The Worst Kind of Crush

I have a boyfriend, I have a boyfriend, I'm not gay...am I? No no no, not gay, just because you think a girl is hot doesn't make you gay.  Wait, does that mean I'm bisexual?  Does one girl make me bisexual?  I don't think I want to be that.  Would I want to kiss her again, alone, just the two of us?  Yes... fuck...I'm bisexual.  I laid in my dorm bed, thoughts swimming, staring at the blank ceiling.  My toes lingering against the wall, sticking to pictures of high school friends and a Vin Diesel poster, I began contemplating my identity and thought about little Alexandra.1

The first time I saw her it wasn't anything memorable, she was just another brand new face of many I had been introduced to at the dorms.  Even in the first couple months of school she was barely an acquaintance, a warm smile from across the potato salad bar at the dining commons.  It's sad, I can't even remember the first time we clicked, but we did.  We would lay out in the sun for hours, her in a spaghetti strap tank top and boxer shorts, me in a pink bikini, until we were dripping with sweat and ready for a cold shower.  Sometimes when she had her eyes closed and we were both baking in silence, I would cautiously look her up and down.  Now, you see, Alexandra has enormous breasts, they are the type you can't keep your eyes of off, and I was no exception to their power.  I would steal glances at her chest, her little legs, and her cute face.       2

Soon enough, we had become each other's confidants and clove-smoking buddies.  During the day we would lay out, go to class, do homework, and at night we would go to the park and smoke on the swings, giggling about anything and everything.  She always looked adorable on the swings, her layered red-hair blowing about in the wind, making it perfectly messy.  At a feeble attempt to move her hair from her face, she would stick out her lower lip and blow.  I would crack up and then pull her swing to a halt and gently fix her hair, brushing my fingers lightly around her face.  After we finished our cigarettes, we would lie together in the grass with my head on her tummy and she would tousle my hair.  I never let anyone but her play with my hair, I was anal about my hair, I didn't even let my boyfriend of three years play with my hair.  I knew this was different, I knew I wanted her to be more than a friend, but I kept quiet.  Alexandra was a little more open about her tendencies, Angelina Jolie posters plastered her walls and she had always made little references about liking boys and girls, it perplexed me.  3

This is the way it went for a while, we had our routines of talking, smoking, lying together...then there was that one night.  A night that my friends and I all refer to as Jello Shots Night, and if this was a dramatic type of story I would say it was the night that changed everything.  But this isn't that type of story, because not that much changed.  The normal group of people had gathered together to party at Alexandra's place.  Her and her roomate had made massive amounts of Jello shots, in pixie cups, brownie pans, and pie tins.  There was enough alcohol there to get everyone severely intoxicated.  And we did.  I remember shoveling globs of blue Jello from a brownie pan into my mouth and swallowing them whole so I wouldn't taste the vodka.  I don't remember much after that.  One of the few things I do recall is being pinned against the wall by Alexandra, and planted with a sensual and riveting kiss.  Her tongue tasted like cherries and vodka, I loved it.  The rest of the night was a blur of sirens, purple vomit, and distant voices.4

Things aren't that much different now, just like I said.  I still have a boyfriend, a different boyfriend than that year in college, however.  Alexandra and I still lay out in the sun, smoke cloves, and talk about life for hours on end.  We still make out at parties, hold hands, and feel each other up when no one is looking.  She even has a boyfriend now too.  Sometimes I get jealous, angry jealous, screaming 'why does she choose him over me?' jealous, but I know that's how it has to be.  She gets jealous too, I mean just the other day she had a fit when I joked around about 'going on a date' with my boyfriend's roomate, Samantha.  It is a strange relationship we have, both of us wanting more, both of us being too scared to try, both of us secretly yearning, both of us jealous of the other's plastic love...5

Back in bed, I reassure myself, I'm not bisexual.  I just have a crush on a girl.6