Teenage Dixie

I don’t know why so many older men were drawn to me when I was a teenager….a young girl without achievement or discernment for that matter. I had no idea who I was or what the world was and how I would fit in it. I was shy and rarely spoke. Often me listening, was me pretending to listen. Look him in the eyes. Nod my head. Act like what he said was profound. That was suppose to be funny. Laugh. I didn’t ask questions because I didn’t want to seem dumb. But the truth was, I was dumb. I was a dumb teenager. 

I have so many stories of dating older men when I was younger. It’s strange to me now. Did I pursue them or did they pursue me? Either way…why? Most girls would say no or ewww. Not me. I was never the type of person to say no. I was susceptible to aging men like some women are to yeast infections. They saw something in me…an obedient body? And I saw…an opportunity to feel special, along with free food and drinks. I was starving. For both. 

Typically, the relationships with these men began with a limp start. They were probably surprised/terrified that I was so open to their flirtations. They had to figure out if they could trust me. Even though I dressed modestly, mentally I was a slut. I would brush their shoulder and gaze at them seductively. Sure, my smile was demure, but inside I felt gutsy. I was the one with the control and the power. I knew it was wrong. That was the thrilling part. Not the sex. The sex was anticlimactic.

An acting teacher, high school teacher, another high school teacher, a married comic, a drunk musician just to name a few. (Yes, there are more). Two of them told me they loved me. One bought me a cell phone because he didn’t want to speak to my dad when he called my house. (A time when not everyone had a cellphone. Oh…I felt cool). Another told me he was simultaneously dating his co-worker which broke my heart. (Teenagers are boyfriend/girlfriend right from the beginning. Dating multiple people is what adults do. I was blindsided). 

There are so many stories that I want to write. But first, I want to understand why I want to tell these in the first place. It isn’t to call them out or to make them feel bad. Because even if they read this, they’re the type who probably wouldn’t care. This blog isn’t about them anyway. Fuck them. It’s about me. It’s my story. 

I don’t want to come across as a victim. I was no victim. Honestly, I often felt like the predator.

To be continued…