Reinventing

My name is Kami.

Actually, that’s not my real name. My real name is quite boring and generic. But for now, for here, you can call me Kami.

Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted an exotic name. Something different from everybody else. It seemed the girls who had unusual names had something special about them – an energy, a confidence, something that made them cool.

I wanted to be cool.

But growing up, I was never one of the cool girls. I was one of the shy girls, one of the ones who never got noticed. And part of me was okay with that. The shy part of me didn’t want to get noticed. The shy part of me almost didn’t want to exist at times. Yet at the same time, I was jealous of the popular girls. I wondered what it would be like to live in their reality instead of my own.

By the time I reached high school, I fantasized or reinventing myself. When I left for college, I thought, I would put on a whole new persona. Nobody would know where I came from. Nobody would know what parts of me were real, and what parts were contrived. I wondered sometimes, if I could put on a good act at first, would those contrived parts eventually become the real me? I wasn’t sure. I wanted to find out. But fantasies like that are easy to have, not always easy to execute.

In August, 2009, I left my home in Minneapolis and drove westward. I started college at the University of Washington, got an apartment with an acquaintance from back home, a girl I didn’t actually know too well, but well enough. I’ll call her Erica. Erica and I didn’t really get along. She was moody, and craved attention at times. She could be loud in public, and I didn’t like the looks it attracted. At home, she would crank her music louder than I wanted to hear when I was trying to study. She did less than her share of the cleaning. She was gone a lot though, which I liked. She hooked up with a guy the first week of classes, lasted about five weeks with him, and then had a steady rotation of boyfriends, or something like boyfriends. One night stands, on-call fuck buddies, guys she’d meet at parties, and twice… guys a few years older who she sweet-talked into buying her beer, who she then went home with and showed her appreciation to. I don’t think she made any promises before they bought her the beer. She’d talk to anyone. I envied her conversational skills. What I’ve always imagined, though I don’t know for sure, is that she would just start chatting with them after she got her beer and eventually, they’d invite her home.

To be honest, I envied more than just her conversational skills. I envied the frequency with which she was getting laid. People seem to equate shy with frigid. The truth is, I actually think I’m hornier than most girls. I have weekend days where I’ll get myself off four or five times. But for most of my freshman year, it was with my hands, or occasionally a hairbrush. I was too shy to go buy a vibrator. Sufficiently shy that I think most guys thought (and still think) I was being aloof. On the rare occasions when guys did hit on me, I tended to freeze up and get a bit tongue tied. Not sure what to say, I would act disinterested. It was less embarrassing than gushing and looking nervous or awkward.

My first sexual experience happened when I was 15. I was a foreign exchange student in a northern European country. A boy approached me at a party and started chatting with me. I wasn’t a very experienced drinker yet. I had just started drinking a couple of months earlier with my new friends at parties.

So this boy – his name was Christian; he was two years older than me – invited me to go take a walk with him. It was pretty dark out, but I trusted him. I had seen him around school. We went into some woods where a nearly full moon was shining down through the trees, which were beginning to lose their leaves.

On the way there, Christian asked me if I liked to smoke pot. I confessed that I never had. He asked me if I wanted to try.

I’m not sure what came over me, but I told him yes. He rolled a joint and we shared it. About 15 minutes later, a wave of bliss washed through me. And I thought it couldn’t get any better, but then he put his arms around me, started kissing my ear and my neck, telling me he thought I was beautiful. He put his tongue in my mouth and ran his fingers through my hair. I had to crane my neck up, and almost stand on my tiptoes to reach him. He was a lot taller than me.

Most people are. I’m five-foot-two. I’m a little on the pudgy side, to be honest – usually around 140 or 145 pounds. I’ve got straight, shoulder-length, chestnut-colored hair and hazel eyes. I don’t wear a lot of make-up . I dress casually – a jeans and sweatshirt kind of girl.

So anyway, Christian and I were making out, and I was feeling amazing and floaty, and very, very wet. I worried that I might be soaking through my jeans, I was so wet, but I think it was just pot-induced paranoia that caused my worry.

The next thing I knew, Christian’s hand was under my sweater. Then, my bra was off, dirty on the ground.

It was mid-October, too cold to take our clothes off. I was trembling, not sure if it was the cold, or nervousness, or excitement. It was probably a combination. But my nipple – the left one – grew hard in Christian’s hand as he gave it a little pinch. I could feel his cock, through his jeans and mine, pressed against my hip. And then, he was leaning over, raising up my rose-colored sweater on one side, licking my nipple, sucking it, and then bringing his hand over topinch the other one.

We were in a pretty secluded spot, but I couldn’t make much noise. I wanted to moan, the way I had done once or twice back in America, masturbating when my parents and little sister were out shopping. But I couldn’t be loud in these woods. We were just a few hundred feet from the party we had strayed from, barely sheltered from the view of a nearby path where people would walk by every now and then. I had to be quiet.

My head was spinning with pot and adrenaline and by now, my panties were thoroughly soaked. My heart was pounding – out of fear more than anything. I was not ready for this to go any further. I barely knew this guy – had just seen him around school and stuff. We had never even talked before tonight.

Well, eventually, Christian’s lips left my breast and moved back up to my mouth. When he finally did what I knew was coming, and went for my crotch with his hand, I moved it away, upward to my waist. He tried two more times, and I didn’t want to stop him completely. Kissing him and holding him and feeling his fingers thread through my hair was blissful. And the way he had touched and sucked on my breasts had felt different and better than I had ever imagined it would. I wanted him to keep going. I just didn’t want him to go any further.

So he got the point – sort of. He stopped going for my crotch. Instead, he went for my hand, guiding it between his legs to the bulge in his jeans. I pulled away, but he pulled my hand back. When I pulled away a second time, he whispered, “Oh Kami, please, you are so beautiful.” (Only he called me by my real name, of course.)

I wanted him to know, and I didn’t want him to know, that I had never done anything like this before. I had barely even kissed a guy before. But I was embarrassed to say how inexperienced I was. Not knowing a way out of this predicament, I did what he wanted. I rubbed him through his jeans until he undid his zipper and guided me beneath the elastic of his boxer shorts. His cock was warm and hard and veiny in my hand. I squeezed it a little, until he pulled his pants down just beneath his butt cheeks, and showed me how to stroke it.

I did as he showed me. He kept whispering, “Come on, Kami. Faster.” But also, he was saying things like, “Oh yes,” and “You’re so beautiful,” and calling me sweetheart in his foreign accent. His English was excellent, but like all of my friends in this new place, he spoke with an accent that made him seem more exciting and exotic.

When he put his hands on my shoulders, and started to press down on them, I didn’t get what he wanted at first. But then, almost as if I was gliding, watching someone other than myself in a movie, I got down on my knees. Kneeling before him, I licked his head and then his shaft, eventually taking him in my mouth.

In my mouth, he felt bigger than I imagined. My jaw felt strained as I tried to get my lips around him. And I will admit, I wsa feeling horribly nervous, terrified of being so amateurish in my endeavor that he would figure out I was a newbie.

But clearly, he was enjoying this.

His breathing was fast and hard now. His smooth words and charming accent were replaced by quiet grunts. And then it happened. His penis spasmed and filled my mouth with warm, viscous cum.

When we got back to the party, my host sister, Jannike, said she had been looking for me. I told her I had gone for a walk with Christian. She acted like she didn’t know what we had been doing, but her eyebrows told me otherwise. I didn’t want to talk about it though. Not to her. I knew she wasn’t a virgin but I wasn’t ready to share this experience with anyone. I needed to process it by myself first.

I stayed up until 3:30 a.m. that night, writing in my diary. I have always loved to write – short stories, poetry, letters to friends or myself – and more recently, now that I’m in colege, journalism. So I wrote until I could no longer stay awake.

I thought about Christian all day Saturday, and again on Sunday. I couldn’t eat, I was so riled from the experience. Partly ashamed, partly thrilled, I replayed the experience over and over in my mind, like a movie. By Sunday night, I had masturbated four times, struggling to stay quiet when I came so my host family would not hear.

I didn’t feel ready, but I wanted more. I wanted to suck Christian again. I wanted him to finger me while he kissed my neck. I wanted him to go down on me. I wondered what it would be like to 69 him. Would we lay on our sides or would one of us be on top?

But when Monday came, and I wondered how it would be to see him in sober daylight, he was not around. I watched for him in the halls at school but he was elusive. The same thing happened Tuesday. Finally on Wednesday, I spotted him, smoking a cigarette with three of his guy friends. I smiled and said hi. He shrugged, indifferently.

“I’ll see you later?” I said, realizing I wasn’t welcome in his group of males.

“Okay,” he muttered.

On Thursday morning, I saw him alone, walking to school. I asked how he was doing. He said he was fine. I asked if he wanted to get together that afternoon or another.

“I’m very busy,” he said, and his words – no, not his words, his evasive demeanor, cut through me like a meat cleaver. School that day sucked. I cried myself to sleep that night feeling used and snubbed, with no outlet for my raging hormones.

It would be months before I got with another boy. It happened the following May near the end of my year abroad. We dated for six weeks, fucked after two weeks, and then I moved back to America where I resumed my previous life as not-Kami, the quasi-invisible girl.

So what’s the point? Why am I spilling my guts like this now, anonymously, to total strangers on the Internet? Because nearly seven more years have passed and I am still trying to reinvent myself. And writing is still my outlet.

I have lots of sexual fantasies – some I would someday like to try, others that are just fun to think about. And I have personal fantasies of a non-sexual nature – fantasies about different personalities I would like to wear.

Rare are the moments when we have an opportunity to instantly become someone different. Those moments only come during big transitions, when we move away from everyone who knows us – away from their expectations of who we are, and our (or at least my) tendency to shape ourselves around those expectations.

I had a few of these opportunities – when I moved abroad for a year in high school, when I moved from a suburb of Minneapolis to Seattle. I missed those opportunities, but when the next one comes, I want to be ready for it.

So, I don’t know, maybe this blog is like a practice run. Maybe this is me getting to know my alter-ego, who is more daring, more outgoing, more open, and fearless, and willing to try new things when her mind entertains new fantasies.

I envision myself writing about sex a lot on this blog, though I am not sure in what capacity – my experiences so far, the experiences I dream of having, maybe even crazier scenes, stuff I wouldn’t ever do but that I fantasize about, like being an exotic dancer or going to an orgy.

I don’t think most of my blog entires will be this long. I’m a junior at the U of Washington and I work part-time, so my time to write in this blog is limited. But I am feeling a need to be different from how I am now – and a mental troll who holds me back from doing that. So I guess maybe this blog, if I can keep writing, is my first, shy, anonymous step in that direction – though I’m not exactly sure how yet.

I’m not trying to use this blog to meet guys. (Or girls.) You hear too many stories about psychos on the Internet who seemed perfectly nice in their e-mails, so I don’t think I would ever meet someone offline. I'm really just here to dip a toe in the water of a different personality, and to write about some of the things I don't talk about without the veil of anonymity.

Anyway, it’s late and work is early tomorrow, so that’s all for now. But thanks for reading.

Peace,
Kami xoxo