Category: The Time Travel Project

PS update after sending out yesterday’s blog: I’m doing great! Take my word for it or read the tweet here. And now let’s go back in time: .

diary 1996 MAGIC PANTS Wednesday June 2, 1996 I m writing here, on Wednesday night, with a large cup of coffee without cookies. Without Dutch biscuits with butter and chocolate sprinkles. Even without two white toast with butter and salt: A non-sugary treat I allow myself to have, if I have cravings for something that comforts me. I ll tell you the whole story in a moment, but talking about cravings: I have never been so aware of how often I need food to calm me down. To deal with the anxiety, a feeling that something is not right. Or that I am not right. Or that I did something wrong or offended someone. Deal with the feeling I am failing. Ever since I know I want to lose the weight, the habitual eating has disappeared. That was the easy part, of course. Except now you really notice it when the sugar served a purpose! For the first weeks when I found myself in the cabinet to make something with sugar and chocolate, and preferably with a crisp bite, (I don’t drink my calories, I munch them) I would still go on and have it. But now I resist. Often successfully, like tonight when I write this with just a cup of coffee even though I would love to have something that numbs. And I attribute this ability to say No to a pair of pants that I have here, hanging next to my desk. They’re Marlene Dietrich pants, from 1989. I know because I wore them on my first date with Bear. They were my first pair of adult pants, and not jeans. And I wore them on the date where I asked him if he wanted to become my lover. At least for one time, to lose my virginity. I didn’t say for how long, and also didn’t promise anything. It was clear I was just explaining what had happened, as a single. And that it just didn’t work, to be single and lose your virginity. And that I was now trying something new: Him. But he got that he needed to do more than just put it in, so to speak. And ultimately we’ve basically been together ever since. Or not together-together. But lovers. The adult date (asking him to become my lover) and the adult pants, went hand in hand. A while ago I “summoned” my young 16 year old self, mostly to adopt her productive rhythm. But also because I gained a lot of weight since then. And 16 year old me, was very thin yet ate everything she wanted. It has not brought an overnight fix of my life, unfortunately, but small changes and shifts. Different food choices, that sort of thing. I try not to drink or go out during the week or Sunday night, because my 16 year old self wouldn’t either. But last Sunday I did go out. And I had the best evening ever at the hard rock cafe. It was as if everybody was feeling sexy and funny and the energy was just amazing. There were two men with whom I think I ll one day have sex with. Two! The one with whom I have been flirting for months now, and there was a new guy and that was also really great. But I drank a few beers, and had many many bitterballen (a Dutch snack) and was home around midnight. It was a very, very slow Monday…. To not let it go to waste I started sorting through two boxes of clothing I had not even bothered unpacking. I ve been living here for almost two years now. But they were clothes I had not fit in for years, so why bother. Last Monday I unpacked them, assessed the weight I had when I wore them, and then sorted them accordingly. I ended up with five different stacks. The final one was the weight I had when I was 16, 17. So the time I met Bear. And it had the Marlene Dietrich pants. Instead of folding it, and leaving it on that inspirational final pile of clothes for when I was petite, I put it on a hanger and hung it next to my desk. And I look at it every time I want to go for biscuits with chocolate, because I feel lousy and need something to comfort me. To take the edge off…. The bad news is: Looking at the size 6 pants you wore 6,5 years ago to a date with the man who would turn out to be the love of your life, and who would never be yours, does not take the edge off. But they remind me why I want this. Losing weight until I am the same as in December 1989, symbolizes that I get to start over again. . diary 1996 SAD Thursday June 3, 1996 It went so quickly, but I think I hit rock bottom tonight. My anxiety is eating me alive, I m so scared. I m paranoid people will find out about me and Bear. And even more if I think it will happen because I am not careful enough with whom I tell. I feel like scratching my own skin with my nails, to externalize the horror I feel inside. One thing it did do, is explain to me why I gained so much weight over the years. Now that i m careful with what I eat, the reason I was eating in the first place has surfaced. The reason I fit into size 6 pants when I asked Bear to be my lover, and to be the one to lose my virginity with, and I only gained weight year after year since, is because I am not cut out for this. To be a secret girlfriend all those years. First because I didn’t want people to know, then because we had gotten used to not telling anyone and he didn’t want girls to know because he had other girlfriends too. Keeping our affair between the two of us, gave it something extra special. Secrecy started long before Bear had a real girlfriend and long before he moved in with her. As did the eating. It was no accident I fit in size 6 Marlene Dietrich pants, and the only thing I was scared of was to get AIDS. Which was already a lot to deal with, when you re a virgin. But as long as I used condoms I managed to get it under control. The anxiety attacks disappeared. Under layers of fat and kilos extra body weight. I still have the weight. Nothing changed. But this Thursday night it is clear what purpose it served. I craved for food so very much. I have resisted it, and decided to let the pain of anxiety just come. Maybe I knew it held a lesson, and I wanted to know what was going on. Why I was feeling so rotten. This is the first time I see that hiding my sexuality, and what I had with Bear, was my default. That I have always been ashamed of it. I wish I was more like him. I wish I owned it, like he has all those years. And he has not gained even an ounce. What a mess. . diary 1996 HAPPY Saturday June 5, 1996 For weeks now I m watching what I eat. For months I m cycling. Before that for half a year I walked. And yet the weight stuck to me, defying every rule in the book that your weight had something to do with what you ate. I was not on a diet, I still ate more than most. But I ate significantly less than I used to, and I moved around way more. So just when I started wondering if this was just my new body, I got this insight into why I had gained all the kilos. Being ashamed of my sexuality, and of being with a man I m not in a relationship with. Being ashamed he’s now living with his girlfriend. And I still don’t know how to respond or deal with that. It’s not like I m okay with all that overnight, but it did help to know what the reason was. And today I suddenly connected with my old body, with my old self, and I knew I would lose all the weight. No problem. Even when the past half year nothing had changed, I suddenly knew (and I know) it will drop off easily. My old body will come back in no time. I was so surprised by this sudden insight, that I even thought: “Oh! I have to make bikini photos of my current body quickly! Before it’s too late!” Suddenly it became very urgent to document this beautiful bigger body because it would soon be gone, and not be back ever again. I don’t know how the shame stuff will pan out. I can’t believe it’s gone or anything, but I feel pounds lighter already. I still don’t know what caused it either, but I just know they will drop off. First the kilos drop, then the shame? Or the other way around? I don’t know how it will go but they will go. Just like that. . diary 1996 A HARD WORKER Tuesday June 8, 1996 Bear came by!  It was the first time since we had the long and intense session that basically left me so speechless, confused and a bit heartbroken to be honest, that I had to write it all down to Nikki. I couldn’t find the words to write in my diary. So this was the first time Bear and me saw each other, but it really wasn’t that big a deal to me anymore. Writing Nikki has helped me to clarify what happened and appreciate the good, and Bear had picked up calling me every now and then. So things had already normalized when he asked if he could come over this afternoon. Just that I had been stalling getting to my (paid) work the entire morning, and had been tooling around with my own manuscripts and stuff. His call was like a wake-up call that I should shift gears and get to work! But I would be with Bear of course. “Well I m still in my bathing robe,” I said. “Give me half an hour, and you can come by.” I had time to shower and shave my armpits and the rest would just have to be whatever it was. I wasn’t in the mood for sex, anyway. But he was! It was so funny because I told him I had written Nikki about us, and he wanted to read the letter immediately. I knew that he was excited and not angry that I had told someone else about us.  So I got the letter and let him read it. He already knew I wasn’t horny and wanted to get to my work. So things were very relaxed. I got him a coffee, and we were hanging on the couch. So Bear started reading the letter and I threw my legs over his legs, and moved until I was horizontally with my hips on his lap and he automatically started rubbing my thigh and making his way to my pussy through my jeans. Meanwhile reading my letter, and there were a few words which he apparently found exciting, and he said those out loud. With a big smile, and an extra strong push or deliberate rub against my pussy (behind jeans). They were: “Our way” “It was absolutely magical.” and “Exposed.” Of course I agreed with him that they were exciting, because I had written it myself. So I knew which parts of the letter they were. He was touching me but it wasn’t on my clit, it was next to it. “More to the left,” I said. And he was irritated but jokingly. Because I was the one who had just stated that she didn’t want sex: “Then take your pants off!” he said. So I did, and his fingering got serious as he still took the time to finish up on the letter as well, and then we started kissing and I sat up so that I could take his penis out of his pants and give him a blowjob. As fancy and meaningful our last sex has been, that’s how easy and normal it was this time. It was bread and butter sex, with the exception that I was still not that horny so that I was not very consistent with what I wanted. If I gave him a blowjob, I had cooled off myself by the time we were doing something else. There were a lot of moments like that, when my horniness was just a whimper and you had to move fast or it would all dry up and cool off. That’s when I started noticing something which I had not noticed before. Which is saying something because we’ve been doing this for over 6 years now: How hard he works. That every time I cool off, he tries something new. Something unexpected, that is exactly tailored to the moment. So today it were slightly goofy things. Whereas he can also be kinky, or even romantic.  We did 69 and I sat on top! Oh, I almost forgot to tell, but man, talking about “exposed”. That was exposed! And he was exposed too of course. I wasn’t really sure how far he wanted me to take that…. If he wanted something anal too. We have never talked about that sort of thing, I should ask him some time. We rarely do or have done 69, so that already made this afternoon’s bread and butter sex worthy of remembrance. But during fucking, oh man, it was just like that first time again a few months ago. My pussy and my body were craving him. Clinging. Coming. I wanted to entirely melt together. But I do owe it to him, because I was not that into it and he had to work for it. And it was the first time I noticed this, how comfortable he is when he has to work in bed. He’s not angry or irritated at all. And I wanted to be like him. I want to be able to do that too. I want to be that sexual, but also really versatile and be able to make it nice for the both of us. Return the favor! That I have ideas about things we can do. Even when I m not aroused enough for fucking or don’t want to come or have real sex myself. That I can be as much fun, and just have a good time together you know…. Sex with him is always different, because he makes it so. But I want to be in it too. When we were done, he took the condom off and we snuggled up in a full body hug. “I learned this is good after sex,” I said about us lying together in each others arms. “We always do this,” he answered savoring it, with his eyes closed. As if it didn’t matter why it was good. And it didn’t.  . ~Lauren96 An unexamined life is not worth living

“Being together felt like nothing we’d ever done and not comparable to all the years we were students and saw each other. We did things I m not going to talk about, maybe one day.” Lauren’s Diary May 23, 1996

Still unable to write it down in her diary, Lauren decides to share her sex story, with her friend the bootleg trader Nikki. He lives in England and they have never met, but he sends her the bootlegs she needs for reviews for a fan club. Over the course of their correspondence, Nikki has become the only person with whom Lauren shares all aspects of her sexuality. 

Sent: In an A4+ envelop, addressed to Nikki in England  first content of the envelop: A large photocopied page, created from two A4 photocopies, glued together and secured with adhesive tape. It’s a page from the book SEX by Madonna and it has the text:  Doctor: “Do you think that it is possible to experience pleasure and pain at the same time?” Dita: “Sure! That is what ass fucking is all about. It is the most pleasurable way to get fucked and it hurts the most too. All your nerve endings are in your ass, but if you’re not excited or if you’re not doing it right, things can really go wrong.” And Lauren’s long letter, printed double-sided on A4 with manually added page numbers. This is what she wrote: Friday May 28, 1996 Dear Nikki, This letter is going to take the honesty I have with you, to a whole new level. And, truth be told, it was not my choice to do this, but I got completely stuck in something I wanted to do but can’t. And I know that when I write it to you I can. The thing I really want to do is write down what happened the last time Bear and me were together. You told me multiple times I can write anything I want, but I think the truth is, there is so much within me that I m ashamed of. That I feel is not allowed to exist, sexually.  And although Bear has never been there for me after we had sex, because we have never been in a regular relationship, it seems to have hit me hard this time, to deal with this by myself. To make peace with who I am. Even though I have known, and even have nourished, “her”, sexual me, by reading the book SEX from Madonna. Because I didn’t want her to die on me. In particular after Bear broke up with me. Originally. I seem to have regained terrain as “the other woman” because we are having sex again. But in 1995 I didn’t go all the way, and I needed that year of keeping my pants on and “only” giving the occasional hand job (the word always gives me the creeps, not the act), to make up my mind. I needed it to grow into what it was he was inviting me to become. The other woman….. phew. Talk about getting your pass to adulthood god dammit.  But I needed 1995 as that transition year where I went from being only a friend, to being welcomed back in. So when we started sleeping together again this year, I had thought things through. It’s just that I was unprepared for what happened last time. Because Bear and me are back at the level of sex we had in the early years. When I think there must have been other women, but I felt like the only one. Or maybe for a brief period I was the only one. I know Bear was fascinated I took matters into my own hands and recruited him to have sex with me. But for the most part I attributed those first wonderful sexual years to the newness of it. It’s pretty normal for two people to have such a great sex life when they start out. However, I had not anticipated for that to happen again. In particular because he’s with his girlfriend now. Logically it would automatically mean the intimacy would stay manageable. Or was he single this time?  Man, this letter is all over the place. Sorry! But I do think this is important: I met him at a friend’s place, he was house sitting. And I got the impression he was single, I really did. Everything was so different from the way it had been for years. Even before he broke up, even just the years after the first years. When our sex was still amazing, but not as intense as the first years. So I met him at his friend’s place and I met a Bear I had not seen in years. And I assumed that was because he was single, and not telling me yet. But then afterwards nothing happened. He must be back with his girlfriend by now, but I haven’t heard from him.  And it’s just so confusing, Nikki. I m sorry to interrupt myself the whole time, but I think this is why I feel I can’t write in my diary what happened, because every time I think of that day, I start questioning myself. How could I have been so wrong? How could I have made such a huge mistake in assessing what was going on? What does that say about my people skills? Am I a dumb person? So that was the boring, self-pity part of the letter. But look at it this way! If I had been totally okay with it, I would just have written the sex stories in my diaries, and you would not have gotten to read them. So I think in the light of our correspondence, my doubt has served us well. There were two things I really want to highlight for you. Two things I would have written in my diary, if I had gotten over myself and actually wrote in my diary. The first is anal sex, and the second is oral sex. Bear and me only had anal sex in the first years we were together.  I was a (normal) virgin when we met, so I was inexperienced with anal sex as well. From Bear, I don’t know. I remember asking him, but not getting an answer. He just brought it back to what he was doing to me, asked if I liked it. Maybe he said something like “I ll manage”. So I always assumed I was the first one for him, but there really is no way of telling. We always used a lubricant, even for normal sex, so we both had that. It was always present, whenever we were at his place or my place. We both still lived at home, when we started out. But his parents were liberal, as was my mom.  I was already used to owning condoms, even though I was a virgin. I had been single for half a year, before “recruiting” Bear. Losing my virginity had been on my agenda. And from Bear I learned to use lubricant, which I found funny at first. What would a teen use lubricant for? But he explained that it would help the first time be less painful. And that he liked using it. I remember that he was completely unmoved by my attempt to mock him for owning it! And once I understood how he used it, I was embarrassed and felt immature for laughing about it.  Because he was so nice. What Bear started doing, right from the very beginning (we saw each other a few times before we went all the way), was finger me. But not the hugging and touching and fingering, fingering, what I would call normal fingering. But he would lay me down, naked or without panties (half-naked), and I would lie there and he would inspect me like a doctor. Oh my God, I still get wet just thinking about it! He didn’t play doctor, he just did it that way. With us detached, him sitting between my legs on the bed, the floor or next to me on the side of the bed. And he fingered me with lube. Sometimes he would talk to me, ask me how it felt. But that was only in the beginning, because I didn’t really know how to respond. It felt awkward, to get that kind of attention. I just remember that this fingering too, was something he only did in the first years. And he didn’t do that the last time we were together either, but he did do something that was similar, the oral sex, more on that later. But anyway, when I was a virgin the doctor like fingering sessions served a clear purpose.  Firstly because they made me incredibly horny. I think that’s also the reason I was embarrassed by them, and didn’t quite know how to respond. Isn’t that strange? Even in bed, with a man who is clearly trying his best to make me horny, I feel so horny that I think that is no longer appropriate. Guilty for just lying there, not having to do anything. No doubt aided by the fingering, losing my virginity went really well. I never had any pain, and I loved feeling him inside of me so much. It was so wonderful. The closest to another human being I ever felt. Last time too, it felt so good. It was like his dick was bigger, I could feel him so clearly. And when I was sitting on top of him, resting, he moved his dick inside of me, and that was so special. I m sure he has done that before, but it felt so great. The fingering stayed on, after I was no longer a virgin. And I bought lubricant, for when we were at my place. So lubricant was always present, and I think this was another reason why for us the step to anal sex may have been easier than for other teens. But we did started doing it pretty early on. But it stopped after the first three years. In hindsight I think it was the moment Bear started to realize he wanted a family, and that he didn’t want to be in what we had forever. That it was great for the college years but that he was going to look for what he wanted. That’s when we stopped having anal sex and also when that type of fingering stopped. I realize now that I m saying many contradictory things in this letter. I m sorry! I m just figuring it out as I go. But if I wrap up the timeline of our sex life, is that the first years were the best, and then the most intimate acts just didn’t get played anymore. I thought it was due to the normal thing that happens when you know each other for a longer period of time. But because he broke up with me December 1994, in favor of a new girlfriend (and by then we had not had sex for 5 months), I think our sex life started waning because he was already saying goodbye. And not because we were less excited by each other. When I saw Bear last time, we both wanted to have anal sex again. So we did. And what was so cute, or very “Oh, I totally forgot about that!” was that we tried to do it more doggy style, from behind. And it hurt and I said, let’s just do it the normal way. So in missionary but then anal sex. And this was exactly reminiscent of the first time we had anal sex when he wanted to do/ try in what I think must be the normal way to do it, but I said I wanted it to be missionary. So missionary it was. But this time, we tried it in doggy, but it just hurt. It was unpleasant, so I broke it off and said something like: “Just do it the normal way,” meaning our normal way, which I had forgotten was our normal way.  So I turned around on my back and invited him on top of me. And I pulled my legs up a bit so he could see where he was going!  And it was absolutely magical. The first bit was scary. You got a thousand thoughts going through in your head, and fear it’s going to hurt. It goes so slow, sometimes you think there is no progress at all. And again that word “embarrassing”. It’s very intimate, to be together in that not knowing.   And knowing your ass is the bottleneck factor here! Oh my God I m laughing out loud as I type this. This is ridiculous, but that is how it feels.  There is a lot at stake, and you don’t want to be the deal breaker, yet you can’t control it or do anything about it. It’s either going to work, or it isn’t. But it did, and we could both feel it. It was like everything, all the stupid years of not doing this, faded. It was the moment we were really together.  I smiled and he smiled to, and then he did something he had never done: He pushed it in further and started fucking me. I can’t believe he dared to do that, but it was so wonderful. It was one of those things that if he had asked me upfront I would never have dared to agree to it, and perhaps I would have tightened up just from asking. But he just did it. Nothing rough, and I don’t know how to say it in a way that expresses that I know I m totally safe with him and that the reason it is so good is because he would immediately feel it probably even before I did, if I was not enjoying it. But it was so wonderful. Fuck, it makes me cry. What a fucked up mess, to then part afterwards. I think I m beginning to understand why I can’t make myself pick up my diary and write this down. So we had anal sex longer, deeper and also more connected than ever. It was a remembrance to who we were as a couple, that we did this and we did it facing each other. I know melting together as one, sounds corny and probably is corny but that’s what it was. But I felt that was when we were reborn as a couple. Corny too, I know. You re just going to have a find a way to forgive me for the Harlequin vocabulary. Only then it turned out he was not single and he’s back with her now. And I look at that Madonna book, that had the job of keeping my sexuality alive through 1995, and I just know that I have to get back to that, or to something else that allows me to be sexual without him. But I fail so often. There was a dildo I really wanted to buy, but I just couldn’t. It was mail order, the brochure still comes in here from the man who used to live here.  Maybe that I can see his name, is adding to me feeling uncomfortable buying. Then the tenant after me will know my name from brochures that keep coming. And it was just so disheartening that I m back to square one. Back to denying my own sexuality, and needing him to choose me in order for it to be alright to be a sexual person. But you know what Nikki? What makes it so sad? That I am denying my own sexuality, in response to him denying me a relationship. As soon as I know or realize I am still single and we are not together, I can’t claim or enjoy what happened anymore. I feel so rejected, I reject my own sexuality.  I deliberately saved the oral sex part for last. Because I didn’t want to end on a low, with me feeling like I have to start all over again restoring my sexuality. Even though that is how I feel. But that is not what I want this letter to be about. We were at his friend’s place, and this was the first time we were at “his” house and he had a bedroom, because we used to be students and then you only have one room.  So he asked me: “Do you want to go to the bedroom?” when we were kissing on the couch.  He is such a good kisser. The boyfriend I had before him was also an amazing kisser, and I think I learned it from him. That first boyfriend was the best kisser in the world (I was also single and kissed with people then, Nikki!) And yet I prefer Bear to the first boyfriend, because Bear is much more sexual. Or at least, sexual in a way that I understand. Like, when I am kissing him I constantly hear the beat of drum beneath! And the drums say: “Just say when.” Bear is the best kisser in the world, because his kissing is part of his whole sexual availability to you. So I understand him better. So he asked if I wanted to go to the bedroom, and I said yes, but instead of taking my hand and taking me there, which I would have found to use a German term “zum kotzen” (I actually considered taking the couch to avoid such an unerotic moment of him taking my hand) he said: “I’ll go first, you come after. But naked. Leave your clothes outside.” He had already gotten up and was heading to the bedroom, not making eye contact. So he didn’t ask if I agreed or anything. It was the absolute opposite of taking my hand, like a cheeseball. I had a huge grin on my face, as I undressed, and left my clothes in the living. I came in and he was there, also naked. And we started kissing and he said something about how he loved my body and “look at yourself, at how gorgeous you are”. I gained a lot of weight, since I was 17! But I agree it does look great on me. But it still makes me feel a bit uneasy. It’s very strange to live in a body, that still doesn’t feel like how you remembered it to be. Maybe that’s why I want to lose the weight, because I don’t want to get used to it. But the only place those kilos never felt out of place was in the bedroom. There they have always been exactly right. So he admired my body, and I his, and I gave him a blowjob but more a pre-sex blowjob. Not an all the way blowjob.  It was too soon for that anyway.  The first time we had sex this year, I took him in my mouth so many times, my jaws started hurting. It was great to have that feeling of being used and being used up!  But now we kept it civil. It was just a relaxing blowjob with him on his back, and me also licking the whole area around. I usually let him decide if he wants me to continue or stop, and I imagine that was this as well. And then he went down on me. And it was a bit like the fingering, in that he instructed me to lie down, and I just lay there. And he told me what to do which was pull my legs up. As wide as I could. I thought I was going to die! Figuratively, but it was so open, exposed. Like I wanted to just disappear. And then he went down on me, and started giving me oral sex, which was so incredibly good. It took me until typing this letter to realize why that was, and that the two were related. Because I felt so exposed and part of me (a big part!) did not want to be there in that position, that’s why the oral sex was so sweet. It’s like what Madonna says in Erotica: Only the one that inflicts pain, can take it away. But then I m alone again, and it’s so difficult to remember the pleasure, and the embarrassing moments or the vulnerable moments melt together with the pain of not being chosen. And I see the Madonna book SEX, knowing that I will be needing that a lot. That even though it is no longer 1995, and I have made up my mind that I ll count my blessings in whatever form they come, I will need some kind of outer reminder that I am a sexual being. That I am more than just rejected by Bear. That in the moments that count the most, I was never rejected. And that we did it right. . ~Lauren96 An unexamined life is not worth living

diary 1996 “GO HOME, LAUREN.” Thursday May 6, 1996 I always feel my workweek ends on Thursday night. I don’t know why, because I cannot remember the last time I could actually take time off, to work on my own books on Friday. I m always behind on my freelance work, and work weekends too. Sometimes because I have a deadline, but more often because I didn’t get any paid work done during the week. I try to make at least 32 paid hours a week, but at the expense of publishing my own books. The Friday “off” to work on my own stuff, is a concept, a dream that has never been a reality. It’s something that only works in theory or until I become more productive. Another reason I still see Thursday night as the closer to my workweek is because it’s Guns N’ Roses night at the hard rock cafe. I can justify going there way more if it’s “my Friday night”, even when it’s obviously not. So I went to the hard rock cafe but it was relatively quiet. Maybe because it was raining. There were maybe half of the people I usually meet there, and not the guy I always flirt with and with whom I suspect to one day end in bed with. It gave me a lot of time to think, and as the girl I talk to the most went to the bar to get us a beer, I started contemplating all the areas at which I seem to be failing. My paid work. Publishing my books. Writing. I hardly write anymore because I m daunted by everything that I’ve already written and that I want to print. I don’t want to add more to the pile. And I fail at losing weight. Months ago, I really tuned into how I lived when I was 16 and was so motivated to use that as a recipe to get the body and the productivity back I had then. I called it Project 88, because I turned 16 in the Summer of 88. But like I said, despite the cool title, nothing much came of it. I never got it rolling. It was a good idea, but I still weigh the same, and as I just explained my productivity is also nowhere near that teenager that just crushed it. I wondered if there was a different way of viewing this failure of getting my shit together. An explanation, of why I was failing at something I had done right without any effort, years and years ago. If I was that 16 year old Lauren right now, what would I be doing right at this moment? Of course. I would be home. I would not be standing in a bar on a Thursday night. It is already too late to call it an early night, and I did have two beers. But that light bulb moment made me go home as soon as I could. At least an hour and a beer earlier than usual. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but I did realize that wondering what 16 year old me would do, at any moment, any situation, how she would tackle my current life; That, was always a great question to ask myself. . diary 1996 DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL. WITH BELLS ON. 👹 Friday May 7, 1996 Around 2 AM, but I can’t remember I had actually slept although I had not been fully awake either, I “woke up” with pains in my body that I only have when I m stressed. The type of pains that you ve read about, that you should have them checked out because you may be suffering from a heart condition. The type of pains I ve been, well not “ignoring” since I was 16; But I have always refused to give them the medical attention a sane person would have given them. I think they’re a sign that if I don’t want to die, I should get my shit together. Not that if I don’t want to die, I should go to a hospital and get some scans and other tests and then get medicated. I ve never seen them as a sign of that, and even though the pains woke me up at 2 AM, took my peace of mind, worried me sick, and I did not fall asleep until dawn; I do not intend to start caving in now. If I die, I die. But if God wants me to publish my books, and become a published author, then he better keep me alive. We’re in this together, and I m not going to do all the work of undergoing all kinds of stressful tests or treatment to stay alive. Not when I was 16, and my boyfriend broke up with me, and it was the first year I felt these pains. Not now. Not ever. Regardless of how often you ve felt this, you never get used to it. It’s loneliness, but amplified by being alone at night. It’s fear of dying. It’s the pain itself, that is so unsettling. It mixes together to a monster that I would round off to “fear”, but then again it’s too big, too multifaceted to be called by such a simple term. It’s a monster, that what it is. And it comes at night when you’re all alone and were not feeling too good to start with. It comes to feed on your fears and then on your soul. I m sure of it. I’m postponing getting to bed tonight. Going to do some dishes, hopefully that helps me to calm down a bit. But then I m going to bed. Hoping tonight will be better. . diary 1996 16 GOING ON 23 Monday May 10, 1996 It’s almost 11 P.M. and I only have time for a very small entry, because this is no longer “Me” who is typing this. It’s 16 year old me, and “she” would go to bed on time. Not open a new entry 11 P.M. and then have the dishes still waiting for her as well. I am experimenting with giving my life back to the 16 year old me, since she was absolutely nailing life in every area you can imagine. And also every area I have been failing at since summer 1994. Right after graduation. I can’t think of a good reason to struggle with that stuff when I rocked it as a teenager. She and me are the same person. I m sure there is a way around this. So I “summoned” her! And I even gave her her own diary, although I must admit I (flaky 1996 me) have not been that consistent letting her (the one whose help I want) write. But I want to get better at it, and give her free reign to take over my life. She earned it. Here are some of the things she has written in her diary ever since arriving in my current body and life: – surprisingly quick adaptation to being teleported 7 years into the future – curious to meet the friends in my calendar and confidently does everything that I would not know how to do. – happy to find that although her 16 year old heart was broken around this time (May 1989), I am/ she is doing fine in 1996. – From the calls she receives from Bear and the diaries she’s found, she has concluded they’re in some sort of relationship and she s looking forward to it. She’s unbothered to be the other woman. 16 Year old me is totally into being in 1996, and does not miss being heartbroken and still a virgin. And in the meantime she fixes my life. I like this girl. . diary 1996 A GOOD FRIEND TO BEAR Sunday May 23, 1996 It was a note on a worn-down notepad next to my bed, the paper block that I had torn out of a notebook I had never used, that looked extremely cheap and shabby because the stitches or threads were still sticking out of it; But it was that notepad that brought me back every night to the only thing I could do. And the only thing of value that, despite feeling like I was disintegrating, I still knew how to do. It said: “Be a good friend to Bear.” Must have been late last year or early this year I wrote that. And it saved me. Or at least it kept my head above water until Sara really saved me. So, what had happened? What had caused this meltdown where I needed to be saved every night by demolished stationary?  I saw Bear, and everything was absolutely perfect. First of all, for the first time since he moved in with his girlfriend and no longer has his own house, we were not at my place. It was not a clandestine, sneaking away from work to visit my college sweetheart, drop by.  He was house sitting for a friend who was on holiday. Taking care of the house but mostly of their dog Snoopy, who needed to be taken out for regular walks. And although him staying in this apartment didn’t have anything to do with his girlfriend, it felt like old times. Him and me. He called me Saturday morning, I think he was making a shopping list. And he asked if I’d like red wine or something else. And I already knew he’d make us Pasta Carbonara.   He checked if I knew how to cycle, and offered to place my bike in the basement storage. He also repeated his offer to sleep over, and when I declined, he repeated he would cycle with me on my way home until I was past the bridge.  Even before I had set a foot in the apartment, everything already felt like a warm blanket. I don’t think I ever felt so loved.  It also made me realize that this Bear, this type of attention, had been long gone when he broke up with me. That there was more that had been lacking, than just the months and months he hardly contacted me, prior to him breaking up. The downfall had started way before that. I recognized this type of love from the first years we were together. But because we were so much younger then, still teens, it wasn’t the same as it was now. He had been talented, skillful, sweet. A charmer. A womanizer. And as opposed to me, definitely not a virgin. But in terms of innocence and sometimes still feeling insecure or quirky, we had been the same. Our arrangement had been based on guts and gusto!  Not on any, I would say “formal training”, in how to make dating work.   I had never seen so clearly how much he had grown, since then. And I imagined it was largely due to the girlfriend who is at least five years older than we are. Perhaps more. Bear was always good with Pasta Carbonara, but now he was more confident in his actions. If you’d asked him for how he had set up this date, I m almost sure that (after a little thought, because to him it would come natural) he could have come up with a checklist, as if it were a wedding. I found my way to the address he had given me, without needing the map I brought in my bag just in case. I  rang the bell, and after a “Hello?” the door opened. On an ice-cold walkway I passed a kitchen window, where I could already see Bear. We waved, at which Snoopy started barking loudly. Bear gave me a long hug and kisses in my ear, before I even got my coat off. We drank red wine in the kitchen, while he cooked our pasta, and Bear opened the windows to the walkway to let all the steam and cooking smell out, which turned the kitchen cold. But we were too happy to finally see each other, to really notice. We ate our Pasta Carbonara on the couch, just like the old times when we both lived in student rooms. I don’t think we ever had dinner at a table, in all those years we saw each other. And even though he, and I guess me as well, had grown and our date felt like we were pretend playing we were adults, we still automatically bypassed the dinner table to eat. And we would also bypass it for sex. This was the first time Bear had a separate bedroom to offer me. Again, when you re a student and your bed and couch are next to each other, it makes it arbitrary which one you choose. But now, after dinner, when we were cuddling up on the couch, Bear asked me: “Do you want to go to the bedroom?” I don’t know if he remembers that it always turns me on if he asks me what I want, or for permission to do something sexual. Tonight “Do you want me to (fill in something sexual)?” was “Do you want to go to the bedroom?” Although it was used many more times after. We had sex in the most intimate way. There was a deep physical desire for each other. There were no fantasies, no memories, no talk about future sex and what I would like one day; Because everything was now. We stared into each other’s eyes, for connection but also filled with wonder at how horny we were. I remember at one point sitting on top of him, and I could feel his dick was so incredibly hard, and it only got harder. It moved in me, or waited patiently. But it surprised me, how it felt. So powerful yet contained. Being together felt like nothing we’d ever done and not comparable to all the years we were students and saw each other. We did things I m not going to talk about, maybe one day. I know I can’t keep saying it was the best time ever, every time we have sex. But it was the best time sex ever. The big difference was that it also felt really romantic. He didn’t say I love you, it was not that cheesy.  But I felt loved. Until the days went by and I was not asked to come again, for the remainder of his stay. And it was in those days that I realized that the only reason I was not feeling totally miserable, like I usually do after having sex with Bear knowing he has gone back to his girlfriend, was because I thought he would choose for me. That him being in that apartment, tasting freedom, tasting me!, would either lead to him becoming single. Or part of me thought that he had already been single. That he just didn’t want to bring me the news, because it would have placed pressure on me being there. But I was convinced that what I had felt, was not Bear cheating on his girlfriend. It was Bear starting a new life. Or so I thought. And then day came, that Snoopy’s family came back from their holiday and Bear would move back in with his girlfriend. And I heard nothing from him. And my heart broke. It was more painful than it had ever been. There were days when I couldn’t stop crying. But also days when I couldn’t stop blaming myself for this. I knew this. Why was I falling into the same trap over and over again? Why couldn’t I just enjoy Bear on the moments he did have time for me? I knew he was the one I wanted, and that I didn’t want sex with other men. Sure! I like the guy from the hard rock cafe.  I fell in love with the painter guy who looked like Slash, in 1994. but it never took flight. Maybe it will one day, but with Bear and me, things are in such different stage. We have a legacy. I was ultimately saved by my older friend Sara. She explained to me that what I had felt with Bear was a freedom he had created himself. That it didn’t matter if he was or had been single, because what I had felt was something he had created. And that I had wanted. That Bear could not give me the sex life and the adventure I was longing for. I had to go get that myself.  What she explained (if I understood correctly) was that I wanted to be Bear. Not be with Bear. And ever since I know that, I m recovering. Sara was right. I wish I was that person using all the space, the house, the skills, the time, the love, the way he uses them. So I m good now. But that blow when the post-sex backlash came, had been a bad one. And there were multiple times when I thought I could not go on seeing Bear as the other woman. That it was breaking me. I was heartbroken. Yet every night I found the note: “Be a good friend to Bear.” And it saved me. That, I could do. . ~Lauren96 An unexamined life is not worth living

diary 1996 ON MY KNEES Saturday April 3, 1996 Maybe it is because my correspondence with Nikki, the British Bon Jovi bootleg trader, has been slow. Because I don’t remember last year’s Easter to be so dull and slow, and that was when Bear and me were still in full breakup mode. I don’t remember if we had a late or early Easter but either way, by the beginning of April 1995, Bear and me were either not seeing each other at all, or we were in the modest coffee date phase. After that breakup December 1994 when he told me he had someone else, someone who wanted more than “just” sex (he didn’t say that but I know that is what he meant) we had months in a row when it did not seem like we would pick it up. Least of all sexually. But also the friendship he had promised me seemed to have been taken off the table. I did not blame him, I assumed it probably meant that he did have feelings for me, and needed to not see me to make the other relationship work. Yet I can’t remember Easter weekend feeling so lonely then. Even though I did not have a pen pall then who had paused our correspondence. Nor did I have the Thursday Sunday dates at the Hard Rock Cafe, that were cancelled. Like they are now. Maybe that is the key: Because I didn’t have contact with Bear, I didn’t have a hot letter exchange with a man I called Nikki, and I didn’t have anything-goes nights at the bar with like-minded souls. So I didn’t miss them either. But now I do. Very much. I can’t remember ever feeling so lonely at Easter, although in my case the worse is already over. Thursday night, Friday and today I was alone. But tomorrow and Monday I have company. It’s always darkest before the dawn. With a little luck I ll be resurrected tomorrow. . diary 1996 HANGING BY A THREAD Saturday April 11, 1996 Since it’s exactly one week ago, I wrote in my diary last, it seems to be a Saturday night thing: Feeling lonely. Feeling asexual, deserted, hopeless. In a vacuum that is filled by movies on TV because I m too numb to even put on a VHS, or to listen to Bon Jovi bootlegs to write reviews for the fanclub. I can’t concentrate for ten minutes, let alone for 2,5 hours listening to a crackly cassette. So sexless Saturday seems to be here to stay. Today I walked, I cycled, I masturbated AND I did yoga. That’s four physical activities, that should be able to sustain some feeling of vitality or even sensuality. Some feeling of aliveness below the belt. But nothing lasted and I feel fat and slow, as if I sat on the couch and ate nachos all day. If you would call me, you’d hear an echo. If you’d water me, I would drown. If you’d invite me for a party, I would answer I have nothing to wear, because everything feels off. I checked my calendar: It s almost 5 weeks since Bear and me had sex. And it’s not even two weeks since I last heard from Nikki. A small note with the latest bootleg, explaining he would have little time to write. I received the letter on April 1st, and thought it was the worst April fools day joke ever. In particular since he sent the letter from England so there was no way for him to know it would reach me on April 1st. But I did feel like a fool. Not just with regard to him, but because I feel so dependent on men. My sexuality just seems to die, the moment they turn their backs on me. And my body even! I couldn’t go to Thursday’s Hard Rock Cafe because my belly was hurting so badly. It was one of the few spots without easily infected organs, and it responded to breathing, so it’s probably a muscle and not an organ. Nothing to worry about at all. But there were moments I could not even sit up straight, so no Hard Rock Cafe for me. . And another Saturday night at home wondering what I need to do to stay “alive”, in the broadest sense. And not shrivel into sexual nothingness the moment I am deprived of men, music and more. It will take a man or a miracle, and I suspect a miracle won’t cover it. . ~Lauren96 An unexamined life is not worth living

CHOOSE WHERE I AM HURT THE MOST Friday March 12, 1996 I have no idea if the worst is over, because in that case it was pretty doable. But even if I have another wave coming of feeling worthless, hopeless or have a panic attack, I know now that I choose this. Because where you feel the most, you love the most. It’s not even 7 PM on a Friday and I have a lonely weekend ahead of me. A date got cancelled tonight, so there is no escaping what I have been pushing away since Monday. Bear and me had sex, for the first time since summer 1994. He broke up a few months after. Months in which we saw each other only once, as I recall. From infrequent, his calls seemed to disappear entirely. Until he set a date and we saw each other and he told me he was seeing someone else. Five years ended, just like that. Five years in which I knew I wasn’t the only one, and I think he has cheated on other women who were in a relationship with him. But it wasn’t all that obvious. Certainly not at the point where I could be held responsible. Which is not to say I accept responsibility today, because I don’t. His choice, his responsibility. Not mine. So there it is, the first weekend after we had sex and I know he’s with his girlfriend. They’ve been together every night since Monday of course. They live together. But still. It’s the weekends that hit the hardest. Where I am alone and he is not. And that hurts. There is no way of telling how hard this is going to be, but I have decided to see the pain as a sign I made the right choice to go with my heart. And not a sign it was the wrong one. Irritation. Impatience. Indifference. If I had these emotions it would be a sign I could get out, and would feel relieved to start anew. Anger. Reasoning. Blame. It would destroy me to feel so negatively about someone I had been so intimate with. But a heart that feels like its bleeding left to die. That’s a sign it was the right man. Where we’re hurt the most, is where we love the most. . THE EYE OF THE STORM Saturday March 13, 1996 The worst was indeed over. I went to bed way too late, but I slept alright and today is extremely productive. Although a bit lonely; After yesterday’s date falling through, today’s walk with a friend also got cancelled because of the weather. It’s storming. Originally I thought I was gonna go no matter what, but then I saw a piece of roof flying by. I live on the third floor! A piece of roof, like corrugated sheets but without the corrugation. I really wanted to go outside but the moment I realized that might include getting beheaded, I called him and we cancelled. So I didn’t have any daylight, fresh air, outdoor exercise nor social interaction. Which is not healthy, but at least I still have my head. Yesterday I had what I thought would be my final take on sleeping with Bear even tough he now has a girlfriend. And the pain of him leaving and not being my boyfriend, was more intense than it had been during all the years of what should probably count as “an affair”, even though he didn’t seem to be cheating, and I wasn’t seeing someone else. But the lightness of it, was “affair-worthy”. It’s strange that the same man leaving after sex now, going to his girlfriend and their house, is so much more painful than when I had no idea if I was the only one, yet I pictured him coming home in the student dorm and falling on the big couch in the man cave that was their shared living. And I was right, the worst really was over yesterday. Perhaps the whole process of getting over it and finding peace also came from reaching the conclusion in yesterday’s diary entry, that he was the right man. Not despite the pain but because of it. That we only get hurt where we love the most. To be in the calm of the eye of the storm, you need it to storm. Just don’t lose your head. . SHINY AND NEW Sunday March 14, 1996 When it rains it pours! But only good things, this time. Contrary to the last two days where I had no social interaction, and even daylight and fresh air got cancelled because of a storm; Today was filled with so much excitement, I feel my whole life is starting anew. That tomorrow, a Monday, my whole life will be healed, filled with meaningful relationships, and of course lots of sex. I haven’t felt this sexual in years! Me and Bear finally hit it off again, and me finally having all the way sex, first time in 18 months, seems to have sparked something. Something good. I haven’t felt this alive in ages. Today was spent with a friend, had lots of exercise, had to go to bed around dinnertime because I was so tired! And then tonight I went to the hard rock cafe which had “reopened”, after its unexpected and unexplained shutdown about a month ago. Still don’t know if it was by the health inspection or if those were just rumors. It wasn’t an official reopening or anything. They had opened the doors this afternoon, and put the chairs outside on the terrace, and word spread fast. A friend called me to tell me the good news, waking me from my nap. I only had one beer, but I talked to so many people and it feels so good to be back. Back in the land of the living. . TOUCHED FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME Thursday March 25, 1996 It worked! I really am back in the land of the living. And the consequences of needing a sex life, or to saying Yes! to sex when the opportunity arises (and in case I m absolutely crazy about the man of course), have become clearer. They are indeed, inevitable. I refuse to live a sterile or monogamous life. Having one partner who is totally devoted to me, would kill my creativity, as much as living in a monastery would. People always think that I want to be the one who fools around, that not being in a relationship has perks because “then I can do whatever I want”. Which I think is so revealing about them…. It is they who wish they could do whatever they want. They have sacrificed a unique part of themselves, their sexual expression, because they thought they had to, to be worthy of love. When the part I would find suffocating, is him being monogamous to me. Not me being monogamous to him. That aspect of monogamy, is my default. Which is not to say I do not aspire to become more versatile. Nor do I intend to say No to a new lover, to being in love, to exploring one night stands or other non-committal versions of sex, with a man when I feel attracted to him. But it is not what comes easily and in all likeliness it will not be something I excel at. It will not come as natural as being faithful, but that does not mean it isn’t healthy to pick Life up on an adventure. I also insist on having a non-monogamous relationship (or no relationship!) because I m not okay with a man being jealous. I want him to be supportive of me, happy for me, take care of me when I come home. That sort of thing. Being faithful is easy for me, but another reason I would not make it into a promise, is because it would allow for things inside of him to stay hidden. An undesirable inequality could arise, where I politely work around his insecurities. Something that ultimately would not benefit anybody, least of all him. Promising him I would be faithful, would feel like doubting his ability to be bigger than that. After the first hurt was over, or maybe even when it was still there, the thought of Bear living with his girlfriend started to arouse me. It’s not that I can’t see how great it would be to be together. Just that it no longer keeps me from appreciating the special situation we are in. There is too much good there, tension and interesting-ness. I can’t write it off as a dumbed down good (he chooses for me!) versus bad (he doesn’t choose for me!) situation. The current situation with me being the friend he started sleeping with again, is preferable to the staleness of monogamy. I heard someone say that if you find the pain you can fall in love with, nothing can stop you. Two and a half week after he was here, having recovered fully and counting my riches, I can say; I ll take this. . ~Lauren96 An unexamined life is not worth living

disclaimer: NSFW, triggering, sexually explicit, 18+ Video: On Wednesday, 10 March 1996, Lauren attends a screening of Guns N Roses, Tokyo 1992. Pretty Tied Up was the 7th song of that VHS. And on Tuesday and Thursday she writes in her diary: PRETTY TIED UP Tuesday March 9, 1996 I feel I m in way over my head! Sunday I came up with this idea to clean up my agenda, my social life. And get the healthy and productive lifestyle of Me, at 16! No more Sunday night bar benders. Which didn’t seem too hard, since the Hard Rock Cafe is closed because of holiday or hygiene reasons. Either way my Thursday and Sunday fan nights are already cancelled, so it was a relatively small step (or so it seemed) to getting back to my high school rhythm. Just the thought of having close to 10 productive hours a day, made my mouth water! I m a freelancer, and I only bill effective hours: Combined with how easily distracted I am, and often having the overwhelming urge to do my own work first (writing new work, even though I still have not picked up publishing my old work, my books) this means it often takes three days before I can bill 8 hours. It’s hopeless. And then I power through, work until way too late like I did yesterday night after having lost the entire day because Bear came by. He just stayed a few hours, early afternoon. But it killed my workday and maybe also because I didn’t want to feel the pain of him leaving; I chose to work until after midnight instead. So within 24 hours of starting my Project 88, 88 days of living my 1988 life, my current life had already spun out of control. Instead of better, it had gotten worse. And today a new neighbor brought me 5 gigantic homemade cookies, which were the best cookies I have ever eaten. And eaten in the shortest amount of time, I imagine. So on this project that was supposed to bring back my 16 year old size 6, one entire meal consisted of cookies. But there is also good news. About my books. And it was such a surprise, and also shock! I felt so free and happy and bold! I even checked with the publisher if my new plan was actually allowed. All ISBN numbers, meaning all my books, are already registered at 1995, via a publisher that allows you to publish your own books. It’s totally different to having a normal publisher. So I asked: “How strong is this push to hire an editor and designer, and make it look professional? Because I would like to try something else, but I don’t know if I am allowed to.” I was very proud of my choice of words “try something else”. I had thought long and hard about that. I didn’t want to shove it down their throats, because they have been so good to me. But I also didn’t want to go ahead with something that is, three months after registering all the ISBNs and hardly making any headway publishing my books, clearly not working. The task of publishing that many manuscripts is impossible. So I asked: “What if I would give myself one day for every book? And that I print them however they come out after that one day? No more, no less.” And they agreed this was interesting and that they would help me! In particular with coming up with some kind of cover format that we can adjust for every book. So that was all very exciting (maybe you’re noticing I m not talking about Bear being here yesterday, but I m still trying to not think about it until the first pain of missing him has worn off) and then another thing happened! Guns N Roses fans from the Thursday group at the Hard Rock Cafe are throwing a potluck party, and it’s tomorrow. Someone has the Live in Tokyo VHS, and that’s what we’re gonna watch. Shame it’s not the Sunday group with Bon Jovi fans, because I would have loved to see that special guy where I had, rubbing-crotches-in-passing-by-with-drinks contact with. But then again, maybe throwing home parties on a Wednesday night is more of a dirty thing. And Jovi fans would be too modest or hardworking to take it that far. Let’s take it that far. An unexamined life is not worth living

An unexamined life is not worth living

An unexamined life is not worth living

~Lauren96 An unexamined life is not worth living

~Lauren96 An unexamined life is not worth living