Let’s talk about school-girl fantasies.
It’s a tired trope, isn’t it? I mean, isn’t it the most tired, boring stereotype that a lot of men fantasize about being with a school-girl in the bedroom?
Apparently it is something alive and well, nonetheless.
And it never, ever occurred to me, though I suppose it should have, that I have, for the entirety of my adult life, been the object of that precise fantasy. A fantasy that did actually play out in real life 27-22 years ago.
The realization hit me like a mild ton of bricks a couple of weeks ago.
It’s so boring though, isn’t it?
I’m going to talk about something personal here— I mean, we don’t need fantasies or games or role playing fantasies in my marriage. Just saying. That bond is just that intense, that real for us.
So when, recently, the person I talked about in my last post suggested that I should perhaps “dress up as a school-girl,” for my husband…. I remained silent, as I recall, and said no, when he asked if I ever do that.
Because I don’t. The honest truth is, I absolutely 100% do not have to.
Of course, it was none of his business, but that was beside the point. I knew that too, and I know harassment when I see it. I may not have known it 27 years ago at 18 years old, but at 46 years old I 100% do now.
And I recently have actually started wearing my hair in pigtails, actually, at 46 years old.
And I realize I do look slightly younger than my age anyway.
And I realize too that even though the pigtails are legitimately the best way (and most comfortable way) to put my hair up at its current length:
I am aware of the stereotype that hairstyle, especially at my age, feeds into.
sigh
Except when I was an actual college student, I ignored the possibility that I was being objectified.
I was so desperate for positive male attention. I was so very desperate to escape the emotionally manipulative relationship I had been in for so many years at that time that, to be honest: my standards were not high. I was attracted to what I read as confidence at the time, that I so clearly see now was exhibitionist narcissism.
And that’s the honest truth of how I let myself become objectified for so many years: I wanted to only be with one person sexually forever, and it happens that something unfortunate happened and I latched onto someone who objectified me.
And it’s true that that happened to me at age 19 while I was in the midst of a psychotic episode.
And for years, after I realized the truth of that situation in 2010, I really and truly thought I was the defective one.
But that is clearly not the case, in so many ways.
I was ill but I was in no way defective.
My character was not defective. Still isn’t.
Except now I am 46 years old. And I pay close attention to what happens around me. Especially when intimate details regarding my marriage are questioned, except it’s funny because actually, my particular husband would 100% find that particular old school-girl trope completely repulsive.
Because he has no perverted tendencies at all; my Jared is the real deal for sure.
And, you know what? I didn’t actually wear my hair in pigtails when I was in high school or college. I was much more likely to go for a french braid.
So, I am going to wear my pigtails, at age 46.
And I am going to hold my head high, knowing that I stuck up for that college-aged version of myself that didn’t know she needed to be protected.
And I am going to write my stories, and I am going to continue to get stronger and stronger. Because I am no longer afraid; I realize I was never the one that was defective; and I am on a rampage of telling my truth.
