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I’ve decided to share my latest book (The All-Important, Well-Fed, Giant White Man) with my followers here, free of charge, one chapter at a time. So… Where were we on this read-along… Oh, yes…

Chapter 14: Rejected

By the end of high school, I had kissed all sorts of girls.

Heather. A spicy little red-head who worked with me at Wendy’s took me once after closing to the volcano, a wooden teepee shaped hut at the local playground where all the cool kids went to get their mack on. Heather was both crazy and overly sexual. She would demand what she wanted and then take it whether the other person was comfortable with it or not. I gave my virginity to Heather.

Stacey. A cute little country girl two years younger than I was. We used to sneak out to the playhouse in the backyard at night, strip down to our undies, and roll around on the redwood flooring as we kissed passionately. I never got too crazy with her because she was too much a sweetheart to defile. We kept it to undies and smooching.

Vanessa. A really hot Brazilian foreign exchange student who was attending a high school two towns over. We met at a football game and she used to meet me after I got off work for some proper snogging. You know, on the nights when Heather and I weren’t off fooling around in the volcano.

Amber was the girl I’d sneak out of class with at school sometimes. Tamara was the girl I’d hook up with after our weekly church youth nights. Amanda was the girl who gave me my first blow job.

At least… these were the stories I told Eric. And my best friends. And my regular friends. And my kind of friends. And my acquaintances. And random horny men pretending to be women in AOL chat rooms.

And they were all completely true. Except that they weren’t actually true at all. None of them. Ever.



If Steve Urkel, Lisa Simpson, Chunk from the Goonies, and Steve Buscemi, all got together to have the most awkward, weird, socially deficient kid imaginable, I probably would have been the aftermath of that experiment gone wrong. There was no way any girl anywhere was ever going to kiss me. At least not one that I could brag to my buddies about.

And so I did the next best thing to getting real action. I made up stories about getting real action and I got the kudos for it as if it actually happened. I was such a gifted story teller that I don’t think anyone ever doubted me. I learned quickly that I could make up a life that wasn’t mine and instantly not be thought the loser anymore. After all, only the guys who aren’t ugly, and aren’t awkward, and aren’t shy, and aren’t me get pretty little wild things competing for their time, attention, and sexual advances.

Looking back, I can honestly say that I don’t regret telling those lies.

I was a really broken person by the time my last two years of high school rolled around. I didn’t believe I was worth anything at all to anyone. I didn’t believe I had value. I had no self-esteem. I was angry and bitter toward so many people. And, I hated myself.

I needed those lies. And I needed lots of them.

Because I told so many lies, and I told them for so long, and I began receiving the recognition and respect that went along with living such a life at that age, I actually started to believe that I was everything I presented myself to be. I started to believe that I had value. And that I was good enough to get pretty girls. And that someone out there would actually want me.

And with that new seed of belief planted, I left home, flew halfway across the Pacific Ocean, and began the next phase of my life: idiot college student.

I stepped off the plane in Hawaii and breathed in a deep lungful of air. It was a new start. Nobody here knew who I was before I came to this place. Nobody knew that I was shy. Or that I was scared of anything with a vagina. Or that I had never been asked to a girl’s choice dance. Or that I thought it was cool to suck air into my butt and blow it back out again. Or that I had conquered the third Mario Bros. more than 100 times while pounding pastries and chocolate milk late into the night with my best friend every weekend.

After inhaling my first breath of Hawaiian goodness, I let the island air sit in my lungs for the longest time before I breathed it back out again. Starting right then, I would be the person I had always been in my stories. I would be brave. And bold. And confident. I would find both friends and love the real way this time.

I wanted to kiss a girl. I wanted to actually meet a girl, let her be the first person to actually see how amazing I was, and press my lips against hers. I wanted to make an honest man of my high school lying self.

And then I met Rachel.

CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE

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Dan Pearce is an American-born author, app developer, photographer, and artist. This blog, Single Dad Laughing, is what he’s most known for, with more than 2 million daily subscribers as of 2017. Pearce writes mostly humorous and introspective works, as well as his musings which span from fatherhood, to dating, to life, to the people and dynamics of society. Single Dad Laughing is much more than a blog. It’s an incredible community of people just being real and awesome together!