Perfect Is Boring by Tyra Banks & Carolyn London

Author:Tyra Banks & Carolyn London
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2018-04-03T04:00:00+00:00

THE FIRST MAKE-OUT

Tyra: My first boyfriend was Byron Short. My oh my, he was an adorable green-eyed sweetheart, and a good soul. He was thirteen, I was thirteen. So, you get it—a whole lot of nothin’ happened. Which is exactly what should be happening at thirteen! Then when I was fifteen, I fell in what I thought was love with this guy named Vé, who I met at a New Edition/Bobby Brown/Al B. Sure concert at the Forum, where the L.A. Lakers played. Vé was eighteen, so not that much older, but old enough that the first time he came to my house, my stepdaddy took one look at him and said, “Your old ass needs to leave right now.”

Of course, that only made me want Vé even more. I had some freedom—thanks to that RTD bus—so I’d traipse around town to meet him and hang out. Once, we even made out on the roof of a building at the La Brea Tar Pits. The tar pits kinda fart and also emit a smell, but I didn’t care. I was in Vé’s arms under the stars. Who cared if the air smelled like oil poop?

Vé and I also hung out at the mall. Every mall. A lot. He had a job at the Gap, but not in a mall. He worked at what I thought was a super classy Gap, in Westwood, near the campus of UCLA. So there I was, taking the bus to fancy Westwood to go see him fold T-shirts at work. I thought he was such a businessman because he had a j-o-b. And his folding game was on point.

After he’d get off work, we’d be on the phone all night listening to slow jams.

“Ty, who are you talking to?!”

“It’s nobody, Mama, just Andria!” Then I’d go back to listening to Vé hum “Tenderoni” to me. So romantic, right? Well, it was to me.

I thought I was in love, and whenever my parents were gone, Vé would sneak over and we’d make out (fully clothed) in the living room after school. One day, we were going at it hot and heavy on the couch when he put his mouth to my ear, licked it, then whispered . . . those eight words.

O

M

G

I screamed, pushed him off me, and jumped up off the couch.

“She said you would say that!” I yelled. “She’s not crazy! You said it just like she said you would!” Well, he didn’t know what “she” I was talking about, but he did think I was crazy, and that I was trying to cry foul or something.

As I was hyperventilating from this surreal moment, my mind kept repeating, “Ma was right. Ma was right. Ma was right!” In fact, she was right about everything: I was feeling weak. He’d said sweet nothings in my ear. There were even secretions!

Needless to say, Vé and I did not have sex that day. Not even a little bit.

And we never did.

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