

No Legs 'Til 18

Written By Scott Langer

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY:

Scott Langer on Smashwords

Copyright 2009 Scott Langer

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

Contact the Author at: Scott.Langer11@gmail.com

A little bit about the book.

No Legs 'Til 18 chronicles a boy's strange and unnerving experiences as he journeys through adolescence. Drawing from interconnected vignettes, the author recreates his frantic youth as he describes critical events, while reflecting on peer influence, relationships and his sexuality. Wrought with humor and heartache, No Legs 'Til 18 is a poignant look into the life of "just another" teenager in America's suburbs.

Introduction

Oh Hello

"My life is a book."

But so is his! And so is hers!

"They totally should make a movie about my life."

Everyone's dramarama-dingdongs make you think those thoughts. But the bio-pic about a nobody doesn't draw interest! Hold on, HEY NOW... if you actually happen to make decisions based on what moves the plot along or by what compels your non-existent audience, then you are dedicated and lovely. Couldn't it be that we're all just trying to come of age, and it's those firsts that erase our innocence? Kiss or the car? Laid or paid? A cigarette, some suds? Could be anything for any of us. Growing up: there is a beginning because you know when it's over. In other words, my sexual relationships helped shape who I am and what I am not.

What shaped you from ages thirteen to eighteen?

Chapter 1

Eddie Sisterhands

Summer-Fall 2003, Age 17

The summer before my senior year I went to a slew of concerts, all preppy white rockers I am now too ashamed to claim to have seen so many times. HOWEVER...however...however, every good-looking girl in my entire town went to these same concerts and got incredibly drunk in the parking lot. By golly, there was a terribly great chance of getting with someone completely out of your realm. The type of girl that you'd normally have so little chance of getting with that you'd fuck her while she was puking, maybe on you, but hopefully that would never be the case. New personal lows could be reached. They WILL be reached. There's no use self-loathing for doing something morally and ethically questionable (who decides what's moral and ethical anyway?) because there's always tomorrow, and tomorrow you could always get caught hooking up with your girlfriend's sister.

Christy Maurier was Hogman's sister's good friend. Hogman is my best friend, but I'll come back to that later. I'd been seeing her at their house from the time we were young. She was two grades younger than me and, at the time, that always seemed like an enormous gap. When she was finishing elementary school I was finishing middle school. When I was starting high school, she was starting middle school. Our relationship had never really been anything more than just her and her friends trying to annoy Hogman and me. But now she was of age! Well, sort of. I mean, I was seventeen, she was fifteen, and the senior/sophomore dating dynamic wasn't too hard to comprehend. She was just starting to become a sexual being and I was already there, plus the guys in her grade had barely hit puberty yet.

The summer before senior year, I remember being in Kacie's (Hogman's sister) room and looking at pictures she had taken with her friends. And in each picture I was drawn to the innocence and beauty of one Christy Maurier. She was 5'2" about 115 pounds, piercing green eyes, delicate round breasts, a cute and compact butt, and this chaotic yet controlled hair that reminded me of a lion's mane. Strange, but true sports stories. Just a term I like saying after any random statement. Try it! Christy had such milky sun-scared skin and this preppy look where she would wear pearls and mini skirts with a polo or some kind of Abercrombie action. It just worked; hot preppy white girls are just too hard for me to pass up.

Asinine observations: She was bubbly, loud, but let's say vivacious! Her guy friends all really liked and respected her. Christy was always asking me if I knew any "fucked up" movies. I told her I knew a few, but didn't really share many. Christy liked _Party Monster_ , a film about club kids, Michael Alig and James St. James. She wanted me to take her to the film about female serial killer Eileen Wurnos; I did not! I refused! Type up a list of things you refuse to do in Jokerman font and hand it to someone. It's mildly fun.

Christy liked getting me gifts. She got me Radiohead's _Ok Computer_ on vinyl. Impressive. Christy liked holding hands and feeling like she was important to me. I still enjoy holding hands. She always talked about me and was proud I was in her life. She was supportive, a great listener, but also dramatic and had been a doormat before. Christy easily got jealous. Her parents got divorced at an early age and her dad paid for everything in cash. He was a white-collar criminal who tried to be flashy and would spoil his daughters. Technically he bought me the vinyl because Christy didn't have much money and that fucking sucked.

While in Kacie's room I declared with conviction, "I am taking that girl to homecoming!" Homecoming was the perfect time to go out on a limb and just ask any random floozy to go with you. The previous two years I had gone with Sophie; she just complained the whole time about how sick she felt. I was looking to go with someone who was a lot less maintenance. Weeks later, after making the proclamation to the nation of my intentions, I was told John Mayer was coming into town!!! OMG he is like sucha dream box! He actually is a talented blues guitarist, but pays the bills with songs like "Your Body Is a Wonderland," I guess that's ok, but not really.

The morning before the concert I looked into the mirror and saw that I looked like a bag of shit, smelled like raw onions, and had the kind of pimple on the side of my nose that if popped, blood and white puss would come shooting out. I was having a hard time convincing myself that this would be a successful endeavor, where I would be able to prey on tasty vixens with tender vittles. Looking in the mirror, "Hey, hey, hey-nay-hey, all you have to do is shave, shower, and make your nasty pimple just look like a small cut on your nose." It's ok to talk to yourself. After forty-five minutes later, which included a masturbation session, I was ready to unload all of the books from of my bag and fill it up with booze. I put in a combination of Busch Lite cans and Bud light long necks, also some Jack Daniels in an empty bottled-water bottle. Everyone called my bag Sally. Sally had grown a reputation for going everywhere fully stocked. Minutes later Sally and I were to be picked up by one of my degenerate drinking friends to go to the concert. The concert started at about nine P.M, but we usually arrived around three-thirty P.M to tailgate/pre-game all afternoon in the parking lot next to the outdoor amphitheatre. Sorry this is taking so long to set-up, shit with Christy always does. As my brother always tells me when I'm being impatient, "Relax, have a cream soda," but sometimes he says "have a pretzel." Either/or is fine.

Okay, so now I had shot-gunned about six beers and was routinely throwing them at my friend's faces when I finished before them, kind of a "fuck you, I don't like you, but we do drink together!" I took some rips of Jack and then meandered around, talking to all of the people from my town, pretending to be excited to see them; actually, some I WAS excited to see. "You were in my A.P. U.S. History class. I love you!" Sometmes you have to be able to pretend. Whoa there, this loud, drunken mess, glimmering with beauty and dripping with a want for a sexual encounter with an older boy was suddenly in my sight. Perhaps. I entered stage left to save the day. I quacked at Christy and her friends with a belligerent charm and said, "I'm taking YOU to Homecoming!" Christy responded by beeping, "OMG, hehehe really? This is so great!" To myself, "Fuck, she is taking me so serious, what the fuck did I get myself into, I couldn't be a bigger jackass/dumbass/deadbeat." Also, I could not stop thinking about how young she looked.

Words started bizarrely rolling off my tongue with suaveness. I told her how cute she was and all those medleys. I sat down on a lonesome lawn chair and she plopped on my lap. We ferociously made out; the kind of drunken make-out you think doesn't exist, where everyone was watching and saying, "Uhh holy shit!" as burgers and beer fell out of their mouths. We have a face eating competition for five-minutes until her friends "rescue her." I actually enjoyed the kiss despite the thousand people that came up to me afterwards to ask what the fuck had just happened. As she was being pulled away from me, she vowed to see me in the concert, so I was happy about that. Inside the concert we continued to make out like we would never see each other again; much, much to the dismay of our peers.

The next week I was incredibly embarrassed because I had not embraced my liking of younger women just yet. The week before school started was captain's practice for all sports. I was the captain of the soccer team, made varsity as a frosh and was coming off an all-everything year, so yes; I did think I was a big shit. The boys and girls teams liked to incorporate activities together. The underclassmen boys did push-ups on girls with syrup and a balloon on their bellies until it popped. The underclassmen girls had to write dirty love poems and ask a designated senior captain to marry them; mostly all stuff derived from _Dazed and Confused_. The goddamn senior girls wanted to make me feel like a shithead, so they paired me up with Christy. I just laughed and enjoyed my hamburger.

When school started I still hadn't really talked to Christy since our drunken make-out at John Mayer and was trying to forget about the whole thing, but here comes more new school courting; she Instant Messaged me! Kacie gave her my screen name. That sentence sums up in many people's eyes why our generation is fucked. Screen name, what? I like Instant Messaging sooo shhh, tech-nahhl-ohh-gee. I apologized for avoiding her and asked her if she wanted to do something Friday night. She typed like eighty-five smiley faces or whatever and replied with a jubilant, "Yes!"

Friday night came around and I picked her up at this weird, old-people and middle school infested festival called September Fest. There was typically food from local businesses and a band playing bad covers of Fleetwood Mac songs. Christy got into my '96 black Jeep Cherokee Sport and looked to have the biggest, brightest smile I had ever seen. Her mouth was really big, and I realized she looked like a young Cheryl Hines from _Curb Your Enthusiasm_. Jesus her teeth were white, a bit freaky in the dark blue night. On the drive home we held hands as I prayed to Satan my parents weren't home.

Right turn into my driveway. I pressed the clicker that automatically opened my electrical garage. How posh. I noticed that my car would be the ONLY car in the garage. Mom and dad were probably at September Fest "cuttin' some rug." Christy, still holding my hand tightly, followed me into the depths of hell where I planned on doing whatever it is I do in my basement, on my couch, with girls. I sat down on the couch and she quickly sat on my lap, put her arm around me and started to play with my hair. We gently kissed, much sweeter and with more tenderness than at the concert. There was tongue there, but mostly to quietly caress each other's tongues with our tongues, tongues, tongues, tongues. Okay, I don't think I am going to ever say that word again. Don't call me a liar though if it happens to come up again.

Twenty-minutes later we momentarily stopped kissing and the first thing she beeped was memorable and strange, stooopid too. "Delicious," and I pretended to not hear anything. She continued by saying she had wanted to make out with me again really badly since John Mayer. True stories. Not embellishing, "You are so fucking cute," which I truly felt, I mean she just told me that kissing me was delicious and then I needed to take her shirt off. I became a member of the Creep City All-Stars. How do you become a member you ask? You take a girl's shirt off to find that they don't really have a bra on, but more of a cotton shirt shaped like a bra. Well, what the fuck, why not take it off? It's much easier than most bras, just over the head! Had I become an entirely new person? Was I "older dude who picked up younger chicks in his car and hooks up with them and seems a lot cooler to younger girls than he really is," guy? Whatever, at least I wasn't an internet stalker or working for an insurance company.

Her breasts were little round mounds of trash. I mean that in the sweetest way possible. I call lots of things trash or garbage that I love! Even my penis. Sometimes I refer to it as my "garbage penis" if it isn't acting the way I want it to. Or dumpster dick. Whatever you prefer. Anyway...I knew that if she touched my privates that I would have to date her/make her my second girlfriend eventually. But I wanted her to because then she would be presented with a situation where she totally did not know what to do. Isn't it a turn-on when any stupid yahoo you wanna do asks a lot of questions or say things like "Show me"? I decided to politely guide her hand to the right area of my Levis. She slowly massaged over my pants and I said something Samuel L. Jackson might say in this situation, "Cause and effect motherfucker!!!" Then there was a gun blast through my basement windows. No, I didn't say that, but she rubbed me and an erection soon followed. Maybe I should have said that! Christy slowly unzipped my pants and looked at me with her asteroid eyes, before taking my belt off and getting on her knees. She knew what I wanted but truly didn't know what to do. "I've never done this before what do I do?" I nearly cried, such sweet words. I said well blahhhhhhhhhh lalalala lodddy doo a lou. Hey you, no you, it was a pretty bad blow job, even though I definitely got a large amount of pleasure from it. There were too many moments where her teeth were making some incidental/accidental contact with shaft and head. Neither of them cared for that kind of treatment. Afterwards, I drove her home and we listened to Radiohead's album _The Bends_. That song "Fake Plastic Trees" is a great song at the end of a night because it sounds sweet and makes girls think you're the sensitive-sophisticated type, which I am. Before she got out of the car, we kissed and I told her that I wanted to take her to the movies next weekend. She instantly said "Yes!" and now we had a second date planned and I already had gotten head. I win, I always win. I also fingered her, but didn't really want to describe that. Sweetly shaped and tight, also shaved, but that's only because I told her my preference for this on instant messenger.

Next weekend I figured I would take her to the new Woody Allen Film playing at the Bloomfield Theatre in a primarily black community where I assumed people did not frequent his films. Woody's new film _Anything Else_ was getting less than stellar reviews and so I thought black community, poorly reviewed film, matinee, by god we'll have the whole theatre to ourselves. I bought my new girly her ticket, I'm a man! Christy wanted some Sour Patch Kids and an iced cola, so I got those too. We walked into the theatre to see one old couple sitting in the middle of the theatre, so we decided to sit in the last row on the far right.

Before the movie/film/flicker/background noise came on we were already making out. Oh, those young horny kids from the 'burbs. Periodically throughout the movie I checked out of the corner of my eye to see what was going on, while still kissing Christy. Jason Biggs was embarrassing in the Woody Allen role, and Christina Ricci needed to be punished (sexually). My eyes are almost always open during kissing, closing them feels feminine, makes me feel uneasy, but not because it's feminine but because paranoia-paranoia, it always sets in. Imagine not seeing someone about to stab you because you were making out with your eyes closed? "Paranoid Android," - awesome song. She kept on trying to give me a hand job, but I could not cream my pants, no more dried cum on my upper thighs. Too many bad memories of that! I'm scarred! I let her rub me until hard, then made her stop, let him rest and put her hand there again to start it all over. This may sound like blue balling, but call it conditioning. I fucking swear it will help your endurance, dawg!

After the movie, I dropped her off and we decided that we would hang out again during the week. And we became an item of sorts, much to the chagrin of her friends, my friends and everyone's mother, literally.

"What does that boy want with her!?!"

"Ohhh I'll tell you what he wants. Its sex!" Teens have sex, they cum, fuck and suck, they drink, they smoke, they pop pills, and maybe Robo trip. Imagine that!

French, this girl in my grade was having one of her famous shit shows on Friday, and I wanted to go, but was not sure if I should bring Christy. Her sister, Jeanne, was in my grade and I didn't think she really wanted me to bring her. Sure enough, Christy told me that Jeanne did not want her to go, but she still wanted me to go and have a good time. French lived on the complete other side of town near tobacco fields that Frederick Douglass worked on. I'm sadly serious. She was the type of person that threw parties and always regretted it as soon as people started showing up.

I got Hogman to D.D for me, and Mike also made an appearance. Mike did not drink, but he did like to eat a lot of salty snacks flavored with artificial cheese at parties to keep himself occupied while trying to confuse people. I hate to think about how most flavors for foods I like are made by chemists and not chefs. I love chefs! So does Hogman. They picked me up around eight, by ten I was full-on fucked up drunk. A lot of strange things were happening!

1) I walked up stairs in a room to find my West Point bound buddy Donald ass naked wagging his dick at me with a girl naked in the bed next to him. I turned out of the room real fast, only to fall down half the stairs. The girl had no face; at least it looked unfinished. "No Face" was a friend of French's and after Donald she ended up getting with another one of my drinking pals, Jackie Poppit. I thought I was gonna puke, so

2) I went downstairs and watched Mike and Hogman watch hockey, riveting. I was bored and needed more excitement than seeing Donald's dick or falling down the stairs.

3) I went back upstairs to see what was what.

4) I ran into an equally-intoxicated Jeanne standing by her lonesome. Jeanne was dating this dude whose family owned a creamery, and I played lax with him in middle school. Describing Jeanne would make her sound pretty. She isn't. She isn't ugly either, just nothing worth blowing a load over. Most people agreed. Poppit always said because of her personality she was like a log of poop. I approached her and asked how she was doing. "I am ok", and then she asked if I wanted to talk in a room down the hall. I didn't think anything of it so I slurred, "Sure." As I recount the details, it is fuzzy how it started, but now we were making out. This part I do know, she put her hand down my pants and began to jerk me off. I followed suit and shoved my hand in her panties. She had some stubble, but overall a similar shape and feel of her sister and my girlfriend's vagina. I felt like a twisted fuck, but in the darkest corner of my brain I could not help thinking that this would be one of the funniest things that I could do in high school and in the end does it really matter if you cheat on your girlfriend/boyfriend at seventeen? Well it's mean, but doesn't matter. I fingered her for about two-minutes before Jeanne's best friend walked in the door to find my hand down Jeanne's pants and hers down mine. I retreated to the downstairs laughing. I shuffled over to Jackie Poppit sitting on a chair and I drunkenly jumped on his lap. I put my right index and middle finger up his nostrils and whispered in his ear, "Jeanne Maurier." He started grunting and making noises like some kind of farm animal; he was so excited he could barely control himself. Within three-minutes from that moment, a total of five-minutes after being caught, Jeanne's boyfriend was called by her best friend (what an asshole), who then called Christy who then called me. I was in trouble. I felt mean, I'm not a mean guy. At least sober I am not; was not.

I asked Hogman to drive me to Christy's. In the car Mike couldn't stop cackling or eating Doritos. Christy storms out of her house hysterically crying, yelling, "How could you! How could you! My sister!" All I could say was, "I am the biggest fucking asshole in the world and I understand if you never want to talk to me again, also I guess homecoming is off too, I'm sorry Christy I really like you, I'm an asshole." I meant it too, at that moment I realized that I had done irreparable damage, no matter what she said next. Christy calmed down. "No, no, no, I like you too and I still want to go to homecoming." I have to say I was shocked, but relieved that I would get a second chance.

Later that week her father invited me out to dinner with his two daughters. People act like everything is awkward. People say that word so fucking frequently. OMG so I caught this guy checking me out at the supermarket, awkward. My Mom said I looked pretty today, awkward. Fuck that, ya know what's awkward? SANDBLASTING YOUR GIRLFRIEND'S SISTER THEN HAVING TO HAVE A MEAL WITH THEM AND THEIR FATHER DAYS LATER!!! Everyone at school was calling me Eddie Sisterhands. Very clever! I actually was pretty impressed. That's a helluva nickname. I could only imagine Christy's internal thoughts, but no one said she had to stay with me. She could have told me to go sit on a cactus. Homecoming was approaching, but I'll have to tell you that later, baby.

Chapter 2

The Beginning

Winter 1999-New Years 2000, Age 13

My seventh grade soccer shorts had seventh grade semen on them. Horrible happenings. These are my boring beginnings. They were hunter green, let's call them dark green. That Umbros brand. Shiny and shouldn't be worn without underwear. Also (whisper), DOn't fall asleep at a sleepover on a bean bag with your hand down your pants. I did _this_ with the Umbros on, tri-accidently.

The unfortunate misstep through inaction (I think this makes it a tri-accident) mentioned above was at Gene Sherman's house with Hogman and maybe Don T was there too. Embarrassing interrogations soon followed, for months.

We all lived in this new housing development—DOWN WITH SUBURBAN SPRAWL, man. Gene was a friend. Now he is a former friend and thus gets no description. HA-HA, 1-0, me. Don T from Philly was spawned from his Italian, chain-smoking, self-proclaimed handy man father (he did finish his own basement and also planted Christmas trees in his front yard) and mother who tightly grasped onto her long-gone days of being a beauty queen. In fact we constantly reminded Don T that his mother's nipple was exposed in a framed picture portrait of her in the master bedroom. Oh Donny Don, I will be forever grateful for your powerful performance as Mr. Fuel—the new gas pump attendant in town who wears nothing but boots and spandex. He took the friendly gas station pump attendant's job because corporate decided to go with a new policy of "sexuality over congeniality." I made this movie with Hogman, senior year in high school. It took a year. It was 82 minutes! I got a little filmmaker in me, I swear.

Patience problems? Categorically confused? I learned about alliteration in eighth grade English. Settle in because we're here, we're here. Thank the Princess for the letters she sent S.W.A.K while you were trying to rescue her.

It was Ari Rattenberg's Bar Mitzvah and he was becoming a man. However, I'm not sure he had yet become a human. When we carpooled for soccer he would snap-pop his gum; the kind of gum chewing I just don't tolerate. My ears are sensitive, so are my armpits. There were about five Jewish kids in town, five and a half if you count me. Everyone got invited to all the bar/bat mitzvahs in town, except Hogman who was always absent and uninvited. They were usually marginally fun, I liked when they had someone taking Polaroids that you could put in themed frames. The one that says "WANTED" was sooo funny. I also liked the beach themed frames. I kept the photos of me giving Tristen McHendrick a piggy back, me carrying Karen Sillinger, and Sonya Turner sitting on my lap. I'm a hero.

Ari's Bar Mitzvah was at the Avon Old Farms hotel, unless I am totally getting this wrong, BUT I DON'T THINK THIS DETAIL IS A STORY CHANGER IF UNTRUE. I didn't hold onto the invitation. If we had to rate AOF Hotel it would be in between a Ramada and luxury. They would give people gift certificates for brunch that could only be used across the street at their own restaurant. It was "to die for," according to the locals. I used to get omelets. They always made me ill.

The hotel had ritzy, lush red carpeting, or at least the hotel where this took place had that. My memory is less than magical. No brain, no brain, no brain. I'm stupid---repeat, "You're stoooooopid." This time squinch up your face and shake your head from side to side while saying it. Stupid is endearing. I was dressed rather keenly; an orange tie with blue somethings, the kind of somethings that are indigenous to ties. I had khakis on, black shiny shoes to go with my shiny black belt and light blue shirt. Kiera Farmer—why did you move to Kentucky? She was my first "real" kiss and by real I meant I really _noticed_ the kiss. Her tongue was two weeks down my throat. We'll get to that after I tell you her specialties, but first we must mind frolic. We may even enjoy ourselves.

At the actual "mitzvah" I sat at a table with other teens/pre-teens that I did not know. I made some chitty chew and elicited a hard "haha" from one girl in particular. She never knew what I was talking about. Are you the girl that laughs at everything because you are nervous or don't know how to respond? Good luck with that. The laughing lady was Kiera. She was thin, relatively tall for her age. Her head: larger than it should have been. Her ass: smaller than it should have been. I parted my hair down the middle and had clear braces. Kiera was Mormon and, I heard, seldom allowed to do anything. Raise your hand if you know a Mormon slut. Kiera was not a slut, but THE MORMON SLUT EXISTS. She had dirty blonde hair that reached her shoulders and fair skin with a pinkish hue. I think she had braces too. I cannot describe a thirteen-year-old girl anymore. She was an all right looking middle schooler, but no one banged down her door to de-bra her, if that even happened in our middle school outside of a select few. **SIDENOTE!** Chad McCrowchers totally did finger Karen Sillinger in seventh grade! He preached to a small audience on the bus about how he snuck into her bedroom every night to do so. "Her pussy smells like fish, man." That's kind of like orchids, Chad. More disparaging remarks to ingest with your applesauce--Karen stuffed her bra and used crayons to make her nipples look hard. Sorry Kiera, for straying to talk about Chad and Karen.

I needed to get the fuck away from that paragraph. It was too engaging; YOU even had to raise your hand. My hair was meticulously parted, my tie still tightly tied, I was having trouble breathing, and asthma induced by pollen is unlikely indoors. It was because I had a massive erection resulting from Kiera Farmer holding my hand, leading me to a secluded part of the hotel. "Oh look, a nook!" Pettin' in the park? Pettin' in the dark? BAD BOYS AND GIRLS. Kiera's back was in sight of potential spies. No more banter because her tongue was really down my throat, and my eyes slipped back into my brain. Her tongue was highly active in my mouth, like it was searching for its missing child in a cave. My tongue was terrified. I thought this was supposed to be a lot more enjoyable. It was shitty and there really were spies! Kiera got so into it, I just wanted it to end, but was convinced this was something I was supposed to be doing. It had to be done. "Is this what people do?" Always strive TO BE HIP, CONTEMPORARY AND CURRENT, or just be a kitschy bitch. Maybe I didn't allow myself to enjoy the experience because of the peeping Toms and Theresas. My eyes were open and when Kiera had finally opened hers, she noticed how wide-eyed I was. Uhhh and she caught me looking.

We pecked one more time like lovers do, she grabbed my hand and we made our way back to the Bar Mitzvah. We separated and all of the girls ran up to her giggling, asking idiotic questions, I presume. The guys pretty much just made fun of me, "You really think she's hot, dude?" That's what it's all about at thirteen: 1. Be as good looking as possible, "Wash your hair once every three weeks, once every three weeks!" and 2. Have great skin and teeth. I felt like telling them to go choke on a ham bone, but not my Jewish friends because that's entirely too ironic. I hope I used the word "ironic" correctly.

What certainly sucked was how I ended up being the "boyfriend" of this girl just because we made out. I don't know how it happened, but next thing I knew I was making out with her on a ski lift in Vermont when Gene, Don T, Hogman and I went skiing there for a weekend over winter break. She _happened_ to be there. We also made out in front of everyone at a school play put on at the high school. Cinderelly Cinderelly, SHOVE YOUR TONGUE DOWN MY THROAT.

Kiera's parents never let her out of the house, so they wanted me to come over and meet them and I refused. Don T called Kiera "The Whale." She was really skinny, I didn't understand. Hogman didn't either, but he really liked the nickname and made a point of saying it until I really thought it meant something. Hogman, you're a son-of –a-bitch for that and I want you to know it. However, Hogman did have the right to rag on me once in a while because he usually got the brunt of it from everyone and from every angle, angel too.

The conversations on the phone with Kiera were getting horrendous. I considered taking my friend Bobby from New York's advice—he read bible passages on the phone to this girl until she finally dumped him. Fancy biblesmithery. Kiera had just got done telling me she bought me boxers at the Gap, how she loves youth group, and I told her that I didn't want to go out or make out anymore. She moved to Kentucky a couple of months later and I never talked to her again. How dramatic.

It was my first New Years of significance. This predated the bar mitzvah, but your first kiss should come before your first tits, so we'll pretend that's how it went. We were in Don T's recently finished basement. Don T's dad attempted to throw a big New Years party to show it off. No one came, except my parents, Kevin Carter's mom who still breast-fed him and Don T's mom's friend Laurie, who still thought that she was a babe. The saddest sight was the number of unused champagne glasses. Mr. Don T was distraught. After all he did prepare the mosty most food in the whole wide world, and he got all that booze too. There was only one thing left for him to do. Get soaking wet with intoxication and dance on the rotating dance floor he constructed. Ohhhhh yeah and he did this with Karen Sillinger's panty hose around his neck. I don't feel uncomfortable often, I did here. Thanks dad, for never doing shit like that. Mom, you too. The relatively low adult supervision allowed for those roughly ten teenies to breathe.

I got the call, I got the invite and although it was old news at this point, I was still part of something exclusive. I was allowed to feel Vicky Romero's boobs in this strange side room in Don T's basement. It was right when _Being John Malkovich_ came out, so I couldn't stop thinking about doors being portals. The other guys in the portal with me exclaimed, "This is awesome!" I tried to maintain a level of suaveness and a "no big deal" kind of attitude. After three quick gropes of her left breast, "Whoa, those are squishy, nice, thanks Vicky." I then realized I had just thanked her. She musta felt like she rendered services. What she did do though, is forced us to remember this moment. When I got out of the portal every guy who had been in there was gleeful and those who hadn't been in there were in obvious misery. I am sure Hogman was in this group, at least he should have been. Charlie Brown isn't allowed to feel breasts when everyone else is.

As the clock struck midnight a mysterious someone had grabbed a bottle of champagne and ran with it outside. Everyone ran after him/her and in the street we all began to take swigs of the champagne to celebrate something. I don't remember if I did, I was thinking of Vicky's tits. There's that word again, sorry Kelly O, I know you hate that word. Saying tits, breasts, boobs is still better than saying stinky sprinkles in all the right places, or is it? Vicky, you opened the portal of body parts. Now I have to think of different ways to describe them. I'll try not to be crude, but no promises or purple prose. The boring beginnings are over. Clap your hands three times and yell "Suck me," regardless of where you are. Of course do it after you read this sentence, stupid.

Chapter 3

Jamie Don't Blame Me

Fall 2000, Age 14

Fornicating fourteen-year olds are not that common in white, middle class suburbia, but hand jobs and finger-banging happen with certain regularity. When I was thirteen I got jerked off in the woods behind Super Stop and Shop. There isn't much to tell. My friend Sarah brought her fifteen-year old friend from dance class to the movies that night because they were having a sleepover. I sat next to her in the theatre during some Freddie Prinze Jr. movie where he was again playing a senior in high school at the calculated age of twenty-eight. We bonded making mocking remarks and by the end of the movie we were holding hands. After the movie was over, we told Sarah that we were going for a walk, but really just meant to go be silly somewhere. Needed somewhere acceptable and out of sight. The woods behind the supermarket were the only place we could find. We made out initially, but I was more interested in her fifteen-year old breasts, much bigger than the girl's in my grade for sure! She liked my fondling, so she unzipped my pants and gave me a number five with fries and a shake until I came into a handful of leaves. SOOOOO in theory that meant I would have gotten similar treatment at age fourteen, but hopefully in the comfort of my own home.

I had just made the varsity soccer team. Send me a fruit basket. I didn't think it was a big deal, I thought that was expected of me and didn't realize that older girls would want my ball sack because of such excellent achievements. Pardon my accolades, all of them. I first realized the power of being the only freshman to make varsity soccer when I went to my first concert. Counting Crows was playing with Live at the Meadows Music theatre, an outdoor venue notorious for underage drinking and debauchery in the parking lot. Shout out to the Expo center and Jai Alai. This was my first time there and I was incredibly nervous, desperately trying to fit in and be a "cool guy." I had no idea what that consisted of at this point. However, I did notice that what seemed "cool" on this occasion called for hitting nitrous balloons, chugging and chasing, smoking pot, cigarettes and cigars, dipping and dripping, popping. I kept my hands in my pockets like an old man searching for a dime to get a shoeshine circa 1900's. I didn't need a ten-cent shine for my 10-dollar shoes, I just didn't know where to put my hands. All of the guys on the soccer team were trying to get me to drink, something I did not do yet. One reason I didn't want to start drinking quite yet was that I had seen an incredibly sexy Alex Deren in eighth grade turn into a busted mess before ninth grade had even started. It didn't help that I saw her downing wine in class then puking at lunch. Oh, yes, I was talking about power! I just got more respect and attention than any of the other froshies.

Hey-hey a second, it wasn't all that sweet actually; I was getting a lot of unwanted attention from girls best kept in a cage. Sure, the sexy senior girls knew my name and would say, "Heyyy, Soccer Stud," but the ones trying to get in my knickers honestly looked like they got hit in the face with a bag of oranges, and they were fat too; slightly shallow, definitely degrading. I remember standing there with all the other kids from my school enjoying the virtuosic (hah) concert performances. This concert was the first of about twelve shows I went to consecutively at this venue that was either Dave Matthews Band or Counting Crows. I knew every lyric to every song, oh, how I loved both of them so "muchy moo." In retrospect, I was familiar, but not a fan. I just repeated the lyrics like some kind of freak-o.

About halfway into the concert, a senior girl stood in front of me and started rubbing my genitals over my blue, cargo khakis that I had gotten in eighth grade at this store called Bob's. I noticed that from behind she looked decent. She was about 5'4" with an athletic but not feminine frame. And then there was the look back. Her wretched, pimple infested face was slightly protected by the absence of light and her long brown hair. I kept thinking of all the innocent things I would rather have been doing at that moment. Why can't I just be trading baseball cards, having a stick fight, or be clogging up the slide right now? I tried to shimmy away but she kept following me and now people were starting to notice what was going on. I relented with the hope that she would leave me alone, but instead she persisted and it resulted in me getting an unwanted hand job at my first concert. .

She began by undoing my thinning brown belt that I had since fifth grade, I loved that belt. She put her hand down my pants and slowly, but expertly started stroking my penis. I would be lying if I said it didn't feel good physically, but mentally and visually I wanted to puke. Minutes later I had cum all over my legs and pants. Ladies, pretend that these things happen to you, come on and be an idiot for an instant, for me. All I remember from my first concert is Live playing "lightening crashes" as it drizzled and creaming my Bob's blue khakis. Yes, now I remember, they were made by Union Bay, quality pants I tell you, BUT WHY AREN"T THEY SEMEN RESISTANT? I guess they were leaving it up to Dockers to invent those. I'm a soccer stud! Get me some clean fucking pants, someone, please. I couldn't wait until school started. Maybe _hot_ girls would give me hand jobs, but probably not.

School started a few days after the concert. I couldn't focus on school and during practice the seniors were maliciously slide tackling me in scrimmages, so I spit in one of their faces. That went over well. A week later I was named the starting center midfielder, and I fucking hated center midfield. It's all the running and defensive responsibilities; shhh don't tell anyone. I was a striker, not a center midfielder! Quality strikers can be prima donnas. We also have neato cleats. Scoring made me smile! Too much enthusiasm can kill you. I nearly got a hard-on when they would say over the PA: "Starting at center midfield, freshman," followed by me, my name. I lost my erection quickly when I realized that when freshman start, everyone including your teammates want to castrate you. I was too brash and confident to give a shit. All I cared about was if my new status would get me sexual benefits before I started humping couches; walls too.

The saddest thing about my teenage sex life is how much I owe to Instant Messaging. You'll see there, steakums (term of endearment, to you). I didn't have to do too many initial random calls to girls where I would say, "Oh, gee whiz, I really like you. Would ya wanna hang out sometime with a nice fella like me? Whaddya say!?!" Instead I could methodically plan out exactly what to say, and plus it opened the door for girls to contact me.

Enter the aggressive and over-sexed Jamie Fishell. Within the first couple of weeks of school I got a random Instant Message from her, "Hey Soccer Stud," she says. People had to stop fucking calling me that, I felt like it was the goddamn 1950's and I would have to give them my special pin or take them to the malt shop. Side note, I have an obsession with the now non-existent occupation of Soda Jerk. I would see the three-hour film _The_ _Best Years of Our Lives_ just to hear one of the characters say, "I'll never be nothin' but a Soda Jerk."

Ok, ok, ok, I feel a lot better after sharing that with you. I responded to Jamie's annoying introduction with, "Who is this?" and so we danced. She began by asking me if I knew her friend Lonnie Anca AKA Skanka, and I typed, "Sorta." Jamie wondered if I was friends with Tanner Corman (not really my friend, but I did buy his N64 with 5 controllers and _James Bond: Golden Eye_ for eighty bucks) and I said, "Yeah..., yeah me and Tanner go way back... we used to go fishing together down by the creek." Jamie emphatically typed, "Really, really, really? That's great!" I responded with, "No we didn't go fishing together and I don't fish, but we hang out sometimes," by which I meant never. She asked me if Tanner and I would be interested in hanging with her and Skanka. Excitement. Jamie was a dainty dish and also a sophomore. She had big green eyes, fair skin, skinny, not much of an ass, but wonderfully full, luscious bright red lips. Short, but not too short silky brown hair that she tucked behind her ears. Things were looking up for me, Tanner too. I contacted Tanner via IM and he was in. So was Lonnie. If you're keeping score at home, no one had spoken one word to each other and we were all hanging out for some kind of paired off sexual tag team. This was my first tag team outside of RCW (my backyard wresting organization created by Hogman, you'll hear about it later) and I was frightened.

During the week leading up to the big hang out Jamie and I periodically talked online and in school. I noticed her IM profile said, "TCLAJFSL all on the DL!!!" I had no idea what it meant. I gathered those were all of our initials, but the only DL I knew was for sports (disabled list). Jamie didn't believe me when I told her I didn't know what "The DL" was. She informed me it was "The Down Low," and then I figured that this match was not going to be promoted. There will be moments where you too will feel out of touch with A. Popular slang/Culture and B. Humanity. Jamie and I discussed all of the options of where we could go and decided everyone would come over to my house Saturday afternoon.

I forgot I had physical therapy that day. Boy had bumps and back pain. I returned home late to find all three of them waiting in my driveway. I smelled like menthol from the ultrasound and sweat from the exercise. They all went into my basement, while I showered. All of the embarrassing pictures of me were in the basement. Ohhhhh fuck, I hope they didn't see the picture of me in the local news about how I did a one-week nature program. I was the only one in my grade who signed up and it was more than enough that every time I see my family they would say I, "six, of Larchmont is seen here putting peanut butter on pinecones." I thought I was screwed, but as soon as I got downstairs Jamie backed me into the wall and started making out with me. Tanner and Lonnie already had taken the couch so Jamie and I continued to make out until we both dropped to the floor. That son-of-a-bitch took my spot. She started to straddle me and put covers over us and continued to kiss me as I searched for an excuse of a movie to put on. I don't know exactly what it was, but let's just say it was _Karate Kid Part III_ because that movie rules. Why is the Sensei of Cobra Kai still pissed at a now fat Daniel Larusso who won the all-valley karate tournament a couple years ago? I cannot say. Sorry. Go watch, witch. I put the remote down and realized, "Wow, Jamie Fishell is on top of me and Tanner Corman is on my couch." Confusion. I took Jamie's shirt off and played with her boobs for a while, which was all right. They looked unfinished, they needed to fill out but I could tell that in a year they would be rowing their own boat. Jamie commenced (rocket launch) rubbing me over my jeans and quickly took my belt off, pulling it through all of the holes. I hate putting belts back into pants, but what happened next off set my anger. She unbuttoned my pants and gave me my first hand job that wasn't in the woods or at a concert. She continued to do it until I came in her hand. She proceeded to wipe it off on my carpet. HEY NOW! I still hadn't even looked over at Tanner and Lonnie. I hope they were having a tasteful time. Next, Jamie took my hand and started to put it down her pants and it was at that moment that I realized I had never fingered a girl before. No clue what to do. I panicked! Oh shit, oh fuck, why had I been selfish all these years? Why hadn't I learned!?! I pulled my hand away to give myself a second to think and she forcefully put it back there and whispered in my ear, "I'm so wet, finger me." You businesswoman you. I was introduced to a thick, wet patch of crab grass, typically a sore sight on lawns. I couldn't find the hole. I didn't think that there were even girls who still had that much hair down there anyway and it rivaled the amount I had. Together we had an entire economy of hair. At that moment I recalled something Brian Tetross said to me at lax practice two years previous, "Hey man, I popped this girls cherry this afternoon. It's like the fifth cherry I popped. No big deal." I needed Tetross' carnal knowledge but simply having his hand would have sufficed. I kind of just poked around, my index and middle finger quivering in fear.

I was so inept in the region that she grabbed my hand away from there and just continued to make out with me. All soccer was good for was getting me jerked off a lot. After about an hour more of making out everyone went home, leaving this moron to re-hydrate. It was the last time Jamie and I had hooked up or hung out, but we remained friendly whenever we saw each other in social situations. She thought that I didn't know what I was doing and she was right. But in my defense, it was way too difficult to sift through her sophisticated security system; all that hair on her.

Chapter 4

Sophie

Summer-Fall 2001, Age 15

I was road trippin' with my brother Matt from Califraudulent to Connecticut after freshman year of high school. He was making his triumphant return back to the East coast. I was trying to stop self-pitying. Matt is ten years older than me and was always amazing when it came to fixing my state of mind, starting with not allowing me to play any of the miserable acoustic tunes in which I had immersed myself in. One song was Ben Harper's cover, "Please Bleed" and another was Red House Painters, "Have You Forgotten?" Both of these could make anyone sad or nostalgic. What's the difference anyways? My friends sucked (except Hogman). I did horrible in school and after Jamie I had numerous awful experiences during freshman year that were directly related to me being an idiot. I religiously got with women I had no interest in. Girls I simply did not care about, girls you simply will not care about, but it was all in order to calm the animal in me. And I knew it would make all the difference once I kissed someone I didn't detest. On the other hand, maybe I was just being a crappy old shitty.

A Few Forgettables

I had hooked up with Janice Barnes, a junior and unattractive flag girl. I currently am ashamed to have ever frenched a flag girl. I can't get out of my head how she took her gum and put it in my hand before kissing me. I like when HOT SLUTS (uh, what?) and girls I date do this before they give me oral, but c'mon flag girl, you're making me sick. The only thing the juniors on my soccer team could say was how disappointed they were in me. I became paranoid, thinking people were always about to ask me a question about it, which to some degree did happen. My policy became denial with a smile.

I had a mini-fling with Kara Stein, whose breasts were enormous and enticing, but her lips were always chapped and she kind of had a belly. Next there was Kelly from Avon, the next town over. She was a sophomore and gave me a hand job at the bowling alley and then again in the car with Don T sitting on the other side of her. My friend Avon Haley was in the front seat with her military father, who was the scariest man alive and also a highly competent jeweler. Both times I went in my pants, the first time I had pretended it was ketchup. After the second skeet I was dropped off at my house soon after and tried to convince myself it was ketchup.

All three of these girls gave me migraines thinking about them all year. Life was rough on the streets, in the 'burbs, for a guy like me. I don't know what that means. By the second half of the year I tried to cure my chain of unappealing, unattractive women with the pursuit of a highly desirable girl.

A Little Disappointment

Sophie, Sophie, Sophie, she was slowly becoming the hottest girl in our grade. Hogman was friends with her... so I had an in. He liked her, but not enough where he would conceal her number from me or ask me not to pursue her. I called her and we had nothing to talk about, but she told me she really liked the show _Survivor 2._ I watched and pretended to love it for a couple months so Sophie and I had something to talk about. By the end of the year I thought we were going to hook up. We didn't, and it made me a sadddd parsnip. What vegetable are you? My brother Brad said, "I'd be a string bean so I'd be lean." My mother would be a tomato and she doesn't know why.

The trip with my brother was one of the best times in my life, but also like taking a shit as Tony Soprano says about therapy. Don't drive cross-country in a wood-paneled Buick station wagon that is constantly over-heating. South Dakota is strange, but "The Badlands" are beautiful. We took lots of pictures. The only pictures of me with a shaved chest exist from this trip. I was incredibly self-conscious about having chest hair at fourteen. Body hair issues just don't go away.

When I got back I found out that Gene had gotten with Sophie. Apparently Sophie had given Gene a hand job in the wine cellar of Hogman's basement. I wanted to throw up on him, but did not. Instead I decided to again focus my energy on getting with other girls of lower caliber/confidence until I was ready to pounce. Enter more Avon girls, Rick Franken's Fourth of July party and Truth or Dare with Veronica and Karen M. before I get back to dealing with and describing Sophie.

Practice Makes Me Yawn

FIRST AND LEAST INTERESTING: The Avon Girls. Again, Avon is a town. There were a few memorable interactions with them over the last year and they continued into the summer. Don T. hooked up with Avon Haley's friend Heather in the woods during a game of flashlight tag and she got Lyme disease. Hogman had sort of been hanging with Avon Haley, but I am not exactly sure what they did. He was attracted to the trailer park look she had, although she lived in a town home with her military father. Hogman also acknowledged him as the scariest man on the planet. I was romantically linked or known to have liked Avon Laine, whose face looked strikingly similar to Britney Spears at this time.

Once back from my road trip I avoided talking to Sophie. Avoid, avoid, avoid, so I invited Avon Laine over in the afternoon. She asked me how my trip went, and I showed her the pictures instead of talking. She commented that I should keep my chest shaved because I looked hot and ripped. Perhaps, cool. We watched _Passions--_ a daytime soap that she had a liking for. Odd. Holding her hand I couldn't resist commenting. How many times can you find out who your real father is? She took this shitty soap seriously, leading to self-censorship so I didn't derail my chances of getting with her. Smart, boy. We began to make out for the first time. I felt her (.)(.) over her shirt as we continued to kiss. In the middle of it all she abruptly stopped to tell me that this was just happening because we were bored on a summer day. I don't know if I should have been offended, but I wasn't. I was making out during _Passions_ , and was pretending to be a rich woman's pool boy. I had achieved ROCKSTAR STATUS. After she left I began to feel better about Sophie.

Later that week Hogman, Avon Haley, Avon Laine, and I hung out at the military compound. We watched some track events from the Sydney Summer Olympics and then turned on some teen Rom-Com (punch people who use this term). A.H was curled up against Hogman and A.L and I were holding hands. I knew A.L didn't really want to make her and me a consistent clock-in, but we had a shared understanding that a couple kisses and holding hands was all right. I enjoyed the attention, even if it only lasted a couple weeks in the summer. NEXT!

The fourth, a Hand Job Holiday.

At middle school dances I always slow danced with Callie Quick, but now she was trying her hardest to give me an erection. It was July Fourth and Rick Franken's parents were in Anguilla. Rick and I played soccer together in fifth and sixth grade on the town team before I started playing premier. We used to carpool to practice with this kid Andy Wyler to practice and bonded over not knowing what to do when he would dip his thumb in honey and suck on it. Andy also had a "Winnie The Pooh" stuffed animal he would be clutching dear to his heart while thumbsucking. Franken and I took part in numerous enriching activities while growing up. For instance, we threw a grapefruit from two opposite ends of a kitchen separated by an island to see if we could string a few passes together without breaking anything.

If your parents go out of town it's most mandatory mosty most that you throw a party, at least once. This is even truer if it's potentially one of the first drinking parties thrown without parental supervisonaries present. I endorse nothing, but you want to be "cool," don't cha? Rick wanted all of his close friends to come over to party, but his parents had called the majority of his friend's parents to tell them they were leaving town. Boooooo let the kids live! I got a fax saying, "Party cancelled," so I panicked. Fuck cell phones, fax me baby; then beep me. I really just got a call from Rick in which he told me that he hadn't the slightest idea who was going to show up because no one was really allowed to come over. I was hoping some stinky sprinkles with the cupcakes would come over, but girls who "put out" would do. This parsnip needed practice.

Before I went over I felt overwhelmingly nervous and didn't know what those silly drinking parties with girls were all about! Brain "Oh gee, oh glee, at least the party is at night so there won't be any bees there, unless THE NIGHT BEES come out to play...I HATE THEM."

I didn't have any clothes that could be deemed party attire, but I did get my first pair of jeans in about seven years because of an incident/accident/embarrassment that occurred during gym class. Here's a side story, whore. I had peed in the jeans I was wearing while I was sitting "Indian/pretzel style" on the hardwood floor. I had realized what I had done after I stood up. I was standing in a decent sized puddle. I pretended it wasn't me and continued to go through class until a teacher came up to me and made me go to the nurse's office to get changed. Everyone knew it was me. I vowed, "I will never wear jeans again from this day forth!!!" Yeah, then I kind of let it go because I was in Kindergarten at the time, and I think these things happen. I finally decided to get some shortly before Franken's party and I had a whole new confidence, with my brand new pants. I guess I did have party attire, I mean I had jeans. I put on one of those "like cool vintage rock concert" t-shirts and a green, fitted hat with a "V", from which I definitely removed the tag. Hip kids leave the sticker tag on. Everyone is saying, "seriously enough with what you wore, you (fill in blank) fuck. Just understand I was uneasy and excited.

I told my parents I was sleeping over at Franken's house so that I didn't have to be strangely picked back up (no license yet). NO!!! NOT A MOMENT OF TRUTH....I think I may be my own best friend, but I think a lot of people think that of themselves, unless you self-loath beyond repair which is totally understandable. I hate myself 45% of the time. 50%-HA-ham you're sooo funny, what wit! The last secret 5% percent is floating in space. I gotta shut up. This is going nowhere, but I suppose it's worth mentioning this because I remember packing my bag for his house and dodging all sorts of questions with answers that were fatally flawed, but funny to me, my best friend. "Parents, it's R. Franks Gorey Garden Monster Bash." "What are you talking about?" They were suspicious but they still didn't know that the Frankens were out of town.

Boom-boom on the radio stick, bass thumping, music blasting so loud I thought was 'bout to crawl out the speakers as an actual life form. I walked into the party with my fancy jeans on, gleaming with confidence, rushing over to where people were making drinks. Everyone acted like they had done this before. Being able to freely make drinks for the first time without having to sneak it from the old liquor cabinet is fantastically liberating. I walked around with my Rican rum concoction with cola, wishing a hello to everyone. I noticed an unusual clientele, which affected my congenial and easy-going nature. Sex and weather, it's all I knew. I remember Franken telling me before I arrived that he had talked to Mya about getting ass from her. And since Rick AKA "The Philanthropist" knew that he had established chances of sneaking a snack with Mya, he asked her if Don T and I could get with any of her friends. We were the only other guys there and needed Mya to make a donation because Rick had already built a library!

I rapidly became inebriated and didn't care about getting a girl. I was just happy to be hanging out and drinking. As everyone left, the numbers started to promote sexual pressure. Three girls and three guys were now left in the gauntlet, all vying for a piece of THE AWESOME ROCK. That's actually what you win in _Nickelodeon Guts_. There was Mya, who had been positively responding to Rick with her distinct girly giggle all night. Then there was Molly Hanson, who I had entirely too many classes with over the years. And last, Callie Quick, my slow dance partner from middle school. All of us were now drunk sitting in Rick's basement chilling until my relaxed state was broken by being asked if Don T. and I could go hide in the closet while Mya gave Rick a blow job. And oh, yeah, Molly and Callie were to watch. As I stood in the closet with another guy as my friend got oral, I couldn't help but feel like a fucking zero. Don T. and I were both utterly confused as we heard all the girls wildly laughing. I asked Don T. what kind of underwear he was wearing and he told me, "I hate you." We walked out of the closet and Rick's pants were now up and Mya declared she couldn't do this with the girls watching. Mya then suggested that Don T. and Molly, Callie and I all go outside, with her and Franken inside. They delegated us. They pimped us out. And now I was in some forced sex set-up with a girl who just did not have the goods. Poor me. As I stood with Callie on the opposite end of the lawn from Molly and Don T., I saw Molly undoing Don T's belt. "I bet you're wearing briefs!" Don T. laughed and Molly continued to put her hand down his pants.

Without either of us even making any eye contact, Callie undid my belt and put her hand down my pants. An exercise. I fail to get hard after about a couple minutes of her playing with my limp dick. I continuously apologized and had trouble articulating how it was hard for me to go from zero to sixty or something. She suggested I feel her up. I did, and I actually didn't mind her breasts, although extremely firm. I could not get her crappy brown hair, make-upless face with freckles and metal braces out of my head. "I swear this never happens, I don't know what's fucking wrong with me. Sorry." A hundred eighty-three seconds later we gave up and went inside to sit with the others. Everyone else was laughing, Callie looked annoyed and I, ashamed. "I'll be back in a minute," and I went back into the closet, this time to do C.P.R on my penis. In the closet I got an erection within a minute and decided to go back to the couches. I told Callie that I could get hard now and she was not at all interested. This whole thing had become an incident/accident/embarrassment. Andddddddddd......moving on!

Girls You Might Meet at the Bank

Veronica Tyler wouldn't date me in the summer after sixth grade, which I found strange because she dated just about everyone else. At one point in fifth grade she had three boyfriends in three days. She was the girl who was more developed than any of the other girls and thus, could transcend time and space. In one special performance at the movies (I was a couple rows back choking on Juji Fruits) Travis Meager felt her up and she sucked on his fingers. True story. True statement.

It was a couple weeks after the Fourth of July and I was in a side room in my basement with Veronica straddling me with no shirt or bra on. We talked as I scoured the terrain Travis Meager had staked. I would have preferred a more engaging conversation though, like debating whether or not metaphysical statements are meaningless. However this was impossible because we were playing a game, and during games you cannot discuss metaphysics. Truth or dare crazy, shady, baby ladies. There was one, two, five guys there all patiently waiting to not only cop a feel of Veronica, but her best friend Karen M. too, and Karen M. was much more of a prize. She had softer skin, darker hair, greener eyes and bigger breasts. Plus she was an untapped resource. Mars and Earth! I don't how the game started, but we were bored in my basement and I refused to turn off the public access channel. It was called SCTV and all it had were announcements for the next meeting at town hall with Kenny G-ish jazz accompaniment. Hogman was salivating, praying that his agonizing assless summer nights would end.

We initially convinced the girls to strip. They sauntered to the other side of my basement and made me dim the lights. To the sounds of a sax solo Veronica and Karen M. were laughing like cute girls do and stripped down to nothing but their panties. Veronica's were more scandalous than they should have been for a girl her age and Karen M.'s had crocodiles on them. Crocodiles, mmm...I was hoping they would bust out the crocodile mile Slip N' Slide. The girls put their clothes back on and it was suggested that we should play the overrated and outdated game, Truth or Dare. We thought something salacious would come out of this. It must come out of this. If the girls would so readily strip, what else would they do, doctor? Galvanize! These girls had the merry, merry glackmas and it was our mission to exploit that.

Hogman got involved in the offense early and predictably, we dared Karen M. to give him a hand-hand hey. She initially declined citing, "I'm the minister's daughter," but she didn't say that, she actually just giggled, went up to Hogman and stuck her hand down his pants. She touched him barely a second, leading to the fastest ever shift from anticipation to disappointment expressed in a person's face.

Hogman didn't know how to do cursive so he stayed in for recess most of the time with Mrs. Bell. Don T., Gene and I gave him a hard time about everything in his life because he had some of the best reactions I had ever seen. I was particularly fond of the time he threw his backpack, which contained all of his books, at Don T, who idiotically caught it, only to be drop-kicked by Hogman. Hogman tried to combat his instigators anyway he could, but this usually ended up with him getting thrown into a garbage can or something comparable and lay for hours wherever the scrap had taken place.

It was Veronica's turn and she proclaimed, "Dare me! I'm a nasty girl with strawberry syrup on top." I can't corroborate that statement. She was dared to give Don T a lap-dance. I thought he would get overly aggressive and perhaps demand that the girls work as a team and paper mache′ his cock or maybe he would just take them to a side room where he would flash them. This happened earlier in the year when a friend of mine from New York was visiting me. We went to Don T's house on his first night in town to meet some of my friends. Almost as soon as we arrived at his house, Don T. got Mandy and Leslie (girls you'll meet later) to go into the side room Vicky had utilized, where he got hard in the corner then showed them his privates. They were terrified, exclaiming as they exited, "It's like a big, red arrow!" I don't think my friend ever visited me again after that episode. In Don T's defense, he came up pretty huge on this particular night. Even though solely Veronica was supposed to give him a lap dance solely, he negotiated both girls into taking their shirts off again and separately give him a lap dance in a side room in my basement. Side rooms, what the fuck; exciting times for miming minds.

Every guy there (except Hogman) received a private lap dance where they got to feel up these fit, fifteen year old girls from our grade. During my dance, Karen M. was rubbing against me as she shoved her breasts in my face. I felt them, they were nice. I tasted them, also nice. When Veronica was on me, I wasn't as business oriented. It was more of a joke to me than anything. I mean c'mon the elementary school slut was half naked rubbing her breasts in my face! It was almost more fun than an arcade. I wasn't surprised that Veronica was doing this, but Karen M. I never expected this from, making it so much more glorious when she was half naked on me.

Karen M. and I had flirted for the last bunch of months. She was the girl I would talk to on the phone and say sexual things to without her minding. I was deciding whether to ask her or Sophie out. This decided for me though, I didn't want to be with a girl that basically got with five guys in fifty-minutes. Without the blemish of Gene on Sophie's record, she was a flawless victory, absolutely innocent, and on the verge of superstardom?

The forced sexual situations with friends gave me insight into the female psyche. False statement. I don't know if they indeed enjoyed the attention or if this was a stimulating interaction. Probably neither. My basement was starting to take on an infamous stigma about it, which would continue further well into high school. If you went into my basement there would be a large chance that something sexual was going to happen, or if it was dudes you most likely would end up playing a co-op tournament in _NHL 98_ or trying to defeat me in the polygon soccer game _Goal Storm_. The basement will return. Beware of the basement. The basement also had a mini fridge.

No Longer Indifferent

It was early August. Was I ready for my call-up to the majors? Hey sports metaphors, GO AWAY. Help me make another form of metaphor mainstream, please. How about stratification within the nut family? If peanuts would be the skank league, cashews would be mid-level ability, and Macadamia nuts would be the majors? You could say, "I AM READY FOR MACADAMIANS!" This is retarded.

I began talking to Sophie again on the phone and I learned some interesting things, VERY INTERESTING THINGS. A. She found her rendezvous in the wine cellar with Gene to be "disgusting" as she put it and B. She was completely weirded out that he shaved all of his pubic hair off. She came up with some reason why she got with him in the first place, but I didn't care anymore. I just wanted her and I thought she was beginning to want me too. My heavens, I haven't described what Sophie looks like! That's the beasttt part. Yes beast. She had olive, but Irish skin that always seemed to glisten. She was trim and thin, average height with long, dark brown hair. Light pink lips with the lower lip being more pronounced and her upper lip delicately understated. She had a beauty mark above the edge of her smile over her left lip; small, white-white teeth and slightly defined cheek bones; color-confused eyes with hues of gray, green and brown brought to life by her black eye liner; feminine hips and a distinct, petite yet defined backside with a birth mark on the right cheek; breasts in the "B's" she'd frequently cover up with her pristine hands when naked. Her nails were usually painted pink or dark purple and she would always wear a silver ring on her left index finger. Her legs were proportionate to her body; un-muscular, soft and sexy. No hair anywhere.

I told Sophie that from August eleventh to the thirteenth I was going to be at my big bro's wedding, but that I wanted to hang with her when I got back. She told me that she DEFINITELY wanted to see me and to call her as soon as I got back. I was distracted at the wedding I have to admit. Sorry brother, but you don't understand, it was S-O-P-H-I-E. The night I got back I signed online and made myself invisible because I'm _sooo_ spooky. I didn't want to talk to Sophie just yet; had to play it coooool. "Don't worry because I'm just jaffin' daddy; give it an old bongo slap." (a line Hogman said from out movie.) I still don't know what it means, but if I had to guess when I might be jaffin' it'd be here. I avoided Sophie because I saw that her friends were online, and I was also friendly with them. I wanted to ask them what Sophie felt about my garbage, although I think I already knew. Leslie Morris: everybody's favorite trailer park wannabe and also the reason Sophie started to dress sluttily that summer had some valuable insight. "Invite her over tomorrow. She will get with you. She likes you, a lot." Invisible eye OFF! I gave Sophie a call and I asked her what she was doing tomorrow. She pretended to think of things she had to do, but just for effect. What a thespian.

"Well...nothing yet. What are you up to?"

"I have captain's practice at five, but would you like to come over before I go?"

"That'd be great. What time you want me to come over?"

I wanted to nut my pants, but first I needed oxygen, or nitrogen.

Gulp of air, "Ummmmmmmm anytime really, whatever is good for you, I'm flexible, but not flammable. Ummm yeah whenever."

"Hahaha, ok. How about 1:30?"

I will see you then and again and again. And so it goes, here she comes, there goes my heart. There is B.S and A.S for me, that is "Before Sophie" and "After Sophie" and I wouldn't have changed any of it, even though it changed me, seriously.

I woke early around 10 A.M to groom, mentally prepare and get a solid meal in me so I wouldn't feel those nerves. A stiff drink would have helped, but don't think Mom woulda let me. I called my father to ask him hypothetically what would be a good movie to watch with a girl. He laughed and told me to get _You Can Count on Me_ , an independent film that had just come out starring Matthew Broderick in a small role. He was fresh off a kickass performance in _Election_ (one of the most underrated films in recent memory) and I thought this was a solid suggestion. Alexander Payne, if you hear me, I love your films, you're a hero. I went to the movie store, a movie store I won't mention because I hate them and because I also used to work there. I picked up the movie in the asscrack of an aisle. Check. I got back to my house. Sophie was coming in a half hour. I cleaned the basement up and made sure the VCR was working.

Ring-a-ling, ring. I ran to the door and opened it too. Head: "Holy shit she is hot." We made our way down to the dungeon. Flirty interacting. Movie on. I jump on the couch. Lay on my back. She sat next to me on the perpendicular couch. The space between those two cushions was a demon. The movie was moving along slowly. I wasn't paying much attention. Thump, thump. My heart was beating at an accelerated but not anxious rate. I reached over for Sophie's hand. Holding hands, excellent. Slight massaging of each other's hands. I was feeling bold, baby. I asked her if she wanted to sit with me. "Sure." She sat with her back towards me between my legs leaning against my stomach. My arms were around her body holding each of her hands. I tried to have my head talk to my heart. "Hey heartbeat, you need to settle down." Her back obviously felt how fast my heart was beating. Annoyance, maybe embarrassment. I breathed on her hard too. Periodically I kissed her neck. I FUCKING FINALLY gently turn shy girl's head around and we intensely, passionately, fiercely made out for the next two hours; well pass the end of the movie. We didn't stop making out. There were no breaks. We breathed for each other. This is the longest I have ever kissed anyone. My mom yelled down to me that it was four-thirty P.M and that I needed to get ready for soccer. This was what stopped the session. I kissed her one last time, we embraced and I ran upstairs, energized like I had never been before. I couldn't calm down, I finally felt something. I finally kissed a girl that I truly cared about. This was the first time I experienced this. With regard to girls, I was finally smiling. I told Sophie that I would call her later, I couldn't wait. Finally. At soccer I saw Gene and made a point of telling him what had happened.

Chapter 5

Hard N' Soured

Fall 2001-Fall 2002, Age 15-16

Sophie was my girlfriend. Hooray!!! My first _real_ girlfriend. I even made her a mix tape entitled "The Return of Mr. Happy Pants," which she thought was me just being irreverent, but THERE WAS TRUTH IN THIS. I learned that there's truth and then there's TRUTH. This was TRUTH, although both are spelled the same way. Sophie and I made an attractive couple if I can comment. In the beginning, it made me next to nervous bringing her home though, because she was completely Forever 21'd out still; complete with these jeans were that tied with suede lacing. Hmmm. Like I said, that summer she hung out with Leslie Morris a lot which lead to her new dress code. It didn't last long, maybe two months, but it was fun while it lasted. Before the summer ended Sophie had Leslie, her friend Mandy and Lacy stay for a slumber party/sleepover or whatever the kids are calling them. Brief timeout to talk about Mandy Mandy had been a close friend of mine starting in the summer after eighth grade and throughout freshman year. Hogman was obsessed with her freshman year but couldn't get her to see him as anything more than a friend. Don T. and Gene used to imitate how Hogman would talk to her on the phone. It turned into this big joke where they would go, "Heyyyyyyy Mands," in an odd voice to say the least. Don T. wasn't too nice about the whole thing, detailing his plans to get with Mandy in front of Hogman on numerous occasions. On a ski trip the four of us took together like we had done the last few years I'd had enough and did my rendition of what Don T. sounded like. In a super masculine voice "I'm Don T, SUCK MY BIG RED FUCKIN ARROW, MANDS!" Everyone laughed, except Don T. of course. I was more tactful in my approach in discussing Mandy and other women with Hogman. I often iterated that if he had acted quicker he wouldn't be having all-night phone conversations with girls he would become close to, but never inside. All the girls thought that he was the sweetest, coolest, funniest, nicest guy they had everrrr met and many 'love always' in notes led to them later seeing him as a brother not a boyfriend/potential fuck buddy. He knew these things, but self-sabotaged. I nearrrrrrrrrrly forgot to tell you that a couple weeks before the above mentioned ski trip I had gone to the movie _Cast Away_ with Mandy. We made out and I felt her up in my basement. We never told Hogman, but I did tell Sophie before we started dating. She was disappointed, but we both had gotten with good friends of the other at this point. Even. When Hogman found out a few years later he didn't care at all. I even asked him if he wanted to punch me in the face. He didn't feel strongly enough about the issue.

The same night Sophie had her girlfriends over, Hogman had Don T., Gene and I over. It was now about midnight and Hogman was talking to one of the girls online. They jokingly told him that the four of us should come over and if we did we'd all get "ass". It had to have been Leslie talking. Days prior, Don T had fingered Leslie under the covers at Hogman's house, so I suppose that was his match. Leslie said that Mandy would make out with Hogman, but that was mostly because they didn't think we would actually come over. That left Gene and Lacy. I simply didn't see that one happening. Lacy was big-breasted and five feet tall, but Gene was just not attracted to her and repeatedly said to count him out.

Sophie's house took roughly twelve minutes by car from each of the three ways you could get there from our abodes. It was a total of seven miles away and uphill at times. We couldn't drive yet, but we did have our bikes. Gene was going to need some convincing, but the rest of us were "down." I decided it was time to give a speech. "Hey guys isn't THIS the life, just a couple of guys hanging out about to embark on a GREAT adventure, yeah, isn't this THE LIFE?" My mock serious speech resulted in me being told to shut up from all angles. Don T expressed his "I don't give a fuck, I'll do it" frat guy kind of attitude. That's the spirit there sonny. Gene hopped on board and we told the girls we were coming. We opened the garage door and started to get the bikes out. Moments later the lights, which had to be manually turned on, came on, and out of the shadows Hogman's mom appeared. "Boyyyys, what are you doing? What's going on here?!?" Uhhh, well Hogman's mom was the type you could say anything to so we told her our plan. "I've taken a bunch of sleeping pills I don't want you guys to bike there. That's dangerous. You are gonna go anyways. I've taken some sleeping pills. Let me drive you there. Get in my van." I really don't think she knew what she was doing; sleeping pills tend to do that. Fifteen minutes later we were there. Anne (Hogman's mom) parked a couple houses down, to make it less sketchy, which I don't think was possible at this point. Gene and Don T. stayed in the car and sent Hogman and me on our most super stealth mission of all time. Outside of Sophie's room on the side of the house I made bird noises rather than throw pebbles. Hogman insisted we do that to maintain classicism, but I don't think he used that word. "Cah, Cah, Cah," Sophie came to the window and we heard the girls giggling in the background. She pseudo-stearnly told me to shut up, and that's the second time I had been told to shut up. She signaled Hogman and me over to the side slide door in the back of the house where this statue of a fox that looks like Star Fox was sitting on a bench. Sophie opened the slide door and I was about to go in, except I tripped and made much noise. Simultaneously I heard Sophie's father calling to her, "What's going on in there?" and right before he opened the door I jumped into the bushes next to the door and booked it with Hogman into the neighbor's yard. As we were in the neighbor's yard Gene and Don T decided to get involved. They strolled through the front yard and then all of the lights went on. Random audience member=== "THE JIG IS UP!" Sophie's parents were incredibly confused as to why Gene and Don T. were in their front yard. Anne then came out of the woodworks to explain/apologize but mostly dismiss and get us the fuck out of there as fast as possible. Back in the car we went, next stop our houses. Sophie's parents never knew I was there. That's stealth!

Strange intro to our relationship. More than make outs on the way. The first time Sophie touched me below the waist was in the same game room I tried to sneak into weeks earlier. She had planned on it, unless the face cloth hidden under a pillow on the couch was per chance by chance. As she made her way down my pants I said to her "Down, down, down, down," as in my penis continued to go as far as her hand was going down my pants until she had reached more than midway down my thigh. Sophie laughed and jerked me off into the towel that just happened to be there. Honestly enjoyable. Not an accident, not an incident, not an embarrassment. After Sophie took care of me without a hitch, there was an itch of a hitch, but a natural occurrence with her, although she was scared. I popped her chh-chh cherry. There wasn't any blood on my hand to my knowledge. Her () told a different story, however, and so I guess I be, nay, I was a hymen monster. I still thought it was atypical to do this with fingers. Tell me science. TELL ME! Whatever. It happened. Brian Tetross did it toooooo.

The first months had many firsts, my favorite being the blow job. No towel needed. I read in a cookbook that everyone remembers their first oral experience. Giving, receiving, regretting, swallow-spit, swish and spit, partial swallow-partial spit, choking on hair too. Sophie undid my belt, pulled my pants down and I thought she was gonna do what she always did. But all of a sudden she starts to put me in her mouth and gee, ohhhh gee, this was unexpected and amazing. Didn't take long, four minutes to be exact. I was timing it on the VCR clock. I went in her mouth, she swallowed it all and immediately looked liked someone forced her to eat a urinal cake. Question to you, Would you go to a bakery that was called Urinal Cakes?

I'm not the type of guy that preaches the whole protein thing, so I wasn't offended, but found it funny. Although it can be a turn-on if a girl swallows, the whole spitting thing can be done in good taste (ha). Just be discreet. An excellent way around this is letting him shoot on your chest, belly or breasts. Everyone wins here, unless you find this to be more objectionable than taking it in your mouth. I got head and I wasn't dead. Things were looking up for me. We coasted through the first year with a few fights, but we mostly hung out, made out and everything that entails for the next year. We still hadn't had sex. We were both still sixteen and a bunch of other people had already, but I said to Sophie to let me know when she was ready; no pressure. I was still enjoying all the other stuff and I didn't have this burning urge to bang.

After Sophie had gotten her license things went to shits. She started to be questionable, lying about who she was hanging out with and what she was doing. It made me a paranoid fuck. What had happened to this cute, sexy thing that only wanted to hang out with me? It was hard to deal with but after all, we were only sixteen and it totally made sense that she wanted to be out and about. I was never jealous, I'm not that type, but she forced me into feeling a level of insecurity I had never felt before. The "what are you doing-where are you going-where you been-who you with-why, why, whats" started to happen. I hate that shit. This guy Dylan moved into our town and was supposedly "street" or something. He was just another white asshole that every race hates, especially when he refers to himself as Dyl-Jigga and isn't joking. Sophie was piss poor at science and was in level three or the level for those who simply don't care/have learning disabilities. I took level three trig my senior year, it was a kickass time. Dyl-Jigga was misplaced in Sophie's class. He should have been in level four where they usually gave up teaching the class and it became a study hall.

She briefly mentioned this loser guy in her science class that stared at her during class and called her for some assignments, but then just told her his life story. I really wished that Jay-Z had found this kid and stabbed him with a plastic fork repeatedly. This was the only time Sophie mentioned him. I found out later what I'm about to tell. That line is like the beginning of an unsolved crime unraveling on one of those shows. The details of this story have been skewed because of denials and smiles (lies); gisty gist. He followed her to her car at the end of the day and then to her house. When she got inside he would call her and say he was outside and ask if she wanted to hang out. Now that's complicated stalking; hybrid stalking too: the blending of congenial phone-calling and scary tailing.

Later Sophie claimed to be intimidated by him so they started to hang out? Coincidentally, Sophie and I were having problems. The relationship had reached everyone's favorite point, "The Break." We went on a break and a day later there was a sleepover at Shea house where Shea and her boy, Dylan and Sophie all hung out. But from what I know Shea and boy left, so it was just Sophie and D-Jigs. Sophie refused to tell me what happened, but I assumed she blew him. A simple kiss would have been the same. After asking Sophie repeatedly what had happened she broke down and said she couldn't say, but that something _did_ happen. She assured me it was not sex. It didn't matter. I was torn apart and didn't understand. I wrote a collection of morbid songs, poems, and short stories for months and months after this. Both my English and guitar teacher thought I was suicidal, my SAT tutor did too. The songs were all right but the poems and stories were terrible, I also was answering analogies all wrong. I was just trying to deal, not die.

We got back together a few days after her admission. I don't know why, but the only reason I could think of to justify it in my head was that we hadn't had sex yet. I had to at least lose my virginity to Sophie. Shortly after we had gotten back together I received threatening instant messages from the toughest guy in town, whose screen name also was DylJigga number-number-number. His profile interests included gittin' crunk. In his defense he was the first person I had heard use this word, how hip of him. He said something to the liking of, "Yo ya faggit ass bitch bak oft my girl, u a faggit, I heards u a bitch, I'm gun kil u." All I said was that I really couldn't understand what he was saying and that if he wanted to call me names to at least spell them correctly. I like colloquialisms or slang, but this guy just sounded like an asshole.

A few days after Sophie and I were back together, I saw Shea's guy and Dylan outside of a movie theatre and they approached me. Dylan's friend did the talking. "Why don't you back off Dylan's girl you bitch."

"Interesting, I have been going out with her for over a year now. How is she your girl? Shouldn't I be pissed at you? How the fuck could you possibly be mad at me there big man! You tried to take _my_ girlfriend. You make zero sense."

They told me whatever, I'm just a faggot. This time he couldn't spell it incorrectly. The next I heard of Dylan he had dropped out of school. And after that I heard he got a girl pregnant and was now having a kid. I was shocked. November needed to be forgotten. Things started to return to normal and on the surface I forgave Sophie, but still was writing morbidly. I promised myself, or someone who resembled myself, that there still was some mileage left in our relationship.

Chapter 6

The Television Told Me to

New Years 2003, Age 16

I bought Sophie flowers for New Years Eve, bright and boring yellow flowers. I was at Super Stop and Shop with Hogman probably looking at the array of new cereals that were out. Hogman pretty much only eats cereal and thinks that certain Chile's Restaurants have better chefs than others. I guess that contradicts the only eats cereal part. Let's revise together: He pretty much only eats either cereal or at a chain restaurant. Well we both have always enjoyed the special spooky-edition cereals that came out around Halloween. Too bad January was about to swallow December, and November consuming October was a distant memory. While perusing the aisles I joked, "We gotta get em' flowers, show some class, be a reeeallll gentlemen." Note that the voice used to say this would resemble that of a depression era dock worker. Them or em refers to Sophie and Hogman's new girlfriend, Liza. Hogman finally got a girlfriend!!! I was a proud father. Although initially said in jest, I decided that if we bought them flowers it would translate into us getting more lemon pie popcicles. However, the notion that flowers guarantees entry plus access is fatally flawed, but not futile.

I cannot claim to have known the drinking repertoire of everyone attending, but I didn't believe these people to be seasoned social drinkers. Oh glee, for the bee, that is me. I had to get all the pancakes. I didn't have a cell phone at this juncture. Thus, when I talked on the phone about drinking or any form of debauchery on the land line I would code it. Teachin' the new handshake. This was mostly to confuse the person on the other line and not out of fear/respect of my parents/the U.S Government who easily could have heard the conversation.

"Should I get the pancakes or should you get the pancakes?" "Uhhh, yeahhhh, I got that syrup, but no pancakes, so you get the pancakes!"

It was primarily Sophie and Liza who wanted to drink because Hogman didn't actually ever actively want to, but did concede the point that if the girls drank they would get "nasty" so to speak. The people at the party, which was actually just a double date included Hogman and Liza, Sophie and me.

Let us learn a little about Liza. What a hoot in the boot she is! Liza moved into town sophomore year from Cape Cod and instantly people were attracted to her. We also found out that she got exceedingly angry when you sang, "Liza it's your birthday, happy birthday Liza!" and also that she lost her virginity while on ecstasy. Those two things don't reveal much about her though.

Guys thought Liza was their counterpart. "She like totally gets me. She's uh, like totally chill." In initial encounters with Liza, she did "get" you and was the alternative to girls who got grossed out or angered easily. I always backed up Liza when people would tell me insane-o things she did or said, but then when you experience it first hand and by "it" I mean you are subjected to the complete illogical and idiotic world of hers you start to agree with the nay, nay, hey, naysayers.

Liza liked to exaggerate, embellish, but mainly lie and divide. You look at her the wrong way, she told everyone you were talking shit about them, and then made conscious efforts to get others in her world to make your life a hand basket. Or get you beaten up? Many were forgiving of Liza for being a mental maelstrom--a whirlwind of loosely connected, poorly constructed ideas and rationalizations--because of her decent but not devastating sense of humor/quirkiness. Liza was also incredibly hot. It's nice when your hot girlfriend has hot friends and your best friend has a hot girlfriend. In this case Liza was both. Liza had long, silky blonde hair, white skin resembling Thora Birch's (Janie in American Beauty) to be semi-contemporary, shapely C's she'd accentuate even though already pronounced by her skinny frame and green eyes that popped with her dark eye liner. She looked like Avril Lavigne (I REALLY AM CONTEMPORARY), but had a sensibility that reminded me of one of the Suicide Girls in a gap commercial. She was marketable, irrational, unstable, a girl that would sort of cut herself and still be sexy and enjoyable to be around. She was the commercialized wrist-cutter. Too bad she ended up getting thrown out or dropping out of college a couple years later when she started to cut herself in front of a guy she was getting with. That would be an interesting but unaired commercial. That poor guy. When Liza was around you weren't sure if you were going to get bitched out, spawn an inside joke, or get fucked. This feeling isn't felt until you know her better. She initially wants to give the impression that she's everyone's favorite flavor of gum.

It took Hogman a long time to convince her that he was a suitable sexual partner, mostly because he still used his old tactics of acting as the girl's friend for seven months but secretly wanting to defile her or more accurately become defiled. He was a master at being a girl's friend, a shoulder to cry on, the listener, and was _still_ a guy that received a lot of notes from girls in which they would detail the sisterly love they had for him. I think you get it, got it, let's go! Hogman blames this primarily on his mother, who he claimed insisted he not make passes at women and instead wait for them to make the move. Unproven anomalies. They read like this Love always XOXOXOXOX, Liz! You could easily substitute Liza with any girl's name if we checked his note archives. Now, one of the letter writers was dating Hogman. Maybe he would ejaculate some of his angst.

Entering the room like the KEK (Kinetic Energy Kid- one of Hogman's alias') I searched for alcohol in my brother Mark's room, who three years ago left the home to pursue an education at Bucknell University. Go Bison. Ah yes, a large, clumsy container made of faux bamboo filled half way with sake was on the dresser. What a fine rice wine! In fact, I had never subjected my walking cadaver to such a wine. I filled up an empty bottled water with the sake and continued to scour my dwelling. I stumbled upon a few shooters, one of kahlua, another a citrus flavored vodka. I discovered a large bottle of red wine in the garage that had been opened, but still had a lot left. Jug wine can kill you, or at least cripple you. Thankfully it was just a lot of wine rather than awful and in a jug. I filled up two more empty bottled waters. I got my bag Eddy (as in Eddy Bauer). Someone needs to tell people with L.L Bean and Eddy Bauer editions of cars that they really aren't superior in any way. I found six Sam Adams and Sierra Nevadas in the refrigerator. This-ull-do. Considering the people who were drinking and the girls combined weight of about 230 pounds, I think that they would get sufficiently sloppy loppy lou. And as for Hogman, if you had given him a thimble worth it would be the same as if he had five drinks.

Hogman drove to Cosi in the next town over, chauffeuring Sophie and me who were in the backseat. While back there we gave each other dead legs. It was a swell time with laughter and joy until I made her leg too dead and she said something to the tune of, "Ahhh fuck you!" with Hogman and Liza seeing the whole thing. It was temporarily uncomfortable for the new couple. At dinner everyone ordered an entrée for dinner, but Hogman had smores for his meal.

Back to Hogman's house we went, bellies full, anticipating the evening's events. The bellies full part conjures up memories of Korea. So we're in the house. Hogman's parents: drinking, drunk. Hey, hey-hi, bye. So we're in the basement. Hogman's basement had: neutral-natural off-white carpeting, a futon wait I don't think Hogman's futon comes up in any other story so let me take a minute to tell you something from THE FUTURE: Hogman and Liza were hooking up on his futon. Hogman started "finger banging" girl X above. Enticing explorations. But X this is not sex, why are you bleeding? Liza had told Hogman that her period was over, in fact she had checked before they went at it, so Hogman claims. Next, in the gaze of the only light--a television light--Hogman nearly went catatonic at the sight of his hand covered in blood. Hogman recalls her saying, "Stop making her feel bad" and Hogman yorts, "LOOK AT MY HAND." But Liza actually said, "Stop making ME feel bad." I prefer her. Hogman says it would be inaccurate/untrue because as fucked up as she is, she would not refer to her vagina as a separate female. DEBATABLE BABY. Oh yeah, I'm missing the point of the story, fuck. Hogman then wiped the blood on his futon and flipped the cushion to the other side. After he showed me for the first time, every time people came over subsequently I would say, "If you flip the futon over you will be pleasantly surprised." They looked and were confused/extremely grossed out. Although some had no idea what it was.

There was also a couch, two leather chairs, a glass coffee table trimmed with finished wood, a big screen television, and enough space to replicate our favorite wrestling moves. Yes, this is an advertisement to sell their fully-furnished home.

We played one of those puerile drinking games kittens play. It involved cards, I think it was "up-the-river," I don't really want to explain the game, so if you want to know, write me a letter, but I'll probably just forward it to Nate Rator—the kid who taught me the game that I don't play anymore. Hmm maybe Jackie Poppit could take some of the mail if Rator gets too overcome with inquiries because Poppe realllllllly liked that game. That's gotta count for extra couscous. Soon enough everyone was drunk and we told the girls that they should make out; one brunette and one blonde, both shapely, thin, sexy girls. They walked over to the other side of the basement and sat on the carpet. Briefly they kissed, using less tongue than Hogman and I would have liked, but hey now, it was there. They stopped. NOOO! They told us that they would do more if Hogman and I kissed. Strong objection from me. Hogman didn't object as much saying things like, "Come on dude just be like Stiffler," referring I guess in jest to American Pie 2 where one of the other jackasses has to kiss Stiffler for the lesbians to do more to each other. Hooray. He was warned to get the fuck away from me; I mean he's my best friend, but I didn't want to kiss him. I found him to be a vile creature! He kept coming near me and I backed away from him until he pushed me onto the still all-white futon and attempted to kiss me. I offered a punch and a threat. We got up to find the girls full on making out and feeling each other up. Hogman and I quickly made our way to the other side of the basement to get a better look and to shout out fictional characters.

INT. Hogman's basement

HOGMAN

That's like Spider-Man

ME

No no, that's like Jump Man

HOGMAN

NO, Batman!

ME

Okay, it's Pac Man

HOGMAN

No No No No it's Mega Man!!!!

ME

Yeah, you're right it is Mega Man!!!

Meanwhile, the girls continued to make out, now more intensely, with more tongue, groping too. They soon stopped and immediately asked why we were yelling out fictional characters. It felt really funny then, don't know how it was like any of those mans though.

The four entities from four separate quadrants somehow stumbled to the front of the television. DJ Scribble really mixed those tunes intercut with highlight reels of many coeds taking part in multiple person kisses; mostly a guy and two gals. Damn you MTV—you bad behavior inducer/conductor and brainwashing whore! For some anyway. But what I am trying to say is that our group got the idea to do a four person kiss from their programming. Shame on you MTV! Shame.

"I could be one of your kids

Eric looks just like me

Erica loves my shit

I go on TRL look how many hugs I get"

That was a lil' Slim Shady. So yeah, I was slightly facing Liza with the intention of sneaking a taste of her lips. I'm a greedy dick. I was hoping that Hogman was at least in the vicinity of Sophie so things would be square. A squarrrrrre deal. Square dancing is goooooood, cleannnnn fun. I wasn't looking for sucha deal matey moo, or looking to square dance either, matey moo. Everyone began to laugh, laughter had launched, tongues crept in, and I didn't exactly know whose tongue was whose. Gross. We all fell backwards, I wish I could draw another picture showing us all on our backs laughing, but that would be entirely way too hard to do in paint.

Each couple retired to their separate areas/vectors. Hogman was on the (still) white futon, with Sophie and me on the couch. The girls debated who could get their boyfriend to cum the most times. I don't think I was much of a contestant because I felt depleted from an afternoon session or three with Sophie. Both couples began going at it with periodic complaints from Hogman about Liza's rings hurting him. "Ahhhhh tooooo many rings." I don't know what had gotten into Sophie but she continually asked me to flog her and by flog I mean deflower, but we hadn't done _that_ yet. She was reasonably drunk, and also felt inclined to profess more than just "I love you" love for me because I have an email from the day after where she tells me "she meant everything" she said. All right, I'm a loser. I still have the email. I don't ever delete emails from people I know; only people I don't know like say a potential job employer or someone soliciting pills.

babyyyyyy-

thanks for the email, its nice to know that you're so

pathetic when im gone. im joking, it was a sweet

email, i mmissed you sooooo muchhhh.last night was SO

MUCH fun. i had the best time. i think we all did. i

was being crazy...sorry. haha i heard that when Liza

and i were kissing it was like megaman. indeed it was.

i remmeber everything i said to you and i mean all of

it. i love you so very much, in fact i'm very in love

with you. :) i want to see you again today, i hope

you're not too busy. thanks for being amazing, i love

youuu

Sophie

ps the flowers look good in the vase! thank you again

i love them :)

During all of the ring raking and rub-a-tug tugging, love declaring, girl-gasms, girl on girl, and convoluted kisses we never thought Hogman's parents would come downstairs. Hogman's parents: drunk, blind? I was wearing nothing but my boxers, lying on top of Sophie with my pants and shirt next to the couch as Hogman's parents asked me how my New Year's was going and blah blah blossoming into a strange conversation. I'm not sure of Hogman's pants situation. Mine was menacing, yet never materialized into a problem. The time passed, the conversation had ended and Hogman's parents not once noticed that the teenagers were being baaaaad.

The night was coming to an end and it was time for the girls to go home. I had sobered up more than anyone and was nominated to drive them home. It was a giddy drive; I couldn't remove the smile off my face. Sophie and Liza had just...well, it was an exciting time in a young man's life and everything felt right, except my penis, which was really tired. I don't like the antlers made of trash. Wood, marble, glass, plaster, and paper mache′ are okay though.

Chapter 7

Terribly Important/Irrelevant

Winter-Spring 2003, Age 16-17

I had a sense that I had lost my virginity long ago. But then I would be lying and I don't want to lie to you, because I love YOU. "I love you" killed Sophie and my relationship, as did infidelity, dishonesty and lack of liking each other. Things got so serious that she stopped imitating and emulating things I said and did. I just wasn't funny to her anymore and I found her utterly uninteresting. She was just a body and I guess that's how I treated her after the Dyl-Jigga LP. Could you blame me, lover? Sophie had been asking me the last few weeks why I didn't say, "I love you," anymore. I didn't want to in the first place, but I thought it was what she wanted to hear and that's the worst way to say it. I told her I didn't know what love is at this age. I was too young, my heart and dick were synonymous. She disagreed. Sophie had hardened me, I used to be able to at least appear to be in love. Wide-eyed, starry eyed. Now I was spiteful and would ALWAYS be on the offensive. I was feeling this at this point and the worst hadn't even happened.

Sophie's friend's virginity was still intact, in their minds anyways. They told Sophie that if she had anal she wouldn't lose her virginity. Ouches, irritation, eeeeek. Sophie had asked me once in the shower if I wanted to put it in _there,_ I just started laughing uncontrollably. She pretended she was joking. This was an attempt at insertion of sorts, but the next chance was for reallllll, so real.

My parents were going out of town so I pretended that I was going out to do stuff for the day and said that I'd sleepover at Hogman's so I wouldn't be lonely. I didn't want any wolves attacking me when I'm all by my lonesome. I met Sophie at the bookstore at the mall down the street from where I lived. We browsed for an hour until we knew for sure that my parents would be gone.

We took a shower together and this time just washed each other sensually. That word disgusts me. Sophie got out early because I was harassing her with the loofah. When I got out we then decided we'd go to a larger mall in a commercialized town. Buy or die.

At the food court we had some sticky snacks, the ones that make you sick but you eat anyways. When Sophie was in the restroom I got a cinnamon sugar pretzel that a woman made after sneezing on her hands, I still purchased it and threw it out in front of her face. I told her she is a disgrace. We went to one of those stores that sell fancy useless shit just so we could sit in the massage chairs. It was time to go home, officially.

At my house we sat on the leather couches in my living room and just chitty chatted. We started making out and next thing you know we were naked. We had done this before, but it felt different than usual, intense, or maybe we actually were into it for the first time in a while. Don't just touch each other for the sake of touching each other. Force-feeding sucks, unless it's altruism. I was on top of Sophie putting in "just the tip," her mouth was wide open. I hadn't seen that face in forever. I asked, "Do you want to go upstairs, deer, 2 E's." Sophie opened her eyes, blinked, smiled and lightly laughed, then opened her eyes wider. We made our way to my bedroom. I actually had a bedroom and not just a basement! Each step up the stairs was a closer step to ETERNITY. What? I couldn't believe I was going to lose my virginity and more than anything I was happy it wasn't outside or in a car or in my parent's bed. A diving board would have been ok though. We decided to listen to Van Morrison's Greatest Hits album. We're classy bastards. We undressed each other as the music played and quietly kissed. Fuck that guy who preaches against multi-tasking. Sophie laid softly on her back, missionary was about to take place. In this situation it made sense, but I really hate that position. I put the condom on that I had purchased at Brooks Pharmacy, the skankiest pharmacy in town that no one would have seen me at. Mothers ran their mouths in my town and fathers were mute. I had one of those blue wrappers and strapped myself in. The lights were dimmed low, listening to Van Morrison, missionary? This was too traditional for my taste, but I guess romantic. I don't know how to classify these things. You can find romance in the raunchy too! Sometimes. We lasted about seven songs until I couldn't hold on anymore. Sophie seemed satisfied. I felt I had put in a stellar performance for a sixteen year old. I wouldn't mind having my penis from back then. He was an all right guy.

We stayed in my bed listening to the CD, laughing, not smoking or sipping, just enjoying. After a year and change we finally had sex. What was the big fucking deal? Why did it take so long? We should have done it a long time ago. Weeee should have, I didn't say youuuuu should have. Maybe that would have solved our problems. No, it wouldn't have. The last song on the CD started to play-- "Dweller on the Threshold," we got up and nakedly danced with each other for the remainder of the song. I couldn't forget that, even if an atom bomb exploded in my head, which happens everyday anyways.

Things were peachy between Sophie and me the next couple of months, but that was only temporary. She was bound to get bored. Complications had to arise with Sophie. One night Sophie told me she was hanging out with Liza, I knew this because Liza had told me. I asked what they were up to, but I knew what they were doing because Liza had told me. Sophie nonchalantly says, "Just girl stuff, just watch a movie, hang out, you know Liza!" Yeah I do know Liza, asshole. I asked if they were hanging out with these two guys from Avon. She denied it and asked where I heard it from. I said Liza told me that's what you girls were doing, it wasn't like I tried to seek the information but Liza was divisive and made a point of telling me. Sophie continued to deny, but after I had gotten angry enough, she told me what they were doing. Sophie had become a sophisticated liar. After revealing her actual plans, she tried to turn it around on me, citing my personality as a reason for treason. In defense I started shouting about honesty and Dylan and dicks in her mouth. She still refused to talk about anything that had happened, still playing the victim card. After an hour of arguing we went upstairs and Sophie gave me a blow job for the last time.

Liza told me that nothing sexual or sinister happened, but suggested Sophie and Avon Jamie were being chum-chum. A couple days later there was a college fair and I saw Avon Laine and some of the other Avon girls I stayed friendly with. Liza and Hogman had recently finished up, Hogman was in shambles. The other guy that Liza and Sophie had seen a couple nights ago approached me. He told me his name was Avon Jason. I'm Nancy Drew and now I know the other night Sophie and Liza had been with Avon Jason and Avon Jamie. Avon Jason said to me, "Hey, you're --, my boy Avon Jamie has been getting with your girl Sophie." I had a panic attack. I wandered around until I found Gene, who I had come with. He walked me out to his car and drove me home. I called Sophie and it was over. My heart had finally broken.

Chapter 8

Suck me Sideways

Spring 2003, Age 17

To cure this broken skin of mine I decided I would go after every girl I had ever wanted to do awful things to. One of Hogman and Mike's dream girls came over, Crystal. Crystal was basically what every slut from ASU looks like: fake tan, ultra coked-out kind of thin, pouty lips always accentuated with lip gloss, too much make-up and would wear skirts so short her clit woulda been showing if she decided to not wear underwear. But of course this is a generalization. Those are bad, especially when they are true.

Before she went to ASU she was a Mormon, who supposedly was not allowed to have alcohol or even caffeine, but wrapping her legs around me, shoving her tongue down my throat and rubbing my cock was all right. Earlier in our adventures I said the Mormon slut exists, I told you raise your hand if you knew one; I ROSE MINE! She was chewing gum (groundball grape, I wish) as she dry humped me and shoved her succulent, tan breasts in my face. We started making out more intensely as she rubbed me over my jeans with the palm of her hand. The whole time I couldn't stop thinking about how she reminded me of girls who spit on their palms and give hand jobs on the teacups or under the bleachers at a football game. I really didn't want to cum in my pants, bad memories of that.

She put my hand up her skirt but not down her panties as she licked my neck and nibbled on my ears. Girls think this is a real crowd pleaser. I don't like it much, truly, for serious. She had juicy thighs, the kind you want to grab with your two hands and spread wide open. Too bad I never got to finger her, not that I didn't try. Maybe being introduced to this girl yesterday was why we were "taking it slow," but AHHHHH! With no place to put my fingers, I could only grab her crotch over her panties like I had a lobster claw. Moisture. Crystal rubbed exceedingly hard to the point where I bluntly said "Take my pants off," which prompted her to whisper in my ear, "I have to go, but you won't regret the next time we hang out." It sounded like a mouthful, but she really said all of that. I walked her out and when she left my dad immediately stopped vacuuming. "Boy, who was that girl?" Neither of my parents knew any women who wore such little clothing. I kindly asked my father not to mention her to my mother.

I nearly forgot that _my_ dream girl was coming over an hour after Crystal. Double billing! The main attraction was coming on shortly and I was all backed up with semen for the venerable Sienna Scott. I was obsessed with her from the time I had met her when I was fourteen; we were in some bull shit world civilizations class taught by this substitute for my teacher who got pregnant. The sub was an obese white woman who thought she was an Aztec. The next year Sienna transferred to a private school within town and I seldom saw her. I also didn't want to slip into a friend role with her because I was with Sophie. Even Sophie knew what I thought about Sienna. Funny, I didn't bring her up _that_ much. "Sophie, I saw Sienna at the mall today!!!" Hah. I wasn't sure under what pretense we were hanging out, we hadn't seen each other in almost two years. I didn't want to beat off right before she came over, I still had to shave and shower or something, I don't fucking know, but bottom line is that Crystal gave me an atomic erection that just would not quit, and it put me in a quandary!

I decided to put on a feature during the feature. All I remember about _Jurassic Park 3_ is Sienna Scott giving me a blow job and cumming in about 37 seconds. She was ferocious. She did it with dexterity, familiarity and a sense of professionalism. My favorite soccer coach from premier, G.K, taught me all about professionalism. Usually he would yell at us to have some. I don't think he was talking about oral sex, though. I had a nasty habit of rolling my eyes and looking like I had just stolen a candy bar after blowing a load; secret inside joke with myself. I decided to return the favor by oh, munch, munch, lickity lick, "going down on someone you aren't dating isn't usually this much fun!" I think I'm supposed to talk about how it smelled/tasted like roses, but it never has and it didn't, but I liked it. I promise it was perfect, pink and shaved. These things matter don't they? "If it is not shaved then why bother," says the lonely sedated salesmen. Sometimes I just rather have a decent looking partner who is sweet to me all the time and then I snap out of it and realize I'm a chauvinist-feminist who cares so much how good looking the girl on my arm is and very little how sweet she be. Anyway..her breasts were storied, two large scoops of your favorite ice cream with a proportionate smooth, tan base and slightly hard pinkish nipples. On a side note I thought my favorite size was 34C but it actually is 34D and DD too! I'm learning so much about myself in this paragraph. Sienna also had dark brown hair that strolled down her spine, pouty lips that always seemed to be wet, mocha brown eyes that melted you, skinny but not thin frame, and creamy off-white skin.

After we had both cum, we just lied there and for some indiscernible reason I told her how I had wanted this for a long time or something. I really don't know, but that's definitely the kind of shit you don't tell someone after blowing a load in their mouth. That wasn't even what I was thinking about! I was having office slut fantasies like...I picked her up and fucked her against a wall while she was wearing a short miniskirt with a tight button-up that made her tits pop out. This is my midterm progress report:

-will fuck during lunch break

-will simply zip you down and lift her skirt up.

-team player and has leadership qualities.

-very vocal.

How the sexual rendezvous started was not nearly as exciting. We were talking and did not think we would be missing any vital plot points from _JP3_ if we listened to music for a brief intermission. We got off the couch and made our way to my computer room (a side room) to listen to some illegally downloaded tunes via Kazaa. Kazaa, honey, you'll have a place in my heart forever. She smiled with her lips looking lovely and wet WITHOUT the aid of watermelon lip-gloss, I went over to her and we momentarily laughed. A nick later we were making out on my cesspool of a couch. Sienna was undressed almost immediately and I had my white undershirt and black socks on, as always. If bad movies didn't exist, teenagers would be a lot less promiscuous. I definitely have messed around to some of my favorite films, though, but that's just because I have seen them so many times and it was ok if I missed some parts. I love hearing "The Libyans are coming! Run for it Marty!" while getting head.

I was still upset about Sophie, even depressed, but this made me feel significantly better. "Don't call it a comeback I've been here for years!" (LL Cool J - "Mama Said Knock You Out"). These were the first girls I had gotten with since Sophie and they were both in the same day. And so my triumphant return had begun. I have to admit I wish it had gone better. I was pissed about cumming so fast. I blame Crystal for me looking like a prepubescent boy for Sienna! AHHHHHHH Crystal should have jerked me off or let me at least cum on her belly-button piercing. Known cock-tease. That's why I called her a slut. Okay, now I'm calm. The next day I told Crystal that I had hooked up with Sienna after she left in a moment of "take that," but that didn't make much sense. Stupid, stupid boy! If you ever have the chance to balance two girls/boys when you are 17, do it for me, do it for yourself, do it for the gipper too. So Crystal ended up hating me and Sienna wouldn't return my calls, I am an idiot. My juggling of two girls would have to wait a full year, noo!!

Chapter 9

It Wasn't The Same For Odysseus

Fall 2003, Age 17

Homecoming was almost here. Christy and I had decided to never talk about the situational sister sandwich. The time leading up to homecoming was a real first-rate time. Sure we both were subject to ridicule and speculation by all the joking Jills and Jacobs, but it didn't stop us from partying/getting fucked up together. I galvanized Christy into the party scene and she felt _freshhhh_ because I wasn't embarrassed to have her around my friends. This definitely was a decent strategy resulting in her mildly forgiving me. "King Kong" coming out tonight?" the people who drank beer asked. They called her that because she was small, but had a big mouth and opened it really wide when she chugged beer. That nickname still doesn't make any sense to me. I was pretty impressed. My friends were impressed. We all were terribly impressed! This made it easy to take her out, except she would get overwhelmingly drunk and enjoyed falling down. That lacked the freshy freshness and forced the question of whether it was warranted that she be taken out AGAIN! When I wouldn't take her to parties she would ask why I was chastising her. Not really true.

I continued to bring her to pretty much every party I went to for a while because I was just that great of a guy. On one occasion we played "seven, eleven, doubles" with five other guys, so every time they chose someone to drink of course they picked the cute five-foot-two-inch girl. Consequently, I had to have her taken home early. I had passed out watching porn with my friend Tegan until I was able to drive home.

People began to notice Christy and me together. The older gals didn't like us much. They tended to be threatened by the younger, prettier girls in our school. Don't deny that, bitch boxes. They didn't want me, but they just didn't want a sophomore to have me either. Fascinating facts ...in ninth grade the girls would ditch us (the freshman) for any guys that were in a grade above us and now that we are the older guys, we ditch them for the younger girls. Historically you would think that freshmen boys and senior girls would get together more often.

Before the year started, but after I had hooked up with Christy at the concert, Rick Franken and I decided to put on an extravaganza of the greatest proportions. Think of anything then say, "On ice" and pretty much that's how you have an extravaganza. This would be known as Prop 10. Prop 10 consisted of all senior guys taking girls in tenth grade to homecoming. I was already going with Christy and Rick decided to go with Katie Maybelle, who was younger than Christy by about eighth months and still had braces. This was something that kind of bothered Rick but Katie was attractive, and Rick didn't look that much older than her anyway. Christy looked much younger than me, but that's just because I hit super puberty in my early teens. People got curious, questy too. "Like what's this Prop 10 thing? Are they just taking these girls as a joke?" Whisper, whisper, prop 10. It's so secret. It's so exclusive. It's just like in teen movies when there's a bet about whether the most popular guy in school can turn the ugliest girl in school into prom queen. I need to shut up.

Everything in high school is a production, and even the most trivial of things becomes front-page news; i.e: when I said Hogman eats flowers in middle school, I presume everyone would have been just as excited about the issue in high school too. We just wanted to go with the stink of the stinky stinkies or fine younger girls because the girls in our grade were starting to fucking bore me/us. Not sure of Rick's exact rational, but that was mine. The girls in our grade started to get really pissed as more and more guys in my grade started asking the sophomores to go to the dance with them. Christy jumped off a bridge and died. The end. DECOY, DECOY, real thing... Christy, however, did persistently raise the issue that people still dreamt it a joke and was convinced I'd dump her immediately after Homecoming. I didn't have any such intentions.

Homecoming, you're almost here, honey. Christy incessantly and innocently asked what the plans before and after the dance were, what I was wearing, what she should wear, what we were drinking before - you get the point don't ya? Chippy o'sticks you. I was new to the idea of planning. Let's do that (point randomly in vague direction of destination)! Let's go there (in same vain)! Christy got me to plan my outfit and I found this blue velvet jacket. It reminded me of the awesomely demented film _Blue Velvet_ , but just because of the color/material combo. The rationale sort-of made sense. Christy said, "It looks sexaayy on you, I liiiike it." So I got the jacket and told her I would match it with other crap I already had.

I figured we could take a few pictures at my house while my brother Matt was home so he could meet my new girlfriend. That was fine with Christy, but I had to pick her up so her mom could take pictures and get to know me better. Checkity chickity chew, check. I locked down a place to pregame before the dance, Ben Caracaberg's house. All that comes to mind about Caracaberg is how Mike and Hogman are obsessed with trying to imitate his voice. They have never succeeded in replicating Ben's signature raspy, sort of gay, sort of feminine, and a soupçon of a stoner with a dry throat, voice. Christy concluded one of the most organized prior-to-homecoming scheduling of all-time. "My mom said we can come over here with Lindsey and her date, and you can stay as late as you want!" I just agreed so everything was taken care of because I didn't ever have my shit together, with regard to event planning that is. NOW I DO! Coo, zoo.

I went to pick up Christy with the corsage calling and riding shotgun. I walked into Christy's house and saw her in a simple yet elegant (fuck that word) light-blue dress that she tied zebra patterned fabric around for a belt, a clear colored beaded necklace and black high heels. She looked beautiful--also seventeen and not the fifteen she was. Christy immediately came up to me to compliment me, but I beat her to it, complimenting her first and then her mom jumped in and said how handsome I looked. It was getting confusing with all the complimenting going on. We began to take photos outside and I began to feel more comfortable. We exchanged corsage and boot and ear, got in the car and made our way to our next destination. In the car we took a couple photos together, most of them though were of me driving, a picture that seemed to turn up in every batch of photos from disposable cameras I used with Christy.

We're off to my house to take a few photos with my family. Later they all told me they thought Christy was cute and loud, and also, "What grade is she in?" At Caracaberg's house Christy and I decided to get housed for the dance and then just ask someone who wasn't drinking to drive my car there. Surprisingly, some people took offense to this, but they had a moral decision on their hands! Did they really want to force me to drive drunk? I guess it's slightly unfair. Liza Eastmon reluctantly drove my car. I was rowdy, barking out the window while Christy accompanied with a few meows.

At the dance you needed to sign your name on a piece of paper. I signed in on a diagonal slant and maniacally laughed. I don't know how Christy's went, but we both got in. During the dance Christy had her back towards me and would bend all the way to the floor so her hair was almost touching the ground and we did some form or another of bumping/grinding. We made out, jumped up and down, sweated, yelled, and even lost a few articles of cloth. Snap; lots of pictures of us kissing. It was time to slow dance to the homecoming theme and we both booed because we didn't want to stop slam dancing! "Dancing Queen" OR "We're In Heaven" was the theme song, but both were played around the same time so I can't remember! There's a techno remix of "We're In Heaven."

Homecoming ended after this song and the harsh gym lights came on to scorch our retinas. We made our way to my car and waited until we saw Lindsey and ohhhhh shit. I forgot Tommy, the backup goalie on my soccer team was her date. He was in grade eleven and took a sophomore. He musta wanted in on the hush-hush prop 10 too. We all decide to meet over at Christy's. When I got out of the parking lot, Christy unzipped my pants and began going down on me as I made the seven-minute drive to her house. This was causing a serious problem with my driving. I was focusing as hard as possible, but I couldn't help my "ahhh haha's." I remember thinking that I enjoyed this more with Christy than with Sophie. On a side note they hated each other and Christy in confidence told me that Sophie gave her "mean looks." Oooo catty. Did I like it more because of the precariousness of the situations in which she would give me road head or was she simply better at it? I WILL NEVER KNOW.

As we pulled in front of Christy's house I tap her on the head to stop, without me having gone yet. I forcibly put my equipment away and chilled in the car until my boner quit. Tommy yelled, "What were you guys doing back there!?! We were right in front of you and saw everything out of our rearview." "Ahhhh ha's" from everyone and the issue quickly drops as we quietly go inside. Christy's mom was passed out on the couch with a three-quarters empty white-wine bottle. Interesting ornaments. The foursome crept downstairs, Tommy and Lindsey secured the couch area while Christy and I went around the corner just outside of Jeanne's room. We decided to not go in Jeanne's room. Not because it was Jeanne's room, but because Christy thought her mom would wake up, come downstairs and get pissed if she saw the door closed to a bedroom. Around the corner I found a nice patch of carpet to rest on. Christy stood over me with her legs spread and me holding each of her legs. I started to put my hand up her skirt and rubbed her thigh. I quickly took her underwear off anddddd YEAH. Fucking Tommy walked around the corner and saw Christy standing over me with my hand up her dress. He cracked and ran back around the corner. It's situational.

Christy and I decided to move to Jeanne's room and continued to hey hey nay. Fucking Tommy knocked on the door minutes later and simultaneously barged in to see me getting head. He quickly left the room. "Christy, your mom is calling you, she wants to talk to you." Christy goes to deal with her mom and I settled on sitting with Lindsey and Tommy. "So you enjoy yourself there Tommy? Like what you see?" Christy comes back and I tell her I was supposed to frequent a few parties. I implore her to come, but mom said "No." Christy advised me to go even though I could tell she didn't want me to go. She thanked me for the evening and gave me one of those kisses.

At every given opportunity Tommy would, whether it was at team dinners, on the bus, or in Latin class, he would remind me of the various explicit acts he saw me take part in. He usually would stick to his favorite gesture, holding up his index and middle finger pretending he was looking up a skirt with his hand up it. He informed everyone on the team and they had even more insight into my relationship with Christy. They now had more than enough ammo to ruin me in a disparaging remarks competition. I was getting rained on for getting ass and not because I couldn't get any, Hahaha oohhhh-kay.

Chapter 10

That Bloody Night

New Years 2004, Age 17

I hate when people say, "New Years is just another excuse to drink!" Well no shit. I also find it curious when we say, "I can't wait for the New Year to come," "Here's to new beginnings, a fresh start!" Cheers. If you're an asshole on the thirty-first you'll still be one on "the first." I philosophized that all on my own. Blood is boiling on New Years Eve, you feel an itching for idiocy, I get that. I know I know I know it is hard not to reflect on your year, was it good, was it lousy? Did I impact anyone's life? But we all need to just shut the fuck up, stop thinking, blow a kiss and numb your brain anyway you can. Just not too much because then you'll go to sleep and miss everything.

My last New Year's in high school was sad and sentimental. I got to the party and everyone was hugging, telling each other how much they would miss this and how their time together the second half of the year is going to be precious, so very precious. People read poems to each other, gave each other friendship bracelets, and exchanged photos. A kid a year above us, who had graduated already, was mixing drinks for everyone in the kitchen and would give you words of wisdom before he gave you your drink; followed by a pat on the back. I had brought over a fruit basket and some chocolate-chip muffins I baked. Everyone told me how thoughtful I was. If you think that this is the story then you are a sorry Quaker. This one is tooo hot for T.V, and censor-censor can't see that on cable baby. Forgive me for tricking you. Can we still give each other Valentines and exchange Easter baskets?

Cut to me pacing around my house frantically calling people. "Hey you know how to get beer... "I need beer, hey you got beer? Yayayayayyaa I need beer, c'mon I know you got it, you got it right?" I couldn't say to Christy, "I can't get beer," when all year I always had a surplus in ol' Sally. On the dial I called people names that were not necessarily theirs. "You're holding out on me Majkowski, I know it! And as a human you're marginal, at best." All I got were "Sorry man" and "I can't spare any."

I usually went into Hartford, where I would walk into the liquor store run by this short and stout black man named Tank. As soon as I would go in, Tank would say, "Yo hit it, what you want?" The place looked like it would sell guns with all of the alcohol on shelves behind a large counter. I would point to what I wanted. They would deliver it to my car and I would tip them well for not letting me get killed in an area known for shootings and also for selling to me underage. On this day, for whatever reason I could not make it into Hartford before it got dark out.

Cat Mason said her older brother Tyler was home from the Marines and she gave me his number. Tyler told me to meet him at an intersection to get the beer from him. It seemed so easy; I was uncharacteristically not skeptical. I met him on the side of a small road that had no street lights, surrounded by woods that might as well have had dead bodies in it---no one would find them there, interesting... I've always wanted to find a severed body part in my backyard with a friend and go on a murder mystery caper.

When I got there he came up to my window and told me he didn't have the beer with him, so he told me to follow him to his mother's house where there was no booze. At his mother's house he told me to follow him to his father's and there wasn't any beer except his father's Sam Adams. I wanted to choke the idiot who claimed to have beer, but did not. I told him I had ten dollars for him and to go get the Sam because he had already wasted my fucking time. He gets it for me and I secretly wished someone in the core would sodomize him with a pine cone.

I picked up Christy from her house and brought her back to mine, where we were going to be picked up by someone who I was convinced had to drive on New Years Eve because it was their life calling. Sally was going to be light tonight. She only had a twelve of Sam in her. She likes to party not study. She's stupid. I figured that while Christy was in the bathroom I would rip some shots of my dad's single malt scotch that I heard is delicious from the POV of many old men. Christy looked like an alien in the sunglasses she was wearing. I kindly asked her to remove them. She lowered the frames and, sexily spoke, "You don't think I look sexy in them Hun?" I declined to answer, I just kind of looked at her with my eyes squinted and my mouth opened as to show all of my teeth. "What's that face!?!" It was my "sarcastic you look like a freak-o" face. Christy took them off and we waited outside with Sally in my arms until our ride arrived.

Christy and I walked in the front door to Ryan Reeves' house. Ryan was one of about ten black kids in the entire town, but everyone said that Ryan was white for a variety of reasons, mainly because he skateboarded. All I remember about his house is that there was a big chandelier and he had a painting of the Last Supper, except everyone was black. Every time I came over I asked Ryan if I could have it. He had side rooms too. As soon I walked in I saw Mike with a large Russian fur hat on. He approached me. "Heyyyy there, the names Chop" and extended a hardy handshake. My friends and I always introduce ourselves with alias'. I never understood why people got so irate, "Awwwww c'mon that's not your name, c'mon, you're lying!!! Tell em' your real name!" I usually was Josh Laerfens, a Finnish Doctor and miracle man.

The lady and I continued on to the kitchen to the mild applause of dudes who I knew but wasn't friends with. I think that's Chad McCrowchers; the old ice box of memories was opening. I grabbed a couple beers and gave one to Christy as we headed downstairs to see what the ruckus was in the basement. Internal thought "Oh shit, there are about one-hundred twenty people down here...this is going to be like the shit storm of '94." The only thing I actually remember from 1994 is my childhood basketball hero Gene Starks of the New York Knicks going 2 for 18 in game seven of the NBA finals. I still have never fully recovered from that. The night had the feel that it might implode with Starksy like proportions.

In the heat and I had been spotted by about fifteen different girls that I knew; and another "oh shit" because I was with my girlfriend. All of the girls in my school said "hi" by saying my entire name. From all over the room I heard first name-last name, first name-last name, and gee willickers it woulda been much easier if people just started yelling "Chop!" Immediately Tegan came running to me bearing a fierce, drunk girl hug, and kissed me on the cheek, as did French. Senior year these girls loved me every few moments. Christy got the afterthought "Oh hey!" and was less than impressed. Kylie Tatasciore came up to me in similar fashion. I remember we made out in the summer when I had finished freshman year and she had finished eighth grade. Her hands were always clammy and she had really bad allergies. Don T. got with her soon after I did.

Glackity, twas Callie Quick!!! As she hugged me I hoped she didn't remember the incident, accident, embarrassment. Brain "Fuck whiskey dick, this girl still could not give me an erection." And there was Mya; she probably thought about it, but nonetheless showed affection to me as well. Still thinking... "She really has let herself go since joining Boxa Junk." It basically was a Dispatch/OAR cover band. Drunken girl after drunken girl showed me affection in front of Christy; it was some kinda dementia convention. At that moment I noticed "Hey! There aren't any balloons at this party!" No one even acknowledged Christy. People still thought it was just some social experiment. I felt bad but didn't care. I was too caught up making my rounds, being mobbed by just about everyone I wanted to see. The instant you arrive at a party where a lot of people are excited that you are there, nothing else matters. If you could look outside of yourself and see yourself you would say, "Damn, I matter. People actually give a fuck about me," even if it is alcohol induced. High school can be so unrelenting with disappointment that you need to savor those seconds. I don't want to be the "just like live in the moment, man" guy, but everyone has their quirks that make them remember they are a human who is alive, on earth. At least I think people do. Whoaaaaaaaaa serious interlude; sorry if that was shitty. I am just justifying how I neglected my girlfriend most of the night in all honesty, so you can discard anything I said above, unless you found it to be satisfactory.

Christy grabbed on to me as I went around high-fiving, hugging/kissing girls, holla holla holla all on my coattails. I turned to her and she just continued to smile, but now it looked ridden with frustration. Cerebellum "Pillllllarrrsss, ah-e-ohhh pillars of treachery it's Dick Degrassi!!! What a world class piece of shit he is. Earlier in the year he wasn't allowed into a party so as I stood in the doorway I sprackled, "Hey Dick, I'm gonna go back into the party now, back into the party Rich, so what you gonna do tonight?" He then proceeded to tell me that he was going to throw a grenade at my face, I laughed and returned inside. I don't think anyone prior to that or since has ever told me they wanted to throw an explosive, specifically a grenade in my direction. As I was thinking of that, Christy had disappeared with Mya and some of the other girls.

I can't stay focused, Dick is at it agoon. He was all over Joyce, a girl who when she smiled looked like she had one tooth, prompting me to nickname her "A tooth." Flash flood to tomorrow where Dick calls Hogman to yell at him about an alleged rumor involving him and Joyce. "Yo is this Hogman? You tellin' people Joyce gave me dome?!?" Hogman could only moan, "Domeeee? What are you talking about?" "Ball sack!" I said to myself as I re-entered the present because I couldn't find C. I didn't like the idea of girls in my grade going off with her because they would try to get her so fucked up to the point where she would be a drooling mess. Guys were less inclined to do such things, unless they wanted me to go systematically psychotic on them. I ripped some shots to take that edge off like movie stars do. I looked for Hogman and Mike; they would at least be a distraction from my agitated state. I notice that Hogman was sauced, but not as bad as the time he was crawling around on the ground at my house with a sheet draped around him claiming, "I'm the whole movie _Gothika_!" Hogman drank about four times in all of high school, each time with me.

Christy wandered through the front door and I immediately ask her where the fuck she had been. The odors coming off her were a combination of vodka and lavender. Not as appetizing as advertised. She leaned on me and burrowed her head into my shoulder and in her patented cute and high-pitched voice jumbled, "Mya I drank with Mya drank and the girls in her car and we did drink like like like uhh I dunnoo five shots no five shots, I'm fine, I swearrr." I told her that she drank too much and she needed some water and Christy refused. "You weren't paying any attention to me, those girls were all over you and you were ignoring me, you rather talk to everyone but me." Fuckity fuck, my actions definitely indicated this! I apologized to put out the fire. Christy sat on the stairs with some others and I went back downstairs to the party. I don't know what happened to her for the twenty minutes I was downstairs, but she wasn't on the stairs anymore because people kept telling me that she was looking for me. I halfheartedly ascend the stairs to find my girlfriend, who most likely was passed out somewhere from hitting her head on the toilet. Maybe later she was to draw up the blueprint for the flux capacitor.

Upstairs on the third floor and I was met by Maven Woo, who had a lot of hate in his heart. He lifted a lot of weights and in the few classes I had with him he frequently told me how much he hated everyone. His sister was in Christy's grade and they were best friends on and off, so he felt that he was her protector or something. Behind Maven, Christy was passed out on the bed crying, talking about how embarrassed she was. Maven decided to turn it into a _General Hospital_ episode. "Don't come in here, I got it, she's not doing well!!!" and "I'm like this girls brother, I'll take care of her!" All that was missing was "I think we're losing her!" What a joke. "Maven my man she is ok, she just drank too much." Maven continuously insisted that he was her brother and he had the situation under control. At this point I was considering stabbing him with a penknife, if only I had one. I gave him thumbs up and sat next to Christy on the bed. Everyone left the room. I noticed we were in the guest room, which was adorned with drab earth tones and seemed more similar to a Holiday Inn than a guest room at someone's suburban home. Christy wanted to make out. I attempted to explain to her that she was not in any shape to do so. She whined that I didn't like her anymore, so I grabbed and kissed her stupid drunken face. She sat up and I suggested we go into a different room. Agreement, although I don't think her eyes were open at this moment. Mine sorta were. We made our way from the guestroom to Bryan's room. It had been a long night, and seemed to be winding down with melodrama, but the night STARTS here.

Bryan's room had pictures from skateboarding magazines taped everywhere and the only other aspect I can recall is that he had an exorbitant amount of clothes in his closet. We were sloppily necking with her on top of me. She struggled to get her shirt off so we left it on. Ryan barged in, in an attempt to save his room. "Ahhh not in my bed!" and abruptly leaves. At this point we just continued kissing until Hogman walked in. "Uhhh whoops," and did a spin move out of the room. Christy didn't feel that great and needed consoling. She had drank too much and probably was going to blow chunks, maybe not, but she probably should.

Meanwhile in the room across the hall, apparently Chris White, a junior known for being shifty and who had a knack of finding out about every party **ever,** was in there with a junior girl named Margaret Manzano. They were having sex and it was Margaret's first time, so sometimes, but not always that can be a mess. Right after they had sex, Chris White put the bloody condom on a piece of computer paper and as the door began to open he jumped out the window. Legendary leaps. The undisclosed person who opened the door had found Margaret standing there, cold, naked, bleeding. The story was confirmed later that week when we returned to school from Christmas break.

That had already happened by the time I walked Christy to the bathroom to witness potential energy turn into a potential throw-up. Ever pull the trigger to get back on the horse? The toilet was parallel to the bathtub, which I was standing right in front of. As Christy was about to go to her knees to up-heave, she incidentally pushed me backwards into the tub. My head rattled against the tile wall. She jumped to her feet. "Oh no, oh no, I'm so sorry are you ok? I didn't mean to." I sat for a second and closed my eyes tightly so I didn't yell at her/lose my shit. I quickly got back to my feet. "Ok, we're going home, I don't know how, but I'll figure it out." Out of the room to think of what to do, I saw Mike getting shaved by some random girl at the party. She was applying shaving cream to his face as he said things like, "Ohh that's good, latherrr it up." Mike was getting pleasure out of this, somehow sexually. Hogman usually shaves between midnight and five A.M. Ryan came over to me and confronted about the bloody condom that was found on a piece of computer paper in his father's office. Ryan had just seen me with Christy in his room, but strangely had reason to believe that it was mine. So that meant I magically had to arrive to the party, hang downstairs for a little bit with and without Christy, then as Christy was drinking with the girls outside somehow introduce myself to Margaret, bawl her in office, jump out a window, return to the party and attempt intimacy with my girlfriend in Bryan's bed. Our conversation didn't last long, but I still don't think he believed it was not me. Ryan was a regular Angela Lansbury all right. I never understood, in _Murder, She Wrote,_ how writing mystery crime novels turned Jessica into some kind of forensics expert. My head hurt so fucking bad. I'm just delaying saying what I did next because it sounded so (any expletive) stupid.

I went back into the guestroom and saw that now Tegan and French were taking care of Christy. She was crying about how I was mad that she pushed me into the bathtub. I thanked Meg and French and grabbed Christy's phone. I walked out of the room and called none other than Jeanne. She answered her phone thinking it was Christy and I told her the situation and if she knew of anyone who could pick us up. Jeanne said that she and her friend Betsy Downes would come pick us up in about a half hour. Bad idea on paper, but EXCELLENT IN ACTUALITY.

Hogman ran around the corner boisterously declaring, "Goinggg to Uconn! I'm going to Uconn to party, you want to come!?!" He never had expressed in his entire high school career he was going to party unless it was Mario Party, and would only mention Uconn as a school he never would want to go to. He was really going to this kid Mike Baba's apartment with a couple gals, which I suppose can front as an entire institution. I told him that I would pass, but to burn that mother to the ground. The ball had dropped somewhere in between everything, but it didn't matter. I just wanted to go home. Christy came down the stairs, I took her hand and we waited outside.

Outside I started to think too much. When Christy would be a senior she probably would be the girl taking care of underclassmen at these types of parties. She went to parties, and drank before knowing me, but everything was at a much decelerated pace. Did I fast-track the innocent owl? I didn't feel guilty; she'll always remember when she had a senior boyfriend when she was a sophomore; positive or negative for her? I just hoped that I'd be able to remember my time with her well into college, but I guess I did. I was getting futuristic nostalgia. I just couldn't let all of this be _only_ a distant memory.

I mentally came back and realized that I had drifted off thinking for the entire time we were outside, not saying one fucking thing to Christy, prompting her to say, "You're so mad at me, I'm sorrry, I just drank tooo much." I wasn't mad at all, I had been there before, and we all have been vulnerable. I was in such deep thought that the solemn silence must have seemed like I was incredibly irate. Whoops. Betsy's car arrived at the front of the house, so I made a concluding statement. "Christy, everything is cool, don't worry, sorry the night didn't turn out better, let's just go home and have a good time there." Christy's mom said it was okay that she slept over after the New Years party. She trusted me, and my parents certainly didn't care.

We got back to my house and I thanked the girls as sincerely as my drunken ass would allow. I typed the code into my garage five, six, seven, eight enter. Mom and Dad made the code simple for the nights their teenager would be annihilated. Maybe. We got into the kitchen. She didn't want any food or drink. Three hundred seconds later we were standing in the middle of my basement with her arms around me. We hugged for longer than usual. "You see plumcot, I'm not mad at you, everything is apple pie, peach." It didn't take long for this moment to transcend into full-on teenage drunken horniness.

Making out and shuffling across the room we made our way to my couch where Christy pushed me on my back. We continued to kiss and she tore off my pants. My small, cute girlfriend had suddenly turned into a domineering temptress. I lay naked on my couch with my white shirt and black socks on trying to get comfortable. As Christy was about to go down on me I put my knee up to scoot back on the couch and my knee hits her in the mouth. Christy bled and asked me if I had a towel to wipe the blood onto. She answered her own question by saying, "Ohh there's one," but the so-called towel was a pillow. "Fuck, Christy, that's a pillow not a towel." Again she apologized and I was unnerved, but fucking naked. We waited a few minutes and she tried to get me hard for what I thought was another attempt to give me head, but before she did, she took off all her articles.

Instead of giving me a blow job she rubbed against me and did that dirty talking. Let's play a crossword/alluding-to game, so you know what she actually said. It's more civilized that way, I am all about being civilized. Deal with it guy--who wants something vulgar and uninhibited. "Bleep" me; I'm so "curse word-what a pool is," get "opposite of outside" me. C'mon get "expletive with an F followed by ING plus a 2-letter word" me, I'm so horny." I didn't have an idea how to avoid saying "horny." Things had taken such a drastic turn and I didn't know what to do because we both were drunken messes. Christy was a virgin and so I told her in the beginning of our relationship to tell me when she was ready to have sex, but did this count? Christy thinks she lost her virginity on Valentine's Day about a month and half from this moment, but she sort of lost it on this night. She continued to talk dirty and moan. For a virgin she sincerely seemed to know what she was doing, but it was only in increments of ten seconds, not deep penetration, almost in but then not. I could barely get in because we had no lubricant. When I completely stopped trying, she became bothered and urged me to continue, at one point pleading, "C'mon get hard please pleasee please, just get in me, you are so hot I want you soo bad." All I could reply was, "Christy, it's time for bed." I put my clothes back on as she implored we have sex. She was really starting to agitate me; she didn't know what she was doing or saying. "Christy I don't wanna date you anymore if you are going to act like this every time we drink together; you are being fuckin' annoying." I lacked diplomacy in my approach, but it was getting to a point where I just could not deal with her anymore.

I made my way upstairs and Christy asked me a hundred times if I just broke up with her. I took her to the room she was staying in and put her in bed. "No Christy I didn't break up with you, I just was annoyed with you." I kiss her good night and head off to bed. In the morning all she remembered was the last ten-minutes of the night and had insisted that I broke up with her. I kept telling her I didn't and asked her if she remembered anything else from the night. She did not.

Chapter 11

Hadouken!

Winter 2004, Age 17-18

Christy told me she wanted to f*ck me in a school-girl outfit for my birthday. High socks, saddle shoes, pig tails, white shirt, black bra, lip gloss, and of course a plaid mini skirt. I had no objections. Sophie did that for my birthday last year, but it took convincing to get her to do it and she lacked enthusiasm. I'm not a salesman. My friend Tegan and Cat Mason dressed up as school-girls this past Halloween and wore a sign that read "My Name's fantasy." I guess I was more vocal about this than I remember. Without me suggesting this to Christy, she asked me if I would want it as part of my birthday present. I don't turn down birthday presents, even if it's a "Choose Your Own Adventure" book. Don't ever skip school in those books; YOU ALWAYS DIE. This meant that Christy wanted to lose her virginity in a school-girl outfit. Now that is romantic! I have to say I was excited about the idea, and she was showing a side I hadn't seen before. This is my entire fault. I got her into those pervy things.

One time I got her to go down on me while I saw how far I could get in _Street Fighter II_ before blowing a load. I was Chung-Li and I got up to Sagat. If you have never played--he is the second to last boss before fighting M. Bison, the final boss. M. Bison is from Thailand, he wears a cape, and is an asshole.

The days leading up to my birthday, Christy kept asking about what she should exactly wear. Pearls got in the mix and librarian glasses did too. The groundhog wasn't going to see his shadow this year, he was gonna come out to play. Wink. But then he heard potential bad news and decided he better see his shadow. Christy broke the news softly and sweetly. It was time for that part of the cycle and on my birthday it would be about day two. Losing her "virginity" on her period and in a school-girl outfit was a tad too adventurous for the both of us. I didn't have the balls to tell Christy that we sort of had sex on New Years. It wasn't full on or consistent, but more a "start and stop," "I can't get it in" kind of deal. I still was confused about what defined losing your virginity. Was it as soon as my penis had been in her, even for a second? Did she secretly know what happened but wanted the _real_ time to be special? I smell a conspiracy! She was going to wait until we were going to have sex then say, "Gotcha! This isn't our first time having sex, bitch!" This seemed to be an unlikely, but awesome plot line.

The day of my birthday Punxatawny Phil saw his shadow, but I was not scared, he always sees it! Christy gave me a handmade card. She knew I hated store bought cards, unless it totally didn't fit the occasion. I like that. Mike had a "sorry for your loss" card phase. The card was sweet and sincere. She highlighted all of my finer attributes according to her. I felt appreciated and there was even a "love always" at the end. When you get "love always" be wary, there's a high probability that relationship will flame out and someone will end up being hated. I thanked Christy and gave her a kiss in between classes. She told me my other gifts would be at her house and to make sure I got there right after school.

When school ended I took my time at my locker to look at all of the decorations some of the girls had put on it. When I opened it there were a couple of girl's panties. I don't know how those got in there! Sly stinky girls. My locker was easy to break into, but that is impressive. I put them in my backpack with the other collectables I had gotten during the day. Some gifts were written, some edible, some audible. I was thankful, grateful, gleeful. It at least appeared that people liked me. Sometimes you need to be reminded. I made my way to Christy's.

I opened the door to her house and ohhhhh fuck. She was in heels, pearls, knee socks, a plaid mini skirt, a white button down exposing her stomach with a black bra underneath, librarian glasses, and lip-glossed out. She grabbed my hand and we made our way to her room. Christy pushed me on the bed. "Sorry babe I still have my period, but I really want you." How could I be upset? She took my pants off and gave me an epic birthday blow job. Christy would have to lose her v-card for the second time on another occasion.

Valentine's Day isn't that bad! When you're single it isn't hard to get in someone's pants and when you have a boyfriend or girlfriend you are obviously gonna get laid. The ones who hate it act depressed because they don't try to do either and I can understand that. If I didn't have either option I'd hate it too. I try my hardest to have options though because you certainly do feel like shit on V-day if you're sitting alone at home, eating ice cream, masturbating to the sounds of birds chirping.

Christy told me her mom and boyfriend Bill, were going out of town for the weekend and Jeanne would be staying at a friend's house. I went to old Brooksies Pharmacy to stock up on prophylactics. Does anyone use that word outside of health class or uncomfortable parents preaching safe sex? So was Christy going to lose her V-card on V-day? HAHAHA, how does she get in these situations? I went to the florist and said to the girl at the counter, "Set-it up." She made an arrangement of orange roses with a pink one in the middle. I don't think I had seen that combo before. Oh she SET IT UP.

As I walked up to the house I saw a guy outside who I hadn't seen before. This must have been Bill. It was retarded how much the guy looked like Michael Moore, although he was wearing a bandana and not a baseball cap. Only Christy's mother was in the kitchen, the first room to the right of the living room. I felt weird about having condoms in my pockets and flowers in my hand. "Ohhhhhhh those are beautiful, CHRISTY!! A boy has brought you flowers!!!" Christy was upstairs getting changed, so I continued to talk to her mother. "So Bill and I are going out of town for the weekend. You're more than welcome to stay here as long as you want. I hope you kids have a great time this weekend. Anything _special_ planned?" "Thank you; that's nice of you to say that. Of course I have special things planned for your daughter." I just realized she basically just gave me permission to f*cking f*ck her f*cking daughter. Sorry for the expletives but I was a bit shocked at her consenting comments. Maybe I'm insane, but what the hell did she think we were going to do with an empty house over Valentine's Day? Christy stormed down the stairs, loved the flowers, and kissed me. BIG TIME, as Mike would say.

Christy's mother and her boyfriend waved a final goodbye and good luck and then left for the weekend. We immediately went upstairs, turned The Cure's album _Disintegration_ on and undressed each other. I picked Christy up, put her on her back, and we started to kiss and such. She told me she wanted to be on top, and I had no problem with that. I actually prefer to be on the bottom. She rode me for a distance into _Disintegration_ until we both had cum. She didn't seem like a virgin...

Chapter 12

Ms. Kylie

Spring 2004, Age 18

Miles Hunt was a menace. He introduced me to Kylie Clark—the girl who was my girl on the side during the latter part of my relationship with Christy. He got me in that trouble. Miles didn't mean to. He wanted Kylie for himself, but he was merely her driver to school. I had been friends with Miles since middle school on and on (through the sands of time). We did backyard wrestling together yonder years ago and he was in the After Detentions Done (ADD) and ADHD (the sequel) video series too; even more Jackass-esque ocean fronts. Hey, you want to know his character names in RCW? Please say "Yes." As Maniac Miles, who really didn't differ from himself in real life, he had "She's a maniac" as his theme song. This prompted the announcers to always say "there she is!!!" during his entrance to the ring. Also there was Hangman Hebner—an Englishmen who hung/whipped people with his belt and Jap-a small blonde Japanese man who wore black shorts and could not open his eyes. Jap was my tag team partner when I was Action Jackson (there is a Carl Weathers movie of the same title).

Miles was always getting in trouble, he never said anything politically polite or proper or remotely sensitive. He was a funny fuck though. I liked when he ran up to a group of teenage girls yelled something at them and proceeded to show them his ass and slapped it. They were mortified. He always talked about his bear he'd ejaculate into named "Crusty." He once got maced by a bunch of goth kids he was harassing.

Senior year we were reacquainted. He would always put this Maroon Five song on when I got in his car and say things like, "Relax babe, this our song." Sentimental and sensitive, huh, ha, huh, who are you? It was during this song he began to tell me about this sophomore he fancied that he had been driving to school. Kylie Clark. He told me he was going to bring her out this weekend. Miles lets me know he was coming over. I wailed on my guitar. I was practicing my rendition of "To Catch the Wind" by Donovan aka Bob Dylan's bitch in the 1963 documentary Don't Look Back. I was belting out every lyric, passionately playing, not knowing that Kylie and Miles were standing right behind me the entire time. When I finished Miles said, "Nice song you fucking loser." Accurate evaluations always lead to embarrassment. I turned around and there she was. My heart bled through my shirt, showing my emotions, but mostly I just felt like I was holding my dick in my hand. I stood up to introduce myself, ignoring Miles and softly shook Kylie's hand. "Nice to meet you, wow, interesting introduction, I hope you enjoyed that because I feel like an idiot." She said, "Hiii, I'm Kylie, don't! That was soo good, I really enjoyed it!" Already I wanted to fuck this girl, I'm a bit sick.

Even at sixteen, Kylie had a young face, with innocent, big brown eyes that did not match her lean and curvaceous body. She dressed casually, usually short shorts and a T-shirt since I only knew her during warm weather, but still she looked damn damn damn. Kylie easily could have looked salacious, worn little mini skirts, tank-tops that made her () pop, but she didn't need that shit. She could cover up and still make you want to () her against a wall in the house of fun. She had legs you see in a shaving commercial, this means they were silky. Her hair everywhere must have melted off. Sooooo smooth. Her tasties were perky and perfect. I didn't really know what to do with them visually and eventually physically (34C). I gotta stop giving bra sizes out, it's really not cool. Her ass was incredibly slappable/grabable. Other girls said she had a "bubble butt." Long brown hair, lightly tanned skin anyone would want to lick, red lips that seemed only possible to attain after eating a cherry lollipop. Objectify objectify, too tempting to not do, but what's the critique of my comments? Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, she also had an infectious laugh and her smile made me sulk—it was so much more sincere than the same and plain smiles in the streets.

I got Miles to give me her aim name, but only to contact and not court, although she did type "Smiley face, smiley face, smiley face." over and over when I asked for her number and expressed overall interest in her. She didn't have a cell phone, but her own personal land line in her room, which was a principle part of our relationship. Her message was a combination of the part in that Chingy song where he goes "like thurrrr, like thurrr" or something and then Kylie would interject and say "Yo it's Kylie, leave a message." What a laugh. After she gave me her number I asked if she wanted me to call her later that evening and once again "Smiley face, smiley face, smiley face".

LATER THAT EVENING: she laughed a lot, so did I. We both liked Seinfeld, I told her I had all of the DVD's bootlegged. We made a plan to watch them together, one of the many things we had decided to do as a cohesive unit. She asked me if I was still dating Christy, which I was and I have no justification for lying except in the back of my brain I knew in eight months I would be leaving for the University and that would be it. I made a conscious choice and inside my head I rejoiced, I was completely liberated from societal norms and sensitivities. Liberated huh, I guess I am Algeria trying to gain independence from French Colonization. Now more succinctly, "No, we're not dating anymore, we broke up." It was a choice all right. This was going to take a lot of effort to balance both girls, but I was looking forward to trying. We had decided to hang out on Friday night. It was Tuesday and we talked Wednesday and Thursday night too, each time reminding each other that Friday night was almost in reach. When Friday had come, I did not, I picked her up and we went back to my boneyard and kept it simple—making out the majority of the time with her straddling me and me feeling her up. The first time we had done anything of significance was during lunch time during the school week.

We had devised a plan to sneak off campus during lunch (closed campus policy) and go back to her house to have a tea par-tay. The plan: both of us buy food for the security guard and meet at my Jeep. She didn't know where I parked my car, so I moved my car in front of the soccer fields with other cars that were next to other cars. THEY ALL HAD WINDOWS AND TIRES. I spaced out while I waited for her, anticipating the love in the afternoon. Knock on the glass--ahhhh unlock the car and there she was, I was slightly startled. "Helllo Kylie", "Heyy you" and now we're holding hands like couples do. I drove out of the parking lot with ease as Kylie acted nervous about getting caught. She told me she doesn't normally do things like this and that she had math in an hour. I didn't care. I just wanted to get back to her house. The sketchiness excited me, and I have to admit it always did/does. We made our way "up the stairs to her apartment, her parents weren't home to find us out," wait that's definitely a Ben Folds lyric from the song "Brick." She actually had a house and that song isn't relevant—it's about how Ben got his girlfriend pregnant and they had to get an abortion. Whoops.

Her room was huge, fully furnished with couches, a bathroom, even a bed, lamp and nightstand. We went and sat on her bed and started to make out, I took her shirt off and undid her pants. I asked her if everything was all right. She then slipped her pants off all the way and put my hand between her legs. And now I have to stop because it's time to take Kylie back to math class; her teacher is "nutso" and gave detentions for tardiness. She didn't want me to stop, but she didn't want to be disciplined (in school) either. Kylie told me later that she couldn't stop laughing in class and felt tingly; her classmates noticed she looked flushed and had a certain glow about her. Later she said "Hey mister, that was the hardest forty-five minutes to sit through everrr!", but she wasn't mad, mostly just feeling the effects of almost having a full-blown orgasm minutes before math.

The next couple weeks we continued to hang out under strange circumstances. She started to sneak out late at night, sometimes during the week to hang out with me, but mostly blow me in my car in discreet locations around town. I took care of her too. Her personal land line came in handy because her parents couldn't hear it ring, but sometimes Kylie couldn't either. She told me she would sleep with it next to her head in case I called late night, but that I should call multiple times because she can't always hear it in a deep sleep. She was a fuckin' cutie.

I decided that one A.M on a Thursday during a school week was a great time to take the virginity of your secret 16-year old girlfriend. At this point I was taking full-advantage of dating two sixteeners simultaneously. C'mon, don't judge what brought me joy. You try dating two hot people at once in high school, or if you have you know how exhilarating the thought of being caught is. Later in life—not so cool because then you ruin marriages and children's lives, that's lame. I could not take the smug grin off my face at school, I was so proud of myself, plus your mood seems to be slightly elevated by getting laid everyday, or at least getting a blow job while driving, everyday. No more gloating says the man in the crowd with no prospects and no job who is beating off to the sounds of glass shattering and dogs barking.

In the beginning of the infidelity I thought Christy would have killed me, probably with a poem and a piece of glass. But I can't tell you how it ends yet. That's just bad storytelling. After someone told Christy that they saw me talking to Kylie Clark in school we began to play this game: pretend to not know each other, but still interact with eye contact or incidental/on-purpose contact in the halls. We would bump into each other in the hallways and say "Watch where you're fuckin' going." One time I threw an apple at her drink in the cafeteria, spilling it all over the place and she yelled, "Who the hell do you think you are?" I responded by saying, "I don't even know your name, NO ONE DOES!" and sketch outta town. We were having a superb time! Rumors flew. Kinda like in middle school when I told Kelly Eliot, a girl Hogman liked (but later despised) that he eats flowers. Somehow this circulated all around school to the point where everyone asked Hogman, "Do you eat flowers?" He still resents me saying that.

Kylie knew I liked it when she curled her hair, wore her blue librarian glasses, and light pink bra she would expose the straps to. When I picked her up she asked me if we were going to just chill in my car, or go to the playground or the golf course, or this park surrounded by the woods. I said I had a surprise; she got all excited, put her cheek on my shoulder and grabbed my hand, placing it between her thighs. I rubbed her inner thigh as I drove to the sounds of Radiohead's album Kid A. As I drove, I fingered her; she had an exceedingly tight box, as hairless as ever. It got the right percentage wet. I'd rather have physical evidence of girl sap on my hands than trying to juice a bag of dirt if the percentages are to be skewed in any one direction (dry/wet). She softly moaned. It seemed genuine. Her mouth opened wide and face squished up. At this moment I realized how great of a driver I am, despite having hit two deer and having a hit and run on my record. It is really difficult to focus on driving when a girl or lady or Labrador is orgasming in the seat next to you. Now that is non-fiction seriousness.

We arrived at my house about twenty minutes after I picked her up and immediately skipped upstairs. I led her into my parent's bathroom fully equipped with dual sinks, a shower, and large bathtub that had eight jets. I figured she'd want something memorable, at least more romantic than giving me a blow job at a construction site for what was to be an assisted living facility for those with Alzheimer's.

I dimmed the lighting and lit some candles. Sure call me a queer, but I got class! Although, I don't think any of my queer friends light candles around a tub before turning it into a big sex bowl. I ran the bath water and we undressed each other. "Is it interesting that I have a lot of chest hair, but none on my ass?" She told me that it was interesting and I noticed the defined tanning marks where her bra and panties were. I liked them and didn't know why. We both got in and made out, groping one another in the warm water. Kylie was on top of me, with her body rubbing against mine. Romance is relative, but for me this was romantic, especially considering how disgraceful some of my sexual experiences had been. MMMM boy likes bath sex.

Old women's romance novel: In a silver-tongued transition, I inserted my penis into her quivering vagina without a condom and began gently fucking her. I saw her pink tongue as her mouth opened wide and she began to become louder, louder, louder, ohhhhhhhh ahhhhhh ohhhhh. Her vagina tightly gripped me, kind of like her vagina trying to confirm the fact I was taking her virginity. I felt her getting wet in a tub full of water, I must have been doing something right! Cum and water, water and oil...this is the reason. As she rode me in the water I decided to fuck harder and harder so as to prove myself. She didn't seem to mind because now she was definitely sounding like girls in pornos being bawled. I wouldn't know though, I don't watch porn. Kylie told me to cum because she had, so I gave it to her for five more minutes until I pulled out and came on her belly. Romanticism must be followed with a crude act! I should have gone in the water, I'm a shit head. I wonder what Christy was doing right now, probably watching _Lord of the Rings_ and eating ice cream.

We sat in the tub with her head on my stomach until the water got cold. It was time to take her home. On the drive home we held hands and continued to listen to Kid A, I realized that it is really jazz influenced! "Idioteque" practically gives me a hard-on, plus I edited my first amateur porn to it, oh memories. We had a long kiss and hold before she broke back into her home. The next day at school we pretended we didn't know each other, something that seems socially fucked, but I found to be a real mark of achievement. I had a mistress!

Chapter 13

Dr. Fang

Spring 2004, Age 18

Hogman's sister Kacie was having her end of the year dance recital. Kacie really wanted me to go, so I was there. Girl's dancing? HELL YEAH. It wasn't really like that. Most of the girls were in elementary or middle school. The routines towards the end were for the big girls though and any hotness those routines contained was sucked out by the sixty something year old dance instructor incorporating and prominently featuring herself in the dances. Self uhhhgranddddddizing. I thought that's what my night was-going to my dear friend Kacie's dance recital. I was going to Canada in the morning for my auntie's seventieth birthday bash, Christy was at Relay for Life—the cancer charity walk that goes on all night, and my mistress Ms. Kylie had plans of her own. Everyone was doing their own things, grand. When the recital ended we congratulated Kacie and gave her flowers. She had a huge smile on her face. So did Hogman, and so did I. This was expressed in a picture we took almost immediately following the recital. The mood soon changed, at least mine did. My cell phone didn't have service in the recital. I didn't know this, and all of a sudden my brick phone was beeping uncontrollably. The piece of shit finally caught up to the amount of messages I had received. I said, "Oh shit," like I usually did and "I think something bad happened in my family, guys." I always think that when I get an absurd amount of messages. Everyone turned to me and said, "What?" I didn't mean to get dramatic, but I knew _something_ had to have happened.

My cell phone worked from a small spot on a four foot concrete wall I climbed. The messages were all from Christy who was crying/screaming/demanding I call her back instantly. There also was one message from Kylie, who calmly said, "I got a weird call from one of Christy's friends. Give me a call when you get this." Hmmm, I decided that I better call her first. She was more rational and easier to explain things to. The mistress always is. I got through to Kylie. "What is going on?" She told me that someone called her from Relay for Life asking a lot of questions about me and her. I didn't have much to say, except "How did this come up? Why did they call you? What did they ask?" Someone in Christy's camp out group for Relay asked Christy if she was still with me, Christy said she was and the guy asked if she knew I hung out with Kylie Clark. That was news to Christy. The guy was friends with both Kylie and Christy. He told her he thought that I was dating Kylie. Fuck. Kylie came with the statement-question. "So things weren't done with you and Christy were they?" I needed to ooze honesty and dodge at the same time. "Things got really confusing, I like you a lot, but I couldn't break things off with Christy easily. It was too hard... because she had gotten so attached, but I like you and she wouldn't have taken it well... sooo I kept you secret and I like you, not her." Fuck.

Kylie somehow understood and wondered what I was going to do. I didn't know. I liked Christy, I cared about her a lot, but Ms. Kylie was fucking awesome. She was low-key, chill, and didn't care if I didn't give her a ton of attention. My parents liked Kylie a lot more than Christy and they were pretty much the only people in my life who knew she was in my life. Obviously Hogman knew too. He contended the whole time that Christy would MURDER me if she ever found out. Homicide has serious consequences in our society; good thing. Only outsider in my life who knew was Rick Franken, who ran into us at a gas station once. He came over to my car and introduced himself. He was awful smug in his introduction. He even winked at me; he was also the waiter when I had my dinner with Christy, her sister and father after _that_ whole thing. BUT I thought that was it for people in "the know."

Everything was fine with Kylie, but what was I going to do about Christy? I needed to answer questions to problems that exist, fast. I decided to delay calling Christy back. I was curious which one of Christy's friends called Kylie. It obviously wasn't the guy who brought it up in the first place because he knew Kylie and Kylie didn't know the person who called her. I needed to think of a plan of action. I got a bite to eat with Hogman to ponder. The Decision go to Relay for Life. Hogman disagreed strongly, once again worrying about my personal safety. He did have a point. There may have been a bear trap being set in place if I went there. I got on the horn and called Donald, who I knew was there. On the phone, "Dude, what did you do? I heard Christy is crying and furious with you." I doubted the bear trap theory. I debriefed the soon-to-be Westy man. He told me to come to Relay and that he would protect me if anything went down. He was drunk and his shift was coming up to walk. I officially told Hogman I was going to Relay and was going to run until Christy talked to me. I thought that's what John Cusack would do.

When I arrived at Relay I was met in the parking lot by ten people who all told me to stay away from Christy. People called me names, I just took it. "SHE DOESN'T WANT TO SEE YOU!!!" SHE DOESN'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU!!!" "JUST GO HOME YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!!!" What was I supposed to say? I told everyone to get out of my face.

I donated twelve miles and told some of Christy's friends that I wouldn't stop running until she talked to me. I found Donald and he was really fucking drunk. Does your state of mind matter if you are still donating time, money, and effort for cancer? I didn't disapprove, but a lot of other people in Donald's group did. I told Donald how much I was running and he responded, "I'll run with you man!!!" What a friend. As we began running not walking, we passed a lot of teachers we had. I yelled, "Down with Urban Sprawl!" and Donald, who had his corduroy jacket wrapped around his neck was saying, "We're running for Corduroy Nation!" Both I found to be acceptable causes to be running on top of cancer and Christy. I hadn't run on my foot since having surgery on it a few months earlier and no one was running because it was a cancer WALK. I hadn't anticipated trying it out this night, but it was as good a time as any, maybe. I had adrenaline working on my side, anyway. I was starting to breathe heavily. Our teachers grew curious as to why we were running and we just stuck by our story--Urban Sprawl, Corduroy Nation. More and more people noticed that these two maniacs in jeans and skateboarding shoes were sweating their balls off and hadn't stopped running for over an hour. After the tenth mile my inner thighs became raw and red. Christy got word that I wouldn't stop running until she talked to me. One of her friends caught up with Donald and me and told me to meet Christy in the parking lot. I stopped running and realized I was drenched and disheveled and Donald reeked of liquor. What a champ.

I walked over to the parking lot, andddd the legs are gone, but I only sort of had the legs before I ran anyway. "What the fuck were you doing?!?" "I was running for you, baby." Christy smiles for a second and tells me she fucking hates me. I apologize and try to tell her that nothing happened with Kylie and I (lie). I only like you (lie), and other untruths. I was in a corner. Christy emphatically stated she didn't ever want to talk or see me again, but I didn't buy that. Before the final walk away and I pleaded she listened for an instant. I tried to appeal to her emotions. Appealing to logic would not have worked at this juncture. She repeated she didn't want to see or talk to me again. I kissed her on the cheek and she walked away. I sat on the curb by myself until I could stand again. I finally had broken Christy's heart.

Chapter 14

Bullet Prom

Spring 2003-Spring 2004, Age 17-18

Before we conclude, I'm going to bullet all the Proms I know because Prom is bullshit. I hope that's not toooooo mean. Some of this predates the last few stories, but once again we are bulleting Prom. Someone needed to shoot Prom, so be happy. I went to three, I'll talk about two.

Junior Prom

  * My first prom.

  * It was in our high school gym.

  * Sophie and I had broken up a month earlier, so I needed a new date. I went with a senior girl named Nicole.

  * Nicole was attractive and in my chemistry class. She asked if Sophie would kill her if she went with me. Sophie went with her new Avon boy, and was in no position to kill anyone.

  * I picked Nicole up to meet her parents and tell them the plans for the night.

  * Nicole was supposed to sleepover at Don T's after the dance because Don T. and Gene both had senior dates as well. All the girls were friends.

  * Nicole had gotten a ton of alcohol. As she's leaving her Mom grabs her bag and shakes it.

  * Her father hears the glass booze bottles rattle and tells me there's a change in plans.

  * "Have her home immediately after the prom."

  * "Yes, Sir."

  * We went to Gene's house to take pictures with the two other couples.

  * I wore all black, black glasses too.

  * I smiled, but it sort of hurt.

  * At the dance the first people we saw were Sophie and her date.

  * Nicole told me to forget it and rubbed up on me all night, she was a great date.

  * We all drove back to Don T's afterwards anyways.

  * Nicole's parents called her; a friend came to pick her up.

  * Don T. and Gene's date tell me after Nicole leaves that she had planned on getting with me.

  * The fifth wheel is not my name.

  * I go home and go to sleep.

Senior Prom

  * I told Christy and Kylie prior to Relay for Life that I wasn't taking them because I wanted to take a senior, but it was really so that neither of them got jealous.

  * Went with Cat Mason. Her brother got me beer for New Years. She was "my fantasy" for Halloween senior year. She let me shoot Hogman and my movie at her father's apartment. I guess I felt indebted? Mike said she looked like a sandal.

  * Jeanne was in our prom group and I went and said hi to her and her mother. She said I looked handsome. Obvs.

  * I had another sixteen oz. plastic flask. This time with tequila; shots time.

  * Everyone got mad at me in the limo for drinking, except one dude from another town who took a shot.

  * They said they would randomly breathalyze. Shut up school administrations.

  * Hogman was at my table! He looked like a magician.

  * I demanded to our waiter that if my prime rib wasn't dripping with blood I didn't want it. Prime rub is for dogs, I wanted a human cut/portion of meat.

  * My date sucked.

  * Camping that weekend sucked.

  * You could be the coolest, the hottest, the hometown hero, and prom will still suck.

Conclusion

Goodbye, Lover

Summer 2004, Age 18

College was coming. Is it time to smear shit on the walls of my town and then at the end find inner beauty in all its people and institutions? Lover, I can't do that. Don't be bitter, baby. That's for old men and amputees. I obviously would have benefited from meeting new people, in a new place, with a new perspective. Through my experiences and interactions, my town felt like a tired old whore. But the new great slate everyone raves about wasn't ready to be written on. I HAD UNFINISHED WALLS that needed to be broken down, but possibly painted over.

Christy and I sparsely interacted the rest of my time in town before I went off to college. I punched Andrew Marsh repeatedly in the face at prom because he made Jeanne cry and that warranted us getting ice cream together. After this encounter, I saw her socially two more times. I will tell you about that soon, I guesssss. The only woman in my life in that summer was Ms. Kylie. Back to those girls in a clack.

Heyyyyy whatever happened to Sophie? She was still dating Avon Jamie and we hadn't talked in over a year. A couple of days before graduation Don T. had a party. Everyone always tried to avoid creating situations where Sophie and I had to be there at the same time. It was widely known we'd had a bad break-up and it was uncomfortable for many people. We shared friends and by the end of high school she hung out with Gene and Don T. more in a weekend than I had all year. She was in my senior science class. What a lucky ice cream cone that made me. During SATs we ended up sitting next to each other. There was random seating. Improbable, awful, impossible. I bombed and had to take the test again.

Most of senior year I wasn't entirely done dealing with Sophie. I had Resentment and was always on offense. I wished the worst, for her. But now how, but now How, but now HOW could I hold onto these feelings, I had committed more than a couple unforgivable acts. We should be bonding, having an iced cola together. Don T. asked me if everything was going to be snickity snakes if we both were at his party. I told him to bring a bow and arrow just in case.

At the party I had a beer or five and approached Sophie while she was talking to one of her friends. Her friend slowly wilted away. "Hello, Sophie." "Hi," and we both took a deep breath. How long has it been since we have spoken and how are you, what are you doing in the summer and next year was the initial gist. I noticed everyone began to watch our tiptoeing conversation. Not egg shells but calm and courteous. I asked if she wanted a beer. She said "No," but followed me to the garage. In the garage we talked some more and I even made her laugh. We both felt relieved that we were talking. She told me that I was a very important part of her life; she would never forget me and always would have a place for me in her heart. It seemed hallmarky moo, but it also seemed honest. I believed her. She had grown up a lot. I had too. At the end of the night I walked her to her car and she gave me her cell phone number on a piece of paper. She assumed I didn't have her number anymore. I did. We decided we would further make amends and get some tea or a sandwich soon. We embraced. "It was nice meeting you." She smiled, told me to shut up and got in her car. I told Kylie I still didn't want us to be public because I cared about what everyone was thinking and their judgments were biting and accurate.

I truly didn't want to deal with people's pathetic questions and comments. I didn't want to give explanations or insight. I wanted to be left alone by all of the assholes whose reason for conversing with me was to gain access to information. That meant no more parties. I was going a couple thousand miles away and it would all be over soon. High school wore me out, I was exhausted. I needed a tropical drink from a pineapple. By summer it was clear to me who my friends were and who wasn't worth a piss, kiss, poem, party, or phone call. I knew not being in the open upset Kylie on some level, but she enjoyed spending time with me enough to never say anything. She was a sweet, sweet girl. Kylie deserved to be the apple and not the dried apricot of someone's eye and affection. This **I** couldn't give it to her. Senior year I thought norms and consequences, other people's feelings, headaches, and heartaches didn't matter. Me me me me. What a wonderfully unconventional, unstressed relationship I had with Kylie, and if I hadn't ignored, I hadn't said, "Me me me me me," I would never have gotten to know her. What was worse for me: knowing Kylie, treating her not as she deserved, and breaking Christy's heart, or not knowing Kylie and probably still breaking Christy's heart? Either way I disappointed myself mildly, but not monumentally. They _did_ like me. It wasn't as if I was abusing an animal that relied on me to feed it and bathe it so it had to take the abuse.

I DID take Kylie on one "date." We went bowling and there was no one in the bowling alley. It had been yucky all day, but the rain had stopped. There was one old guy behind the counter who gave us our shoes and we went to a far lane. It was so fucking quiet that when we conversed we even spoke softly. "Kylie, wanna know why there's no one here?" She turns to me and joked, "Why, please tell me why!?!" "I rented the place out; you should know that about me, I'll do anything to impress a lady." "Sure." She turned back around and bowled a gutter ball. I did the next obvious move and got behind her to help. Kylie told me how much of a gentleman I was, which I already knew.

After bowling one game, we decide to go to the mini golf place next to the bowling alley. One couple is finishing up their round as we are about to begin. Kylie goes,"Geeeez what is going on here, we're the only one's golfing! This is so embarrassing." I didn't claim to rent this place out; I attributed its being empty to A. Wet conditions and B. Poor obstacles? We both complained, "They don't even have a windmill!" When I play mini I always make everyone pick a golfer to play as. I'm always José María Olazábal, a Spaniard who is known for having chronic foot problems. Kylie didn't know any golfers so I made her be Craig "The Walrus" Stadler. We had a great time and on the car ride home I apologized that I hadn't taken her out more the last bunch of months. She smiled and said it was all right. She put her head on my shoulder on the way home and we made a plan to see each other a few more times before I left a week later for college.

A few days before my final night and half day, I saw Christy. I was on lunch break at the video store and got a text message from her that read: "What r u doing tnite? I thght maybe we could get ice cream later..." I was surprised and not exactly sure what to say. I wasn't much of a texter at this juncture. NOW I LOVE IT! I said something back and she beeped me back, saying she'd come by my house in her new car after I got off work. I knew she had a new car because daddy had gotten in my face about it in the supermarket. At the market the guy sought me out. "Hey, what's going on, you off to college soon?" Unenthusiastically, "Yeah," and then immediately back, "You see Christy's hot new car? It's a white convertible Mustang, great car, youuu uhh still drivin' that old jeep of yours?" I wanted to punch him the face. "That's awesome, yeah I love my car, good for her, I gotta get going now, I'll cya."

Christy came over at eight in her new car, I was terribly impressed! I always am with new toys. She wanted me to drive it. I hopped in the front seat with her father in mind and slammed on the gas to the end of the cul-de-sac, sharply turned around and flew back the opposite way. The breaks screeched as Christy told me to continue driving because she liked when I drove. In the car we held hands. I purposely kept some of my ice cream on my face and Christy wiped it off. We saw people from our school who seemed utterly shocked to see us together. This was why I didn't go out in public all summer. Demons everywhere!!!

We went back to my house and into my basement. Nothing new and original hurr: Christy sat on my lap and we made out. One of my hands slipped down her pants and the other up her shirt. Familiar. Fun until suddenly my mom yelled down to me that I had a phone call on the land line. "Uhhh tell them I'll call em' back!" "It's your college roommate!" "Holy shit, amazing." I hadn't talked to him yet, I really had to take this call and at least say something. Christy hopped off my lap, I gathered myself, and still out of breath answered the phone. "Hey I hate to do this, but this is awful timing, I have a lady friend with me right now, can I call you tomorrow?" Chris, my future roomie and great friend, doesn't take any offense to this and gave me his cell phone number. "That's my roomie! He sounds normal, which is a relief!" Christy was not nearly as enthused and had all her clothes buttoned or back on. And then the "I should get going" comments came. Was that a fuck up on my part? More just a mood killer. I walked Christy to her new car and kissed her one last time. Tumultuous.

I found two girls, each completely different, and I had that chemistry with both of them that few find. Say, "Fuck you." Thanks. My heart bled and broke and it resulted in me getting these two girls. I won't say, "I don't know how it happened, I'm sooo lucky!" I know how I did it. I'm not going to act like I don't.

I vowed to not go to sleep my last night, leading into the next day when I would leave promptly for my flight at 1 P.M for a 3 P.M flight. I left about ten days before anyone else I knew did for college because I was going to school across the country and needed to get situated. The night of August the twelfth and afternoon of the thirteenth were all that my bubble had left before it blew up. I had to get in the goodbyes with people who had been pieces of me in the last twelve months. I thought of how to spend the time. I thought Hogman, Christy, Kylie, and then Hogman again. I had time earlier in the week to part with other not-as-importants and these three were the only ones left who I had energy for. I was so tired all week, heart and head, they consumed all of the energy.

Schedule

August 12th, Last night: Hogman

August 13th, Last day, 8-10 A.M: Christy

10:30 A.M-12:30 P.M: Kylie.

12:45 P.M-1 P.M: one last bye to Hogman and his family.

Hogman and I went to the drugstore and got some energy drinks we had always wanted to try. We stopped by my video store to get one last free rental: _Billy Hatcher and the Giant Egg_. We had always joked about the game and now we were playing it. There wasn't much of a joke left after playing, the game was painful to play, watch too. It just didn't make any sense. There were these evil crows Billy had to bring to justice with these special eggs he would use and blah blah, we turned the game off. Mike came over to give me _The Manchurian Candidate_ poster that he and Hogman wrote notes on and signed. I didn't even see the new one, but they said they knew I liked the old one. I gave Mike a hug goodbye and he said something probably to the tune of, "I love you dear, you're the best dad ever." The rest of the night Hogman and I watched TV and talked about how much it was going to suck that we wouldn't be able to creatively work together creatively or hang out anymore with ease. The sun started to rise and I decided to make my way down the street to my house to clean myself up before Christy came over. I say something dramatic, Hogman tells me, "Shut up, I'll say bye to you in a few hours." I smile, laugh, and walk away.

Christy's coming, Christy's coming! One more chance for melodrama! Christy arrived and I tried to greet her with a kiss. Instantly, "I have to tell you something." "What's that now?" She has gotten involved with someone else, Jason; a guy that I thought was just one of her friends. Sincerely, "Hey that's fine, if you're happy that's good, but what was the other day then? Were you guys together then? I mean that was _just_ the other day? Not that it matters anyway." "Sorta, but now we're _officially_ together so I can't do anything with you." "I respect that," and then started to make her some breakfast. I made her one of my special egg and cheese sandwiches on toast with ketchup. I wasn't hungry, I just watched her eat. We went upstairs, listened to some records and talked on my bed. She had to go in a few minutes and began to cry. "Are you ok?" She didn't seem to be. I knew she still liked me and was dating Jason out of, well I don't know for sure, but it felt like a forced relationship brought on by a bad year and a bad boyfriend, me. I grabbed her and gave her a hug as she continued to cry. "I'll miss you and if anything ever goes wrong or if you need anything, I'm here for you." We descended the stairs for one final goodbye. We had a heartfelt hug and I made another attempt to kiss her one last time. "I can't." I kiss her hand and say farewell. I watch her walk out the door to her car and drive away.

So yeah, um, well. I was emotionally drained from the Christy episode. My brain pulsated and my vision became blurry on the drive over to Kylie's house. I was starting to feel too much. I didn't want to feel anything, I just wanted to say, "Goodbye, thanks for the memories, lodddy dah." WHY DID EVERYTHING HAVE TO BE SO GOD DAMN DRAMATIC? It was killing me. I really needed Kylie to just exist, not erupt. I got to her house and saw that she made her hair curly, was wearing her librarian glasses I loved, and made sure her pink bra straps were slightly showing. I talked to her parents briefly about what I wanted to go to school for and all my excitements about college. Kylie and I went up to her room and we sat on her couch. "I haven't slept in some time." "You don't look tired." I laughed and thanked her. She handed me a pillow and told me to cover myself if anyone came in the room. "What's that judge?" She unzipped my pants and went down on me. Kylie! Awesome. Not long after, however, Kylie's sister strolled through the door and I quickly put the pillow over my pants. "Kitty!!! Get out of here!" Her name was really Katie, but when Kylie said her sister's name it always sounded like Kitty. Kitty left the room and I removed the pillow. She finished me off and I rolled my eyes. "You **always** do that!" I did. Giggle, giggle, cry. Fuck. I grabbed Kylie and gave her a hug. We told each other how much we were going to miss each other. Both of us, "This sucks." We kissed one last time in her room and she walked me to my car. I rolled down my window and she kissed me again as tears rolled down her cheek.

As I pulled out of her driveway, I was already encompassed by an intense feeling all over my body. It felt like I was shutting down or breaking down. I didn't know if it was overwhelming emotion or illness or sleep deprivation. I continued to drive down the road and my eyes began to shut. Brain: "I can't end in a car crash, that's so fucking cliché. Please no, open your eyes, open open open." I couldn't open my eyes and I ran a red light. I somehow instinctively made the left hand turn I've done more than a thousand times onto the long road that eventually leads to my house. All done with my eyes closed. I heard honking from every which direction and I awoke to my car covering the double yellow. My heart is beating like it never had before, slowly.

I park in my garage and sat in the car still barely having a heartbeat. It was ten minutes until one. I finally get out of my car and went inside to tell my parents I was going down the street to say goodbye to Hogman and his family. I dragged my feet down the street, expressionless. I felt vacant. I felt like a vampire. I knocked on Hogman's door and his family came outside. "Thanks for treating me like family." Hogman's parents hugged me, wished me luck, and told me I was family. They went inside and I had a few last words with Hogman. There were a few jokes and some banter if you will. Hogman and I embraced like best friends do and refrained from saying a last line to each other. My parents pulled up to their house with the car. I walked to it, got in, and closed my eyes. "It's finally fucking over."

