Little Insecurities

Dear America,
Fuck.
I'm a pretty wholesome chick, comparatively, m'kay?
Like; all my friends have gone way far with their significant other, from handjobs to actual sex.
All I've done is mackin' out.  I know that's still gross for fourteen year olds, but it's better than most.
Like my boyfriend of four months, he still apologizes if he accidently touches my boob.
Even though it's not always on accident, but it's not like he groping me.
I knew he has gone farther, at least some tit action.  He's a good-lookin' dude, with a colorful girlfriend history.  I'd be surprised if he hasn't.
But, it's been bugging me for a while.  How far as he gone?
So, I asked him, and he told me has had a handjob.
So, what does your cool-headed, calm Fireplay do in this?
She fuckin' laughs.
This laughter was not because it was funny, but because I didn't know how to react.
Knowing another girl has done that, been all over him like that... Well, I couldn't handle it.
He told me not to worry, it was his girlfriend back in April, the one he dumped after she went to Vegas with her family, and slept with some random dude.
And, not to worry, because he was just using her.
I was dumbstruck.  Of course, I acted like it was no big deal, but I didn't know what to think.
What if he is just using me?
Of course, after he said that, he assured me he wasn't.  I believe him, but by his actions, not his words.  He always puts me first, treats me with equally and with respect, as I do him.

Even with all this reassurance, the moment I came home, my family was out, I blasted My Chemical Romance, as I crumpled to the floor, crying.
Because, another girl has been that close to him.
Because, that haunting fear that he doesn't love me.