I can't randomly kiss guys the way i used to...
It used to be my goal, the inspiration for me to look good! kissing guys was the only reason for striking outfits; glossy, pursing lips;and all my hours put in the gym.
I can remember a time when me, my sister, and the rest of the girls would get ready for parties:
Laughing in front of the mirror, my sister painted everyone's eyes black and I curled so much hair i was always too sick of it to do my own.
A. was the most interestingly dressed girl out of us... she let it all hang out and left nothing to the imagination.
My sister was famous for tight jeans hugging her curvy hips and allowing her irresistable love handles to spill over the top of her pants for anyone. The sides of her were like magnets to guy's hands...anyone passing by would grab those while saying a simple hello. Even the girls pinched and tugged them with giddy laughs...
I was the more conservative one, i wore my black framed glasses with any outfit, and it worked for me every time.
Guys told me that i was intriguing...they said i showed sex appeal, but not the way all my friends did.
The knee length skirt was innocent; but the slit halfway up my thigh was sexy yet not too provacative
My long sleeve, button down dress shirts were classy; yet i chose the color white to accent what i had been blessed with.
I didn't need a low cut shirt or miles of bare skin showing to attract them...i chose the more suddle way.

All of us were named "The Beer Bitches"...never going to the party alone; always the same group. We had fun and didnt care, yet always trying to drive to further parties looking for more friendly people. the usual crowd at our school was killing us...
One word that sums up everything within all four of my high school party years:
FAKE.
fake smiles, friendships, promises, boyfriends...Even our lies were fake. Nobody was being themselves...friends were uptight and held their act even in front of their friends. Parties were a group of kids trying to act cool so nobody made fun of them. The guys said "stupid bitch" even when they may have wanted to say "I dont care what anyone thinks, i like you". The girls played hard to get to the extreme; pushing good guys away when that wasnt what they wanted.

The Guys had an interesting way of speaking to their "friends" while in public places...
"What up bitches?!"
"Where's my fucking beer?!"
We hung out and hooked up, but rarely was there any close friendships that were true. A select few from that crowd could be counted on to be there, and not take advantage of a situation...but it was usually away from the others.

Anyways, we had a list of guys we wanted to make out with that night and made it a point to hit every name on it.
We had our beer bong named Betty and she helped me feel less shy when approaching, or being approached by a guy.
I always had the Jerks on my list...the ones that i believed i could change and could make them settle down with me.
"Sarah- brent won't ever settle down...hes a player"
"No you guys don't understand what he told me..."
"The same thing he told Ashley last week!"
I paid for it in the long run, but with everything else, i got over it after a month... or four...
Blindly i keep involving myself with an asshole for weeks and kept distressing myself over what i wasn't doing right. Honestly it was me who was in the wrong- my expectations compared to anothers were totally different.
The main reason why i stopped all that hooking up "fun" was primarily because I realized after getting hurt that i wasnt looking for fun. Kissing made me feel close to someone and i felt like after that night there had to be more.
More phone calls
More dates
More sencere words of "truth"...
I never got my phone calls the next day...my dates turned out to be just invites to a party, and nothing that was said to me was true. Winning with this group of guys was impossible, and my naive heart figured that out too long after the tears and regrets.
It was a bottomless game and everytime i wished i could just land hard to end it all...I would fall into another guy's arms wishing they'd never leave me like the last one, and this one might be different.