Posted by Ryan on September 5, 2005, 10:06 pm, in reply to "Part 5: Sexaholics Anonymous" I never did anything more than hug her and kiss her, though. I was really making an effort to keep romance and sexuality balanced properly, in accordance with the program I was following at SA. Oftentimes the four of us, Neil and Kristi and Lynnette and I, would go bowling, shopping, watching movies and going out and doing things together. We really used to enjoy ourselves together. Lynnette and I stayed together, and things started getting more serious. The time came when I had to tell her about my problem. I told her if she was going to be my girlfriend and I was going to be her boyfriend, there was something she was going to have to know about me. And once she hears what it is, she might decide she’s going to want to break it off with me. But she had to know. Finally, one day when we were out taking a walk alongside the water, talking and holding hands, we sat down, and after we had been talking for a while, she asked me, “All right, what have you done that you need to tell me about?” I started to tell her about how I had hung out with some of the kids from the kegger crowd, drinking beer and things. She laughed. The time when I was arrested—which I was going to tell her about in just a moment—hadn’t been the only time I had ever been skinny-dipping in mixed company, when I was doing some hanging out with some of the stoner kids (which was done mainly for that purpose, actually). It seemed like the more I tried to tell her what a bad dude I was, the more it was making her laugh, though she was putting her hand over her mouth stifling it, trying not to let it look like she was laughing AT me—but she was still acting like she wasn’t taking it as if it were such a bad thing. I told her how I suffered from an emotional condition in which sometimes I derived a masochistic pleasure from being humiliated—which sometimes even meant the condition leading to deriving a physical and emotional rush from being seen, while in situations where I was unclothed, by persons of the opposite sex. Now that I had gotten her started laughing, she giggled when I told her that, too. “I’m sorry,” she said, making a look on her face of being sorry for having giggled. I told her about the time when the three girls were sitting there drinking beer, and it was hot out and I wanted to swim but didn’t have my swimsuit, and they said, “Hop in, no one cares,” and, well... so I did—and then the mean lady came, and went and got the police, and I was arrested and taken in, and was sentenced to see a therapist for the next year or so, or as long as he decided. “That’s stupid,” she said. “That’s not something somebody should get arrested over. That lady was just an old... (she used the female canine word—it mildly surprised me to hear her say that). But contrary to the way I was expecting her, or any normal girl, to react to what I was breaking to her, it just didn’t seem to strike her as such an abjectly horrible thing for the guy she was dating to have a problem with. Then she told me she had also done a few naughty things in her day, some of them something similar to that. When she was at camp one summer, she told me, with some of her wild and rollicky friends whom she would always go to camp with, one evening they were out swimming in the lake by themselves when the counselors weren’t there, and they knew there were some boys hiding in the bushes watching them, and they decided they wanted to be naughty girls and take their tops off, while they were pretending they didn’t know they were in there peeking at them. It was the first time any boys ever saw her breasts, she said. “Were you embarrassed?” I asked her. “Kind of,” she replied, “but I wanted to do it, because the other girls would all tease me afterwards for being a prude if I didn’t—and... I kind of wanted to anyway.” I was sitting there, mouth open. It took me by surprise that she had been involved in, well, something like that. “How did it make you feel?” I asked her. “Kind of...” she said, “...a little strange.... But at the same time, kind of... you know... well....” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know.” But it wasn’t just that. The next summer, she went on to tell me, at the pressuring of her wild and rowdy girlfriends, that time they went skinny-dipping completely nude, and again, this time as well, they knew the boys were hiding in the bushes watching, as they did every year. I couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t seemed like that kind of girl. (I was starting to get a half-erection while she was telling me these things, hoping she wouldn’t notice down there.) “We did the same thing—basically—as what you’re telling me you did.” She shrugged her shoulders. “So how can I criticize you for doing what I did too?” I still had my mouth open. “I didn’t know that kind of stuff went on at camps,” I said. She smirked. “At the camp I went to, it even said in the rulebook, ‘Skinny-dipping is not an appropriate activity.’ We couldn’t, even if we tried to. The camp’s rulebook is even posted on the Internet, saying that—probably so the parents can read it.” “That’s no fun,” she replied nonchalantly. “It was probably against the rules where I went, too, but we did it anyway. We were being naughty—but, I mean, that was the only time I’ve ever done that—when we were away at camp. That’s when girls sometimes... you know... do things... they don’t normally do....” “Yeah, the boys too.” When she said “That’s no fun,” a little more erectile blood started flowing. “Yeah, but,” she went on, “I mean, I don’t just go around... like... doing that ALL the time... everywhere.” “I know,” I replied soothingly, caressing her hand. So, guess what. Even after ’fessing up and telling her everything, and wondering if she was going to dump me over it, it turned out she didn’t even care. “So then...” I continued, “it’s not going to bother you that I’ve got something like this on my record? You know... a lot of girls... wouldn’t have anything to do with a guy who has... something like that....” “Oh, Ryan....” I looked her in the eyes. She gently put her hands on my arms. “I’m glad you told me,” she said quietly. “But... I’m not worried about that. I don’t think that’s any big deal.” She held out her arms and hugged me. “Poor thing,” she said, as she wrapped them around me. “You’re a good boy.” “No I’m not,” I whispered. We clasped each other. I snuggled my cheek against hers. Then I gently ran my lips across hers, and we kissed a long, passionate kiss. I felt so relieved. I was just about to tell her I loved her, but I didn’t. I didn’t tell her till a later time—that day I had been half expecting to get dumped, and was still too worried to be able to take a step like that in our relationship, right then. So that was it. I had come right out and told her, in not so many words, that what I had was a problem with exhibitionism—you know, that I’m a pervert—and even then, she still didn’t dump me. Once I did something nasty with her, without her knowing it. Once in a while she’d ask me how you say things in the language I was studying, and if I knew, I’d tell her. One time at school I asked the teacher how you say to someone, “I would like to show you my book,” and he taught me. Then I looked up the word for “penis,” and one time I said it to Lynnette that way. “What does that mean?” she asked me. I smiled impishly. “It means, ‘You have very lovely eyes.’ ” (Hey, paraphrasing, that’s the truth. That’s a translation of what it means—though maybe a loose translation.) I would have told her later, and I’m sure she would have laughed. (What, you ask? And said, “All right, go ahead”? No, we never got that far in our relationship.) That was about eight months or so after the time when I was arrested. About a month later, the DHR woman at work called me in to her office with some news. She asked me if I was still studying the language. I told her I was. “How’s that been coming?” “Pretty good. I can put whole sentences together, and I have an awful lot of vocabulary words memorized, and I can basically understand the people at school who are from there when they talk, if they go slowly. I miss a few words and phrases here and there, and they say sometimes I word things a little goofy, but I’m getting it.” She told me she was pleased at the way I had begun seriously studying it and had kept it up, and that I had made so much progress at it. She told me an opening was coming up overseas, and she was considering sending me over there to fill it, if I was still interested, though she was going to want to call my teacher at school and confirm how I was doing with the language. Fine with me. That was exciting news! But it was going to be difficult breaking it to Lynnette that I would have to be gone overseas for an entire term. “Oh, do you have to?” she asked forlornly when I told her. “I’m sorry, honey,” I said, hugging her. “I’ve been waiting for this since... since before I knew you, and....” I couldn’t turn it down now, after I had put so much in it for so long. I told her I’d e-mail her all the time when I was away, and we could stay in touch while I was there, till the day when I came back.
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Message modified by board administrator September 6, 2005, 9:51 am
After I had been in the Sexaholics Anonymous program for a while, I met a girl who was in some of my classes at school, and we started going out. Lynnette was her name. Long, ash-brown hair parted in the middle, the lightest shade of brown before you start calling it blonde, gold wireframe glasses, she was very lovely. She was a friend of the girl my friend Neil was going out with. They were the ones who introduced us.
We started going out and getting to know each other, and it really went well. We got along great. After a while, we realized we were really starting to feel attracted to each other. 
