True Life: I'm Boy Crazy

Once, during my stint in preschool, I fell and skinned my knee. Everyone surrounded me – Ms. Stantinopolous and my classmates and my mom, for some reason. I don’t remember why she was there. What I do remember is a boy named Michael, who parted the crowd to ‘tell me a secret.’ Cupping his tiny hands around my ear and leaning in closely, expertly, he planted a soft kiss on my tragus. It was my first.

After that, I developed an unwavering love for lust. I was four and convinced my twenty-something gym teacher had a crush on me. I was five and my shine for the class clown was fodder for my parents and their friends – he was the boy I knew I’d eventually marry, the boy whose name made me blush. The object of my infatuation has been ever changing, dynamic throughout the years. I balance my affection for many boys with an urgent hunger, one that has remained insatiable.

I am Boy Crazy. Yes, I’m a woman, and the men who I lust after have not been boys for a measurable amount of time. But there’s no better way to describe the girlish affectation that drives me. It’s not about sex. It’s not about titles and meeting my parents and day trips. It’s about stealing glances and fluttering stomachs. Boy Crazy. I’m Crazy for their scent; whether it’s the product of cologne or the sticky smell of their sweat as they stir from sleep. I’m Crazy for their soft, effortless curls or the disciplined tufts of hair that rest on their heads. I’m Crazy for their confident speech or the way their eyes reduce to disapproving slits when they’ve stumbled over their words.

With every failed relationship that has flashed before my eyes, with every pang of heartache, I assume that I’ll eventually become too wounded to engage in this sort of carefree attraction. I’ll become weary or cautious or something. I’ve learned that love is not a mathematical equation, that it is not something I’m owed, that it is not something that sprouts from Immaculate Conception but from consistent nurturing by more than one farmhand. I’ve learned that, when you love someone and you give them your best, your best can boomerang back, it often won’t be enough.

And despite this, despite pillowcases striped with wet mascara and an unrelenting love of Adele, I am still prone to this playful, easy draw. I am all pop song and no ballad, I am flirtatious and disaffected, I find it in me to shoot a smile from across a bar or an email that says, “I’m thinking about you, I don’t care if you know.”

My resilience has been put to the test, to be sure. I’ve stared into the eyes of a person I once loved and found nothing but my own empty face in the reflection. I’ve wept hard and fast and soft and long. But nothing has kept me from appreciating a rough touch, a wet tongue, a strong hand. I can’t pretend to understand why it’s still possible. If I knew the formula for moving on, the chant or the spell or the recipe, I’d share it with my would-be kinfolk. The ones whose hearts are soiled and black, the ones who can’t forgive and forget. I don’t know the variables of that equation, though – just the sum.

I sometimes think that love is too hard, and the adolescent in me wants to drop it altogether – the way it dropped physics class or poison friends. But the adult in me knows that it’ll fall in love again, and again, and again, because it’s impossible not to. TC mark

image – Steven Orr

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  • Anon

    As a boy this was both encouraging and sort of uncomfortable to read

  • http://www.oneyearintexas.com Perfect Circles

    Ms. Stantinopolous?  Did you grow up in Greece?

    • http://stephgeorge.tumblr.com Stephanie Georgopulos

      No, Greek preschool – my first and last brush with ‘my people.’ 

  • Marcus

    Good post. I recognised a lot of myself.

  • Anonymous

    Gotta catch ’em all.

    • http://stephgeorge.tumblr.com Stephanie Georgopulos

      LOL. Exactly. 

  • Butthead

    So..uhh..like…do you wanna hook up, thometime?

  • http://www.postlinearity.com gregorylent

    it’s not personal, just dna working through you.

  • Kat Lalisan

    “…despite this, despite pillowcases striped with wet mascara and an
    unrelenting love of Adele, I am still prone to this playful, easy draw. I
    am all pop song and no ballad, I am flirtatious and disaffected, I find
    it in me to shoot a smile from across a bar or an email that says, “I’m
    thinking about you, I don’t care if you know.” ”

    Good grief. I love this. I KNOW this. It’s for the love of the Now and the hope for the Maybe that makes all this just all. so. worth it.

  • Mgreen185

    I needed to read this.

  • Anonymous

    What is the point of this?  Seriously, this is what diaries are for.  Come on Thought Catalog, step it up.

    • http://twitter.com/sashasweety Mariah Lancaster

      BOO

  • http://goldenday.tumblr.com Kia Etienne

    i love this. incredibly well written, Stephanie!
    boy crazy indeed.

  • http://goldenday.tumblr.com Kia Etienne

    i love this. incredibly well written, Stephanie!
    boy crazy indeed.

  • http://twitter.com/no_cazador hunter ray

    I cried reading this, but I think that has more to do with the intense amphetamine crash I’m experiencing.

    But still, really beautiful stuff.

  • Abby

    This.  is.  perfect.  Probably one of the most relatable and eloquent pieces of writing I’ve read in recent memory!

  • http://www.facebook.com/gregpphoto Greg Petliski

    Fuck this all.

  • http://www.facebook.com/seikel Steve Seikel

    I fall in love with every girl I meet.   

    • John Warmuth

      like i always told my friends, they each get there 15 minutes in my heart.

      • John Warmuth

        *their, i hate typing while i’m on the phone

  • Eliot Rose

    Oh, babygirl.  We should be friends.  This is just so…spot-on.  Not just emotionally, but from a writerly perspective as well.  “Poison friends” is a perfectly wrought little phrase.

  • Lou

    loved it :)

  • Sophia

    PHEROMONES

  • the sexiest guest

    I just wanted to leave a pointless comment and say…I love a guy with thick hair. That is all.

  • http://twitter.com/sashasweety Mariah Lancaster

    This exemplifies my existence.

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