If you've read "The Birthday Suit Club, The Beginning" you know how this all started. If not, then here is a brief recap. I was severely burned as a child which lead to me becoming very reclusive as a teenager.
My sister, Gail, decided that I needed to have more social contacts. When she caught me trying to overhear her telling a friend of hers about a recent episode during which she had flashed her knockers for a bunch of cops and a couple of robbers. She decided that this was an opportunity she could use.
She made a bargain with me to have some of her girlfriends from college come over and tell me their exposure stories in exchange for me letting them into my home.
This may not sound like much to you, but I have endured looks of disgust or pity or revolt since the fire, so you may be able to appreciate what it takes for a teenage boy to risk that kind of rejection from girls.
On my part I agreed with two conditions, one that the lights be kept low to minimize the risk of the girls' reactions and two that I be allowed to write these stories down. Gail agreed provided I ensured that the girls' identities be concealed. I accepted her condition.
I record these stories and I try to write them in the girl's own words. This is Tracey's story.
Looking back on it even now, I still can't believe the series of coincidences that had to take place for this incident to have occurred. The first thing was that it had to be a Sunday when I was scheduled to perform a two-song solo during the church service. Since I don't perform often the odds of all these factors happening together is exceedingly remote.
However, I occasionally did, and for that matter still do, sing or perform in a play at church. I enjoy singing and the people in my church seem to enjoy it also. We, the other people who occasionally perform as well as myself, are sometimes asked at the last minute if say, someone else can't make it. This time though I had been planning to sing for several weeks.
But back to my story. The second factor was that one of the youths had dropped a bottle of orange juice while working in the kitchen during our fellowship breakfast. Our church usually has a fellowship breakfast once a quarter. When you consider that we only have four fellowship breakfasts during an entire year, what are the chances that the breakfast would happened to be the same Sunday I was to perform. I'd have to guess the odds would be fairly small.
Usually when I sing at church I'm confident enough about my preparation that I participate in the service and just come out of the congregation when it my time. However this Sunday I was still a little nervous about the second song so I staying in the fellowship hall to review the words a few more times. This was only the second time I can remember not sitting in the chapel prior to performing.
So here are the factors, one I'm performing a solo, two its the same Sunday as the fellowship breakfast, three I'm too nervous to wait out front like normal. Factor number four, Mrs. Williams, who could dodge rain drops in a thunderstorm, stumbles while carrying the bucket of mopped up orange juice and nails me with the contents. I mean I was drenched.
Nowadays I wish I could have a picture of what my expression must have looked like. It must have been hilarious. But it certainly wasn't to me at that moment. Mrs. Williams was mortified. I was stunned for lack of a better word. And in walks my mother, factor number five.
If mom hadn't come in, I'm sure I would have had someone tell the pastor that I couldn't perform and I would have gone home. However, Mom pointed out that although my clothes were ruined, none of the mess had got on face or hair. She had me go in the bathroom where I removed the still dripping garments. I mean, even my shoes were soaked.
