretches out his lips when he’s worried. He was doing that.

That’s when I met Andy. Andrew Blume. All the odds and all the forces of nature and just everything broke down, and put Andy and I together. Andy had sauntered over to Mallard and I’s table and introduced himself. Hey. I’m Andy. Who are you?

I’d recognized Andy from his passings with Leif and Mallard. He had a disgustingly dry mop of curly hair. Pigeon-y eyes. Pudgy cheeks. I could always see his nipples through his shirt. This is not implying that Andy’s nipples are hard for me, or whatever, but it could be a contributing factor. He also has really dirty nails, but a kinda nice smile but like yellow teeth but kinda nice tan skin.

Andy and I hit it off. I barely remember our conversation, just that it went straight from debate and small talk to how Andy had recently lost his virginity to a girl I know. Let’s get a streak. I was determined to get to know this boy.

The day after we met, it was our school’s homecoming party. Riverside Academy Hoco isn't like Hoco Hoco. Like football game and long fairy dresses and dates. We don't even have a football team. Or just school spirit. Hoco is our excuse to get ridiculously drunk and grind with no shame and hook up with multiple people and just, as my peer leader Asif puts it, hoe out.

I just went to Homecoming because I knew that I wanted to drink a bit and do some pretty hair and wear a cute dress.

I ended up hooking up with a nice looking sophomore guy. Benjamin. Lacrosse player, tallish, cute.

I remember having a few weird drunk conversations with Andy. I rejected every and all of his advances.

The week after homecoming was awkward as fuck for me. I had to cover my shame with a turtleneck. Which, I mean, may have drew more heinous jokes and taunts from the lips of the sophomore guys, but I needed to preserve my own dignity. Hickies can be like battle scars or military purple hearts.

Andy and I went out for Pizza on the Wednesday or Thursday of that week. He helped me Facebook message Ben and get the esteemed “double text” asking for a where and when for the hook up. Andy went out of his way to come with me to the Upper East Side. He brought his friend Calvin. It was growing obvious that Andy was flirting with me. I was okay with that. I hadn't been liked for a while.

Andy asked me out to coffee on Saturday over Snapchat. I said no. I think I feared him.

Ben and I continued to hook up. Like once or twice a week. Andy and Ben bonded over me. We all had this weird dynamic where we would fight to get the red best friend’s heart with one another on Snapchat. Andy is far from popular. So it was weird.

After a while, it was slowly revealed to me that Andrew still had feelings for me. We hung out constantly and texted about memes and poetry and deep shit. Leif finally let me onto Nicks’ scheme.

Scheme is a term used, a lot actually, at my school, for like, liking someone. And chasing them. But this scheme actually had implications of the O.G. Miriam Webster version of the word. Minus the slang.

Leif told me that Andy wanted me. Desperately. I let Andy want me. I waved my boobs around and was super touchy and it was weird. I don't know what overcame me. Andy wanted to ruin Ben and I.

I have no idea why guys like me. Or why they have the capacity to move past my established physical attractiveness. As I’ve said, time and time again, I’m weird as fuck. Like, I flirt weirdly and I’m really deep and anxious. I pretend to be awake and alive and living.

Andy was smitten. He spoke about me to Leif in really perverse sexual ways. Leif, being a bored guy, and a good friend, passed all this information onto me. I acted clueless. I loved hearing about how a guy, who I’d never had a romantic feeling for, was so into me. It flattered me. He was into my boobs and my eyes and the way I speak.

So, spring break hits. I’m restless with Ben. We never really mesh. He’s so kind. Alright at being respectful.

Andy is hitting full scheme city. Constantly talking to me into the wee hours of the night. Leif continues to indulge me and we basically plot against Andy to get him to say things. I don't really remember the specifics. I need to ask Leif to remind me again.

I was such a bitch for doing this. But it felt so good. For once, I felt confident in my sexuality and my prowess.

I’m in Berlin with my grandmother. I’ve only drank a bit of champagne. I’m tipsy. I decide that it’s a good idea to Snapchat people. I guess I kinda convinced myself that I was into Andy. Just the flattery. That’s now what I realize it was. Also he's intriguing as fuck and seems to be some sort of sex lord. I needed to be satisfied by him. By another.

So, I pretend to be way more drunk than I am.

I didn't mean to accidentally send Andy and Leo a picture of my boobs. I legitimately don't remember. I know I faked drunk so that I could flirtatiously send photos of my wet collarbones, but no breasts were in sight.

The next night, I got tipsy again. Tipsier, but still not drunk. I decided to confess my not-so-undying-love for Andy which I had fabricated in my mind. Leif tried to stop me.

The next morning, Andy was happy. Too happy. I realized that the crush I had was just the fact I wasn't getting enough fan love from Ben. Or other guys.

I felt like shit. I always make drama in life. I’m never satisfied. Ever. I always have to aim for the bigger and the better and the unattainable. I think that flaw of mine is why I started up on Andrew.

So, that night. I bs-ed harder than I've ever bs-ed before. I wrote a giant ass paragraph to Andy about how in love I was with him, and for that exact reason, I couldn't be with him. It felt awful. It wasn't even a good excuse. Or like a good fake one. I could've pulled so many tricks.

Andy wanted distance.

He didn't want distance. He wanted an explanation.

He wanted me.

Deep down, I know I could be with Andy. It would be hot and toxic and chemistry filled. But so problematic. We both have mental disabilities. We both strive for success in a really fucked up way.

He said really fucked up things about me sexually. Like how he wanted to boob fuck me and fuck fuck me and all those lewd sexual things.

Andy also has a weird ass reputation and not a lot of friends in his own grade. A girl’s gotta protect her rep. He’s also on scholarship. My parents are snobs. He's half black. They would like him for those reasons.

Andy can talk. A lot. And convince anyone. Of anything. He's a ridiculously talented speaker and debater. He almost caught me.

After Andy came crawling back to be my friend, Leif told me that it was Andy’s intention to ruin me. That I would “fall” after the next big school party.

Where did I have to fall from? I guess I’m popular. But like, in my mind, at that point, I was at the lowest of the low. I became the self absorbed girl I’d always been ridiculed by. I really hurt someone for the first time.

On my own accord.

[emilieexposes-blog]

Tutu’s Exposé

Hello! The new girl had massive Ray Bans, I think they were black or pink, but definitely Ray Bans. The type of glasses that seemed very “middle school” to my fourth grade self.

My name is Tutu! and no I don’t do ballet. I like dancing though.

At such a young age, Tutu composed herself with such bright eyed confidence. I’ve always admired Tutu, to the point where I wanted to be her. She commands every room, every conversation, and makes you feel special.

Fourth grade Tutu clicked her black converse sneakers, like Dorothy’s red slippers. She tossed a few locks of deep hair across her shoulder. At that moment, Tutu didn't take me to Kansas, but she took me home.

I mean, my real name isn’t Tutu. It’s Mariadudaduaa.

I now know that Tutu’s name, is, in fact, Mariela Aduana. And that she is called Tutu because her father said she was “little like a tutu bean” when she was little. The name stuck. In every class we had together at Emery Prep, I remembered Tutu correcting the teachers cheerfully, saying you can call me Tutu. The teacher would respond with a weird look or a wait what? When’d that name come about? Let Tutu be Tutu, and move on, bitches.

Why is Tutu my home? She makes me feel so. Fucking. Special. She smells like deodorant and roses and wool. Her eyebrows don’t really arch and a bunch of hairs come in opposite directions to form two emotive lines. She has very tiny wrists. She talks with her hands a lot.

Tutu talks. A lot. I love it though. There are some people I fucking hate listening to. Like I feel physically pained to listen to their irrelevant stories. Tutu’s interesting. Her voice is tinged with a tiny bit of accent from her foreign parents, and her first language being Portuguese. She speaks with lots of different tones, growing super loud when she gets excited. People always get pissed at us for how loud we are. It’s our thing.

Tutu has always defended me. Defended her Guiffra. I’m so retardedly weird, yet, she fights for me. And loves me. We’ve never fallen out or like, forgotten each other. We aren't “besties”. We don't only gossip. We do gossip a lot, but like we talk about our futures and our ideas and our feelings and out minds. She wants to be a psychologist.

For my sleepover birthday party in fifth grade, I invited Tutu and like, 5 other girls. I don't remember the other 5, I just remember Tutu being there. She brought me a full size Katniss Everdeen cardboard cutout. I flipped my nerdy shit. Best birthday present ever. Can I bring another guest to the party? Fuck yes, you wonderful person.

She worries too much about what people think about her.

I feel this deep seated emotion of my duty to defend Tutu. People have shit talked Tutu to me. So. Many. Times. I know its because they're ridiculously jealous of how she commands a room. And she has a killer body. Those two factors attract a lottttttt of boys. Like, Tutu’s a flirt, which is awesome, but she gets shit for it. I think everyone is a flirt, Tutu is good at it though. Like I don't know. People get annoyed by her and shit talked her for things and I don't even remember what they said or who it was, just that anger boiled inside of me. Don’t fucking mess with Tutu.

I don’t know what Tutu sees in me. But anyone for that matter.

im kinda just me like yo yolo whats good its giuffra take me or leave me. ill kiss ur neck and talk politics and confuse the shit out of you and never speak to you again. im not custom fit. take me or leave.

I’m still jealous of Tutu. She commands a room. I’ve probably said that thirty times. She does. I cant explain why, like really, as much as I try.

Her laugh is so nice and trinkle-y. Like the sound a glass of water makes when you hit it with a spoon. She has big teeth and a big smile and big lips which makes it even cuter. Tutu also has a lot of style. Props.

She’s going somewhere in life. I just wanna sit and get high and think and maybe write and have sex with hot men and go to Yale and make money. Tutu wants to help people. And analyze the shit out of peoples brain. She does a lot of analyzing. That what makes her able to read people and command a room. It’s because she cares. Her care about each and every little thing makes you yourself want to care.

Tutu has really soft buttery skin and gives good hugs. Tutu’s family is pretty cool, too. Marco is some child genius. Her mother is a supermodel. They’re all chill.

I never realized how much Tutu actually liked me. Or likes me. I honestly don't know why? As I said, I’m not a person who cares.

That’s a fucking lie.

I care so much. Accept me. I’ve figured out the whole nonchalant act makes people think I’m funny and people like funny people. But, as I said, Tutu is home, so I’m my pure and unedited self around her. So, I guess I don’t care. But my genius, philosopher/stoner-eque nonchalance is the not caring I put up for other people. The not caring with Tutu, is genuinely not caring. Our conversation flows like the ink out of a new pen, not a struggling stiff typewriter. Eek eek.

I really love Tutu. I kinda realize how happy she makes me right after I leave her. I feel like I’m in a bubble of golden chocolatey bliss that no one can break. Stupid boys mess with my head and my parents flip their shit on me and bitchy girls make lewd comments. But Tutu’s unexplainable golden bubble brings me home.

I miss her a ton. Like. Woah. I’m not super super sentimental to my hellish Emery Prep years. I honestly just miss like Anya and Bethany and Ms. Price and Tutu. 4 people who touch my heart and make me feel special.

Tutu embodies Emery and my experience there. The thing is, Emery was my hell. Yet, Tutu is my bubble of bliss. Trippppppy. One of the happiest things in my life is the essence of something I thought of as the bane of my existence. Again, Tutu makes hell into heaven and turns the negative shit into the positive. She has red golden goose. She’s my golden girl.

[emilieexposes-blog]

Eray’s Exposé

I like to think about my dream guy. My mind works in numbers and figures and ideas. Once I find a pattern, I allow the pattern to direct my life. Even my love life. I don’t do blonde guys, except maybe Thomas Rider, who I was pressed up against on the M86 bus for about an hour today. He could be a brunette because he has dark eyebrows. I love brunette guys. Sharp jawlines and sprinkles of freckles turn me on. Tall guys who can pull me up against their thin chests.

Boys have this taste and smell around them, I think it might be Old Spice, or something, I don’t really know. But the warmth of their tongues and the prickles of their hastily shaven stubble against my nose drives me insane.

My type is the guy who I can’t have. The best friend. The three years older. The older brother. The foreigner.

Eray Ayd Williams. We had a shit ton of beef in the beginning of the year. He and Brady liked my dear friend Tutu, noted for her vivacious personality and determinedly large boobs. Breasts. Tits. I don't know how to talk about my friend’s chest in a not perv way. The boobs make Tutu who she is, not the other way around.

I remember when Eray got a nice haircut in like, November. That was hot. Nothing else really happened, besides a few interactions in Spanish Class, and brushes in the hallway.

At homecoming, I slapped Eray. He was being a dick. To someone. I don't remember. The not remembering part is either my brain trying to block it out or the alcohol that ran through my veins, or just that I don't remember. He wasn't of much importance. We had beef. That’s all their was to Eray and I.

I was invited to Roberto’s Sweet 16 because I was hooking up with his best friend Benjamin English. Guiffra and English. I got relevant after I gave him a hand job. I kinda feigned innocence so that I wouldn’t have to blow him. He was really nice. That was Benjamin. Funny and nice and sort of cute and had nice arms. But so nice. His chest was always warm against mine. Ben didn’t kiss my neck enough.

The sophomore guys have an obsession with me. I don't know why. They think I'm hot. I know I'm pretty but not hot as fuck id bang 10/10. Her tits are not big but like so perky. Her cheekbones like wow. Nice ass. She's actually hilarious what the fuck. Dibs on her. Thats the way the guys around me talk about girls. Wish there’d be more OMG we need more girls like Guiffra!!

Well, after Roberto’s birthday, Eray was smashed drunk. He was hooking up with this chick Charlotte Robersen. She's awesome. Really smart and athletic and kind. Model Trinity kid. Good friend. I found out that Eray lives a few blocks away from me. He definitely needed a ride home. I paid for his cab and he bought me an Evian at the Duane Reade by his house. We talked a lot. Mostly about people and our school and his older brother. We meandered the Upper East Side for about an hour and Eray finally sobered up. Enough. He added me on snapchat and yelled back a See you Monday! I love you!

The next week Eray talked me up to all of his friends. I was that good Samaritan who helped the poor drunk boy out. Not just my good deed pleased Eray and his guy squad, but my humor and comfort with almost everything. I was so comfortable with Eray and his friends in turn. Their easy-going love made me feel like I was a part of their group. Jiffy’s for the boys!

A week later, Eray and I were tight. We exchanged gossip and memes and music.

Then, the walks began. I was about to walk to the M96 bus, but I received a call from Eray asking me to walk with him across the park. I felt wanted. For once. It wasn't me putting in the effort in a friendship. I spotted his classic maroon tee shirt and enormously tall figure. He smiled and shouted at me.

That afternoon, I knew Eray and I were gonna be something special. I could trust this one. He opened up to me quickly, which was unexpected for someone who always held up a barrier between himself and anyone who wasn't a close friend. Oh my god, swear not to tell anyone that practically became his motto. I was able to tell him my actual opinions on people and things, without judgement or fear of exposure. 2 things I couldn't find with anyone else.

We became best friends. I called him my best friend and, wanted to think, I was his. God, he makes me so happy.

Special. Loved.

His voice and laugh and walk and attitude. I realized I had a thing for him at the end of spring break, just as I was ending things with Benjamin.

Eray ended stuff with Charlotte. He wasn't ever really into her.

Two days after a fiasco of breakups in the Class of 2020, I decided to host a free. Perfect chance to hop on Eray. To drunkenly slide in and confess my feelings for him.

At the party, he wore the maroon shirt again. We goofed around a lot and I flirted obsessively. I know he thinks I'm attractive. I don't know about much else. Almost an entire FourLoko in, he’s fucking sexy. The strip of tanned ab exposed makes my eyes roll back into my head.

I was lying on top of Eray’s warm chest. Warmer than Benjamin’s, than Matt’s, than Jacob’s. Our legs intertwine. My fingers play with the curling locks of hair behind his neck. I love this. I want to kiss his swollen lips and hold his rough hands and be held by his sore arms. I want him.

At the end of the party, I end up on the floor sobbing. He said something about some girl’s boobs and I slapped him. I couldn't stand up. I couldn't stop sobbing. I couldn't breathe. I just couldn't stand. May-Anne told me that Benjamin got with Andrea Sanchez. She's gorgeous. A sophomore. I sent Eray a long text confessing my crush-thing. We FaceTimed the next day and he said he would “definitely think about it” and that my crush was “a huge surprise! you really kept it on the dl.” This kid is dumb. I flirt with him incessantly.

We continue our walks, with a little more feeling. We walk a bit closer to each other. We make less eye contact. Serhat, Eray’s older brother, struts past us on a walk, and makes heart signs with his hands.

On our field trip to the Cloisters, Eray rejected me. He sees me as a friend.

I’m fat.

Ugly.

Annoying.

Unlikable.

Unlovable.

I think I get over him pretty easily. I met this ridiculously hot Nigerian guy named Mohamed who is covered in designer brands. He compliments my eyes and my cheekbones and my smile and my voice. I know he wants to get his hands into my underwear, but that doesn't stop me from indulging. Mohamed wants to see my eyes again.

I confide in Daniel. He promises to set me up with one of his hot miscreant friends. I love Dan.

It comes time for the rodeo. A huge, hormonal, grimy all-school nightclub affair. I want to rebound with a hot sophomore guy. Like Simon Gray or Paul van Dyrk or Thomas Rider or something. Anything to prove that I’m over Benjamin, and I’m hot, and I’m past Eray.

Eray is still my best friend. He bought me a giant bottle of Svedka. I wanted Bacardi, but it was alright. He’s wearing the maroon shirt again. Does this kid own any other clothes?

I’m almost blackout drunk. The strobe lights dance to the beat of the sweating teenagers. My heels make my feet burn. I feel like between each light is a few seconds. Time slows down.

His lips are on mine. Not Eray’s. Jake Andrew’s. Jack. Not Jake. Action Jackson. He's my type. Pretty hot. Go me.

Another millisecond between the strobe light feels like 5 minutes. Eray struts towards me. His arm snakes around my waist, down south to my butt. Fuck. His lips are on mine. A few seconds. They're soft but with force and plump , and wow Eray’s kissing me. He runs away.

I don’t remember the other two kisses. Just that they did, in fact, happen. Eray was blackout drunk. More than me.

We hook up. Our chests desperately press against one another. Fuck. Fuck. Finally. This is the first time a guy I’ve had a massive crush on has made out with me. Fuck.

Simon Gray was yuck. Still hot.

Eray. He’s all I can think about, yet “I see you as a friend.” “Idk. I don’t remember.”

They say drunk actions, sober thoughts. A small voice inside my heart says that he must have some deep hidden feelings for me. I was so close to getting over him. So fucking close. But I’m in love with my best friend and he thinks that I’m not good enough. I’m just Jiffy.

Fat. Ugly. Annoying. Unlikable. Unlovable. This mantra won’t escape the boundaries of my mind. I have generalized anxiety disorder. I think that’s the exact term. All I can think about is how inadequate and unlikable I am.

I think I love him. I don't know why. He can be a major dick. But he's so kind to me and his voice soothes me and his arms keep me warm. And all he wants is what I’m not. I’m stuck.