When Trust Becomes Problematic

Back to Friday night. I’m feeling flustered, bored, lonely, kinda anxious. Who pops into my head at that exact moment? That tenth grader. Who could’ve guessed. Lets call her, idk, Tiffany. I go to her room, and she greets me with a warm hug. That’s kind of exactly what I needed then. Someone just to be there for me. I tell her very briefly about the tension in my room, and she tells me she’s there for me. She gets it. It’s mostly dark in her room, and there are two queen beds spaced far away from each other in that room. Two of her roommates are sitting on the other bed talking quietly. Late night DMC vibe. I say, wanna just talk? She says yeah, and that she likes when it’s dark because you could just say what you need to without having to look at the other person. I’m all for that. I just want it to be chill. She invites me on the bed, and and I lay down on my back, on the right side of the bed, ready to let my panicked, tense feelings dissipate. I start talking while staring up at the ceiling, and am aware that she’s not lying down on the other side of the bed, on her back like I am. She’s actually on her side facing me and kind of close. As we continue talking, I notice she’s touching my hair, and stroking the same piece over and over again. We just keep talking, with that going on in the background, I block it out. I just wanna relax. Whatever she’s doing fine. I’ll just do my own thing. the conversation gets more and more, how do I put this, stupid, as she gets closer, but I’m not looking at her. We go from talking about activities that we enjoy to Disney movies, and in retrospect, I think she was just bringing stuff up to keep me talking. Her hands get close to my…boob, yet still I’m not looking at her. Her hands are now caressing my boob, and the sensitive skin on my nipple is picking up every slow painful movement of her hand, yet we keep talking. I’m gonna just say it. I’m not wearing a bra. I’m in pajamas. I freeze, and block it out, she persists. She’ll sometimes take a piece of my hair in her to pretend like it’s my hair she is trying to touch. Actually who knows what she is thinking. Eventually my friend knocks on the door. Someone opens it and I hear, ‘Is, Kara in here? It’s almost curfew.’ It’s only when I get up I realize how close Tiffany actually was to me, almost on top of me. I guess I didn’t notice because I went rigid.

I’ve been typing forever. Next week I’ll explain everything that transpired afterwards. Thanks for reading! I’m exited to get into all the messy stuff about how I felt, why I didn’t do something in the moment, and her reaction to me confronting her. Bye for now. Remeber: Good nigh sleep tight, don’t let them perverts bite! Ok that was a stupid joke. Please excuse my nasty sense of humor.