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I felt invisible for much of my teen years. Because of this, I was drawn to people like my best friend, who was dynamic and bold. She was the one who things happened to, the starting point of every story. I was the oracle, remembering each detail from my supporting role. There was safety in the shadows, but also a kind of darkness. In tenth grade, we made friends with a group of older guys who hung out on the main street of town, which ran parallel to the local university - guys who'd once gone to our same high school and had never left the social scene. When they weren't doing BMX and skateboard tricks in front of the post office, they were spending what money they had at the nearby arcade, or spinning on stools and shooting straw wrappers in their favorite burger joint, just across the street.

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He, in turn, went to find my friend and her boyfriend, who were none too pleased at having to leave so soon after we got there. I was causing trouble, making things difficult for everyone.

It was so weird. I'd completely accepted her romance with an older guy as normal, even destined. But the idea of T. He was a big brother, someone to pal around with. Hearing that he wanted more felt like wading into the deep end. Just like that, you lose your footing, and you're in over your head. Extracting myself, however, was anything but easy. Once I knew T. He noticed my sudden distance and pouted, unsettling to see in an adult.

When he wasn't upset, he was in kindness overdrive, buying me things: a gold necklace with a floating heart, stuffed animals. I grew to dread the moments we were alone, especially when I needed a ride home at the end of the night to make my curfew.

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We had gotten in the habit of him driving me home, and my suddenly wanting to make different arrangements seemed to inconvenience everyone.

Even worse, I couldn't say why I didn't want to go with him. All I had was my instinct and discomfort - a bad gut feeling. Everyone has those.

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When I write novels, there is always a clear trajectory: the beginning, middle, climax, and end. With real life, however, and memory especially, it is harder to keep things so neat and organized.

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Many memories remain fuzzy, but incidents such as that day in the forest remain in crisp detail. In the first, I snuck out of the house with a guy friend who lived down the street. It was late and my parents were asleep as we drove over to the house where T.

At some point, my friend left to go somewhere, and for whatever reason I didn't go with him. Maybe I wasn't invited. Maybe he only stepped out to go to the store down the block.

What I do remember is sitting on a couch with T. I think he put an arm around me. I don't remember what I said to him.

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Maybe nothing. My friend came back, we went home and I slid back into my bed. The night stops there. The second incident I remember happened when he was giving me a ride home.

This was after the night at his house, though how much later I cannot say.

Dating older girl in high school

I just recall being almost to my house, when I told T. I didn't want to hang out with him anymore. I told him that this wasn't true: it was my choice. I could see my house now, coming up ahead.

He wasn't slowing down. My own voice - big, firm, filling the space - was a surprise to both of us. I'd been quiet for so long, worried about hurting his feelings and the ripple effects of whatever actions I took.

But it's enough to say no. You don't need to offer an explanation, even if someone asks you for one. He stopped the car with a jerk, right past the top of my driveway, and I grabbed the door handle and got out.

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Then he drove away. For many years afterward, I took total blame for everything that happened between me and T. After all, I was a bad kid. I'd done drugs, I'd lied to my mom. You can't just hang out with a guy and not expect him to get ideas, I told myself. You should have known better. But maybe he should have. When I turned 21, I remember making a point, regularly, to look at teens and ask myself whether I'd want to hang out with them, much less date one.

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The answer was always a flat, immediate no. They were kids. I was an adult. End of story. In the initial years following, I never really talked about this with anyone other than my high school girlfriends and various therapists. As I got older, however, the more I realized that my experience was not an uncommon one. It seemed just about every woman I knew had a similar story, a time when wanting attention meant getting the wrong kind entirely. As a teen wishing to be an adult, it is easy to get in over your head.

Especially for girls, who are often taught that being polite and sweet should override all other instincts. It was with this in mind that I began my narrator Sydney's story in Saint Anything.

I'm 44 now, married with a daughter of my own. She is only seven. The teen years loom ahead and I've experienced too much to rest easily. Like me and Sydney, she will most likely yearn for attention at one point or another. It is normal. But how can I teach her that it is just as OK to need that scrutiny to stop?

What do I want? To teach her to be wary without being fearful. But, unfortunately for them, I met this guy at an art park one Friday, and then, things kind of just started happening.

After all, my sister was three years older than me, and I had grown up hanging out with her friends all the time. It was true, I had always mostly hung out with older kids.

What was four years in the grand scheme of things, I thought to myself. Tons of adults I knew had significant age differences between them and their spouses, some spanning gaps of ten years. Compared to those differences, a four year difference between teens seemed innocuous enough.

And, when I made this argument to plenty of people around me-friends, concerned adults, and my parents, they seemed to back off. They were still concerned, but I think on some level they were at a loss. My parents always gave me a lot of freedom, and a lot of responsibilities-which I always dutifully fulfilled.

Q: Is It Bad To Date A Younger Guy??

I was smugly satisfied. Of course there was nothing wrong with me dating a 19 year old. I needed someone older.

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What I never stopped to think about during this whole ordeal, however, was what kind of mindset my then boyfriend had to be in to find dating a fifteen year old an appealing prospect. At 19, my ex boyfriend was beginning his first year at university. He had already had a few girlfriends, and a handful of sexual encounters- a whole handful more than I had. Why on earth would he have any interest in a 15 year old? Two weeks after we started dating, we had sex. Looking back now, I often think about how so much of our relationship in its early days was focused on sex.

I wonder, intently, why someone with so much more sexual experience, would want to have sex with a fifteen year old who had had absolutely none. I remember one afternoon, being a little confused about how quickly things had been moving between us.

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When we got there, I finally confessed my growing discomfort. Those words left me shaken, and a bit taken aback. But, I silenced the alarm bells going off inside my head because I trusted him. From then on, we always did things his way.

a year older chick will be much more mature then some high school girl. If she's really hot then you can use her as braggin rights. Most girls prefer older guys anyway so your working agianst. Sep 24,   17 Harsh Truths About The Older Boyfriend. Are you a high school freshman dating a college freshman? A year-old dating her year-old . Jul 07,   What I Learned from Dating an Older Guy as a Teen. I started dating my first real boyfriend. I was a sophomore in high school, and just beginning to understand that there was a whole wide world of romance out there. Up until then, I'd been a whole lot more concerned with books than boys-something my parents had hoped would continue Author: Victoria Durden.

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