2012 (17/18)

January 

My father went on another peacekeeping mission to India and Pakistan. At the start of 2012, I was 17 and a half years old. Around that time, there was a prom held at a hotel in my neighborhood, and I brought Stacey as my date. 

We all couldn’t help but admire our attractive MILF professor—even Stacey did. I was a skilled writer, and the MILF professor always complimented my work. For the prom, I was tasked with writing poems about the teachers, which were traditionally read at the event. I wrote around 15 to 20 poems, each creatively describing a different professor. Rhyming came naturally to me, and I found it simple and fun. By the end of the night, though, I felt down and went outside to sit alone. Stacey found me and asked what was wrong. I didn’t have a clear answer, but I think it was the sense that there had to be something more out there for me than just a mediocre prom. 

I injured my back while rowing and went for an MRI, which revealed two protruding spinal discs. I blamed my coach for pushing me too hard without properly teaching the correct rowing technique. When he saw my MRI results, he dismissed my concerns, insisting that I was making a fuss over nothing and could continue training. Frustrated, I decided to quit rowing. 

March 

In the spring of 2012, my high school class had an excursion. Our entire year— surveyors, construction technicians, and architects—was set to travel to Prague, Czech Republic. Just a few days before the trip, Stacey was hospitalized for some reason, so I went to visit her. The day before my departure, when we talked about the trip, she became hysterical and almost didn’t want me to go. I suspected she was afraid I might cheat on her. 

One morning in March, we all met in front of the school and boarded the bus. Since we surveyors thought we were cool, we took seats at the back. Right from the start, we played Serbian turbofolk music, but quickly turned it off since it was still too early. As we headed north, I sat next to Jim. As we neared the Slovenian border, we made a stop and got off the bus. One guy pulled out some weed and began rolling the thickest joint I had ever seen. He ground up massive chunks of buds like he had an endless supply at home and didn’t have a care in the world. When we lit it up, I experienced the best high of my life—at least up to that moment.  

I put on my sunglasses and headed over to meet Jim and Barby Joe, who were sitting at a nearby café. As I laughed uncontrollably, they looked at me curiously, wondering what was going on. 

That’s when I admitted that I was high. I was having a great time—until it was time to cross the border. The guide grabbed the bus microphone and instructed everyone to take off their sunglasses and keep a straight face. Panic set in. I snapped a few pictures of myself and saw that my eyes were bloodshot and half-closed—I was convinced the border guards would arrest me on the spot. 

At the border, we stepped off the bus, and despite my paranoia, I somehow made it through without any issues. We reboarded and continued our journey to the Czech Republic. After spending the night in Graz, Austria, we finally arrived in Prague the next day. The city was stunning, and I couldn’t help but admire our bus driver for maneuvering through its streets so effortlessly. 

Once we checked into the hotel, I shared a room with Jim and Barby Joe. Wasting no time, I covered the smoke detector with a small plastic bag and lit a cigarette. Later, after dinner, I stepped outside for another smoke. A guy nearby was openly smoking weed—after all, it was legal in the Czech Republic. 

I wanted to buy some weed but had no idea where to find it. Some guys from the construction technician class attempted to score from some sketchy dealers in an alley, only to realize later that they had been scammed with a piece of rubber in a plastic bag. 

The following evening, we headed to a nightclub that had been converted from an old church. A DJ was playing Balkan music on what used to be the altar, while our professors sat above us in the area where the choir once stood. I was on the dance floor at a table, drinking with Jim and Barby Joe, soaking in the surreal atmosphere. 

I was so committed to drinking that I downed a glass in one go and slammed it on the table to prove my intensity and determination. Barby Jo grinned and said, “THAT’S the kind of drinking buddy I need!” 

Out of nowhere, the unmistakable scent of weed filled the air. Curious, I scanned the club and spotted a guy lounging on a couch across from our table, casually smoking a joint. Without hesitation, I walked over and asked him where he got his stash. 

He told me he had a connection in Prague and handed me a joint. I took a few hits, realizing how surreal the moment was—I was getting high in a club that was once a church, while our oblivious professors sat up in the choir section. 

The mix of weed and alcohol hit me hard. I felt unstoppable, dancing and singing on the couch like I owned the place. Then, as if the universe was in on the joke, a song about weed started playing, making the whole experience even more unreal. 

It was Kokuz by Dubioza Kolektiv, and the lyrics went: “due to the world crisis, I don’t have enough money for rolling papers, there is no ganja neither, I need some.” I couldn’t resist dancing to it, pretending to roll and smoke a joint, and my classmates laughed along. After we left the club, Jim, Barby Jo, and I made our way back to the hotel. 

On the way, a group of guys from Spain approached us and asked if we had any cocaine. For a moment, I was caught off guard, but I quickly responded with a firm “no” and carried on. Back in the hotel room, we took a few pictures, and I eventually passed out. 

The next morning, we decided to “rent” a hookah from the hotel and smoke. When I checked out the photos from the night before, I noticed my eyes were red and sleepy, but honestly, the whole experience was worth it. I had a blast during the trip, and getting high made it all the more memorable. 

The next night, we headed to another club, and I ran into the weed guy once more. We were outside the club, smoking when just as I was about to take another hit, a police car drove by. It felt like I had activated some cheat code from GTA San Andreas to escape the cops, and it was like they couldn’t catch me. 

We spent the next few days exploring Prague before heading home. On the way back, we stopped in Vienna, Austria, and visited an amusement park. I tried the slingshot ride, where Jim and I sat in two connected seats facing up, and then we were shot about 50 feet into the air. As we reached the highest point, the seats rotated so we were facing down before we started plummeting. The adrenaline was incredible, almost like jumping off a cliff at Bačvice. 

Eventually, we made it back to Split, and life quickly returned to the normal school routine. 

A few weeks later, Jim, Danny, and I traveled to Bosnia and Herzegovina to visit Barby Jo. The ride took about an hour and a half. He lived in a village called Klobuk, near the town of Ljubuški. Barby Jo was a great host and welcomed us along with his family, who offered us food and drinks. That evening, he drove us to a nightclub in Posušje called ‘Elephant,’ where there was a concert by Boban Rajović. Jim, Danny, and I got drunk, while Barby Jo stayed sober to drive us back. We spent the night at his place. The next day, we had lunch outside his house. We sat at one end of a long table, while his family and some of their friends, including a priest, sat at the other end. As the priest talked with Barby Jo’s parents, Barby Jo mentioned that the priest was highly knowledgeable, a good person, and well-informed about many things. Listening to this, I felt inspired and wished to have that same depth of knowledge someday. 

A few days later, we had a math class with a new teacher. We waited outside the classroom until she arrived to unlock the door and let us in. She was an older woman but still attractive. As she walked past us to the door, she was far enough away that Jim felt comfortable making a comment, saying he would have slept with her if he were an older man. I thought to myself that I would have slept with her right then and there. The math class itself was pretty dull, but at the end, she mentioned she’d be willing to tutor anyone who needed extra help at her home. Since I really needed the assistance, I got her phone number after class. I contacted her the next day, and she gave me her address. When I arrived the following day, she answered the door wearing a two-piece pajama set. 

We met, and she let me in. Once I sat down at the table, I realized we were alone. We started studying, and she was a great help. We talked about my future education, and she asked me where I wanted to go to college. I told her I was interested in geodesy, but more importantly, I wanted to make educational videos to improve the education system and ultimately change the world. She was pleasantly surprised and smiled. Her smile was beautiful, and I wondered what it would be like to sleep with an older woman like her. I assumed she was menopausal and couldn’t get pregnant, which made me think how wonderful it would be to ejaculate inside her. Time ran out, and I left. From that moment on, I wanted to meet an older, experienced, and serious woman to explore a sexual relationship with.

April 

My English teacher informed me that another English teacher from our school had invited me to a spelling competition in Zagreb called “English in Action.” Other students were also going to compete in persuasive speech and acting. I accepted the invitation, and about two weeks later, I took a bus to Zagreb with the English teacher and several students from my school. The group consisted of several young men and women. We arrived in Zagreb and checked into our hostel. 

The spelling competition was scheduled for the afternoon and was held at a nearby hotel. We went to a seminar room that had seating for the competitors in one section and spectators in another. Near the competitors’ seats was a table for the judges. I sat down in one of the competitor chairs, and the first few seats remained empty. The judges began the competition and asked us to move to the front seats. I volunteered to go first. There was a microphone nearby, and each competitor had to go up, spell the word correctly, and then return to their seat if they were right. The judges asked me to stand up and spell my first word. This wasn’t officially part of the competition, but a warm-up demonstration for me and the others. I went to the microphone and had to repeat the word I heard from the judges, spell it, and then repeat it again.

My first word was “population.” I visualized the word by “writing” it on my palm, which amused some of the audience. I correctly spelled it out loud: “population, P-O-P-U-L-A-T-I-O-N, population.” The judge confirmed I was right, and I was off to a good start. The competition narrowed down from about 20-30 people to just four of us. I was doing well until my turn came up again, and I had to spell “drudgery.” I hesitated for a moment and then attempted “D-R-U-G-G-G-E-R-Y.” The judge said “incorrect,” and my time in the competition was over. But I learned a new word that day! 

After the spelling bee finished, they held the persuasive speech contest. A guy from my school competed, but he didn’t do very well. After that competition, we all had dinner at the hotel. Afterwards, we went out to explore Zagreb, get a drink, and smoke. We returned to the hostel to get ready for bed, but no one was actually ready to sleep. One guy was trying to flirt with a girl, but she told him she had a boyfriend. 

The next morning, the acting competition was held, and several students from my school performed. They didn’t win, but it didn’t matter; we all had fun. In the afternoon, they held the awards ceremony, where the top three teams or individuals in each category received a prize. The judges also announced that special prizes would be given to those who finished fourth. That included me, and I was so proud to go on stage and receive my award. In the evening, we packed our bags and took the bus back to Split. We had a good time on the highway. We arrived at the Split bus station, got off, and said our goodbyes. I headed toward the local bus station, dragging my luggage behind me. The girl who had mentioned having a boyfriend earlier followed me. 

As we approached the bus station, she said, “I’d like to see you naked.” I immediately backed away and told her, “Don’t say that.” We then went our separate ways home.

May 

In May, we all took the state graduation exam, and my results were average. We applied to colleges online, where we could list multiple choices in case we didn’t get into our first choice. My top choice was geodesy, followed by civil engineering. I also included the Faculty of Teacher Education, and my last choice was the acting academy. While the acting academy was my last choice online, it was my true passion. I dreamed of becoming an actor and starring in films that would make the world a better place. This desire to change the world was also reflected in my interest in the Faculty of Teacher Education. 

My family and I regularly talked to my dad via Skype. 

I was finally old enough to enroll in driving school. After passing the required medical exam, I signed up at a local driving school and began taking classes. There was only one other student in the class, a very annoying girl. She was so irritating because whenever the instructor asked a question and I didn’t know the answer, she would immediately jump in with all her “knowledge,” making me feel put on the spot. I survived having that annoying girl in my class, though I suspected it wasn’t her first time at driving school. After I passed the written exam, it was time for the practical driving lessons. I was nervous at first, but I eventually got the hang of it. I drove instinctively, and the instructor usually just pointed out road signs and other details. Eventually, I overcame that hurdle too. 

I had one particularly bad experience while driving on the highway. There were two lanes leading to the exit, and I was in the right lane. When the instructor told me to change lanes to the left, I didn’t check my blind spot and almost caused a collision with a nearby truck. The instructor, though trying to remain calm, was clearly upset and disappointed. He exclaimed something like, “Oh my God, how could you even…?” in a somewhat hysterical tone. I just held back tears and tried to drive as normally as possible. Despite this incident, I managed to pass my driving test on the first try, though one of the examiners did remark that I spent too long checking my mirrors. 

I got my driver’s license in the summer and immediately went for my first drive with my mom and siblings. Mom was nervous and kept wanting me to pull over, but she eventually relaxed and let me drive. I also remember my first drive with Danny. It was at night, and Danny borrowed his parents’ car. We drove all over the city. I made an illegal U-turn and someone honked at me, but overall, it was a good experience. It was so good that at the end of the night, as we were walking back to Danny’s house, just minutes before we were about to park the car, I realized we had driven the entire time without the headlights on. 

I turned 18, which meant I could legally buy cigarettes and alcohol, as well as gamble without any restrictions. 

Stacey and I were excited about my new driver’s license, as it meant we finally had a private place to have sex. I took her for a drive around town, we grabbed a drink, and then I drove to a secluded spot where people sometimes went to have sex in their cars. There were a few such places near Split, and we chose one on the peninsula. We climbed into the back seat, and after some foreplay, we started having sex. Sex in the car was surprisingly great because of the specific position and the design of the back seat; it was even better than a bed. Our sessions lasted between 45 minutes and an hour. We alternated between aggressive, almost porn-like sex and gentle, loving intimacy. At the end of each session, Stacey would ask me to keep going a little longer, so I always did. 

Stacey’s friend Melissa invited us to her seaside cottage, about an hour’s drive north along the coast. We were all excited to be alone and have some privacy. We made a meal, and after eating, we smoked some weed. We went swimming, and then evening came. We watched TV and went to bed. Stacey and I were in one room, and Melissa was in the other. As Stacey and I were having sex, I asked her why she hadn’t suggested a threesome with Melissa. Stacey had mentioned to me recently that Melissa was on birth control pills, and I was interested in sleeping with her and ejaculating inside her. 

The threesome, however, never happened. I spent the night with Stacey, and we slept naked. The next morning, I woke up, and she told me she hadn’t slept well because she enjoyed watching me sleep. I noticed a red rash on my penis and worried that it might be a sexually transmitted disease. The next day, we returned to Split, and I went to the doctor about the rash. He told me I needed a urethral swab to check for bacteria. The following day, I went to the clinic for the procedure, completely unaware of what I was about to experience. When I entered the room, the technician told me to take off my pants and lie down on the bed. I did, and then he told me to hold on tight. He took what looked like a cotton swab and inserted it into the opening of my penis. It was incredibly painful. He repeated the process, and it hurt again. When I got home and tried to urinate, it felt like I was peeing broken glass. I had to go, but I had to force myself to overcome the pain. The lab results came back negative for harmful bacteria, and I never went back to that doctor. I concluded that the rash was probably caused by sleeping naked and rubbing my penis against the sheets. 

My rash cleared up, and I continued to have sex with Stacey. Our sexual appetites grew with each encounter. We got bored with regular sex and wanted to try something different. One evening, we decided to role-play as business professionals meeting for a discreet encounter. I was supposed to pick her up, and we’d start a fictional conversation related to work. However, halfway to our usual secluded spot, I gave up, and she did too. It just wasn’t our thing. 

She confided in me that she had been raped at the age of 13, which was how she lost her virginity. One night, while discussing sex, we decided to experiment with some new things. I role-played raping her, including choking and slapping her, though not with full force, so as not to leave any visible marks. She enjoyed being slapped during sex and having her hair pulled. It wasn’t something I was personally into, but I did it for her. 

One summer day, we went swimming in Stobreč. We rented a kayak, and I paddled us around Stobreč and towards Split. On the way, I noticed some new beaches, and Stacey told me her dad had said they were known as “gay beaches” because they were popular spots for gay people to hang out. It was a secluded area with a narrow strip of coastline separated by slopes and the sea. The slopes were eroded, and there were no houses or buildings nearby. There were just a lot of pine trees and man-made paths leading from the top of the slopes down to the coast. I saw some nudists on those beaches. We almost reached the Split area by kayak, but we were still parallel to the “gay beaches.” I paddled to one of the beaches and we secured the kayak. Since we were alone, I suggested Stacey take off her bra, which she did, and I stripped naked as well. We probably would have had sex if a naked man hadn’t walked by. Then, a mosquito bit my testicle. We decided to head back to Stobreč to return the kayak. 

One day, my dad called us on Skype. We all talked to him in the living room, but I felt like the conversation was pointless and boring. Mom eventually sent us all to our rooms and closed the living room door. She also closed the hallway door, so my siblings and I were confined to our rooms. At some point, I tried to go back to the living room, but I realized the door was locked. Then, I heard my mom moaning. I realized she was having virtual sex with my dad. I thought how pathetic that was.

I would sometimes visit Stacey’s house and see her parents, who were no longer upset with us about smoking weed. Neither our parents knew we smoked cigarettes, though I suspected Stacey’s parents at least suspected. They would let us go to her room to watch a movie. Sometimes I would give Stacey a back massage. Then her mom would come in to “check” on us and would always jokingly ask, “When’s my turn?” It made me wonder what it would be like to sleep with Stacey’s mom. I occasionally masturbated while thinking about her. 

I’d been researching ways to increase my penis size. I came across countless techniques and promises from scam artists, but I realized they weren’t worth my time. I was looking for a natural way to enlarge my penis, and one day I found a website called pegym.com. It claimed to offer methods for penis enlargement using specific tools and exercises. Since I was 18, I created an account and logged into the forums. I explored the forums and saw many subforums, including ones dedicated to premature ejaculation, erectile dysfunction, and even foreskin restoration. I was a novice on the subject, so I started researching penis enlargement techniques and everything related to it. The first step was to warm up my penis, either with warm running water or by wrapping it in a warm, damp cloth. I chose the warm water method. 

Next, the instructions said to get my penis to about 60-70% erection and then perform an exercise called “jelqing.” This involved a “milking” motion, similar to how you’d milk a cow. The goal was to increase blood flow to the penis, which was believed to increase both its length and girth. When I compared my own penis size to the average, I realized I was already above average in both length and especially girth.

However, I didn’t consider my penis to be exceptionally large. I tried my first penis enlargement exercise, which involved warming up and then jelqing, and it felt good. I was simply trying to enhance my size to please Stacey even more. After the session, I noticed a few red dots on my penis. I researched what they were and found out they were neither a good nor a bad sign. I chose to interpret them as a good sign, since I hadn’t been forcing the exercises. I told Stacey about the penis enlargement techniques I was trying, and she was happy to hear it. A few weeks later, after we had sex, she said she felt a difference in the size of my penis, even though I hadn’t actually measured it. I concluded that either the quality of my erections had improved, or she was just being nice to me. 

I often went out in the evenings to smoke weed by myself. I would go to a secluded part of the forest on the peninsula, away from the coast, to avoid getting caught by the police. 

Other times, I would drive my car to the beach, get high, and then listen to a radio station where people were praying the rosary. I would laugh and say out loud, “You’re all crazy, that is completely unnecessary!” Then I would switch the radio from FM to AM. I discovered some music with an Eastern European sound, probably picking up a signal from somewhere else in the Balkans. It was a regular song, and I just babbled along to it while I was high. 

I watched a lot of porn at home; I couldn’t seem to get enough. Even Stacey watched porn. I remember one night at her place when we watched it together. I continued to go out and enjoy smoking weed. Stacey and I also started going to casinos. We played roulette, but only placed small bets for fun. It felt great to be in that adult environment, smoking while sitting next to the roulette table. 

One evening, me, Stacey, Jim and Danny went to a concert by Dragana Mirković at the “Hemingway” club. Stacey just had to be there with me, God forbid I only went with Jim and Danny. I got used to her presence with me and my friends. The concert was great, and I even took a picture with Dragana Mirković herself while I was on stage. 

Over the summer, auditions for the acting academy were held. I spoke with some of the actors to get a better understanding of what the judges were looking for in prospective students. I had to memorize three monologues and perform them in front of the judges. I chose two existing monologues and wrote my own poem, hoping to catch the judges’ attention. About 30 people were auditioning for the acting academy, some of whom were auditioning for the 4th or 5th time. When it was my turn, I went inside. The judges were seated at a table, and I began my first monologue. My first monologue went pretty well, but during the second one, I forgot my lines and got flustered. I stood there in silence, feeling ashamed, but eventually, I remembered them. I finished by reciting my poem, and the judges seemed genuinely impressed. I left the academy and went for a drink with some of the other auditionees.

Later, we returned to the academy to see the results. 

One of the other auditionees passed, but I was among those who didn’t. I went home disappointed, but I got over it, comforted by the fact that I had at least tried my best. 

Stacey and I started getting high more frequently. One night, I was riding my bike home after getting high, and I was alone on the road. I was staring down at my feet pedaling when I hit the curb and fell off my bike. Luckily, no one was around, especially the police. I got up, continued cycling home, but ended up with a large scratch on my leg. 

In September, the college acceptance results came in, and I was accepted into the Faculty of Civil Engineering. I had been 33rd on the list for Geodesy, which only had a capacity of 30 students. At the Faculty of Civil Engineering, I met some new people who also liked to smoke weed, so we mostly focused on how and when to get high, and studying took a backseat. 

The day after class, I had plans to go out with Stacey, but my classmates invited me to smoke weed with them after class. I told Stacey I was going with them and then turned off my phone. We went to smoke, and I was in charge of rolling the joint since no one else knew how. I felt a sense of pride, even though my rolling skills were still just okay. We smoked and then went to a café, hung out for a while, and then went home. When I checked my phone, I had missed calls and texts from Stacey. She was angry that I hadn’t gone out with her and seemed to want to control who I spent my time with.

I met a cute girl at college, and I got bored with Stacey and wanted to cheat on her. I messaged the new girl, and we met at a café. She told me she liked to read erotic novels. We chatted for a bit, and then I went to meet Stacey. She told me her period was late, so we went to buy a pregnancy test. She asked me where I had been, and I couldn’t come up with a good answer. I confessed that I’d been with another girl, and she was furious. We went to another café, where she took the test, which came back negative. 

October 

In October, my college friends and I decided to go to Omiš to stay at one of our friend’s houses. One Friday evening after classes, we took the bus to Omiš. We arrived at a house that was typically rented to tourists during the summer; it was located near the sea. We rolled joints, got some drinks, and I enjoyed their company. I got so drunk and high that I eventually fell asleep on the bed. I woke up the next morning feeling great and saw that one of my friends was still awake. I suspected he had taken some speed to stay up all night. We left the house, and it felt wonderful to take the bus back home. 

December 

Stacey and I went out to celebrate New Year’s Eve 2013. I rolled four joints to prepare for the night. We went to a club, but the music was boring, so we went outside by the sea with a lot of other young people. We smoked three joints and had a good time. Then Stacey’s father came to pick us up. He didn’t realize we were high and drove me home to my neighborhood. I had one joint left, so I decided to smoke it in the stairwell of my building. I went up to the top floor where there was no elevator shaft and lit it up. The automatic lights went out, and it was just me smoking in the darkness and silence. 

Every so often, the elevator would beep as people presumably returned from their New Year’s Eve celebrations.

I was dissatisfied with how I’d spent New Year’s Eve 2013. That old feeling from growing up in the suburbs, that there must be a better way to celebrate, resurfaced. Suddenly, I felt dizzy and threw up on the staircase. It took me a while to compose myself, and then I went down to my apartment, grabbed a cloth, and went back up to clean up the vomit. I returned home, and even though it was 5 in the morning, the night still felt young to me. I turned on the TV and started flipping through the channels. I stopped at CNN, which was broadcasting New Year’s Eve celebrations in New York. It was interesting to watch other people who seemed genuinely happy, or at least good at pretending to be.