Part 1 of 2: My First Love
Reclining on my sofa, I watch my pre-pubescent teenage daughter playing on the lawn with several other neighborhood girls, knowing these carefree days are short-lived indeed. I realize that she'll soon be interested in rolling around with boys instead of girls, even if she doesn't want to admit it.
The prospect of having mature discussions with my daughter, of helping guide her through the difficult time to follow, leads my thoughts back to my own sexual awakenings; a curious tale that ends with her miraculous conception at the very moment I discovered the true love of my life.
Not that my amorous activity started out on a high note. My initial experience was with the boy next-door. Not the proverbial, good-natured, wholesome boy next-door, but the far more common pompous jackass next-door. Of course, at the time I thought he was the handsome husband-to-be next-door. This fantasy was painfully crushed when all the bastard had to say the next day was, "Tubby babe like you better learn to swallow, 'cause you got nothing else to offer."
Although I didn't understand at the time what he meant, I knew it was a rejection; and not just any stray dismissal, but a stinging rebuke based solely upon my stocky stature. In retrospect, I should have told my mom, but I never did. Instead, I allowed this single slur to scar my psyche throughout most of adolescence.
Even so, my early high school years were generally enjoyable. I participated in some of the more academic extra-curricular activities. I had my share of friends, all of them female. The closest of these were Lynn and Denise, whom I had known since elementary school. By the time the three of us reached high school, we were a tight-knit trio, sharing our joys, dreams, and sorrows.
The one thing I never shared however was this nagging voice in the back of my mind, "No boy will ever want you." I had even begun to console myself that at least I'd loved and lost; if only once, when an odd request changed the course of my love life, and most likely the rest of my life as well.
It began one Friday afternoon in mid-November of my senior year, when I was walking to the school bus and Billy Drake appeared suddenly at my side.
"Hi, Wendy."
I looked about, as if there might be another Wendy nearby, so surprised was I that one of the athletic crowd would deign to speak to me.
"Hi," I replied tentatively, certain there must be a catch.
Billy's gaze shifted to the pavement before us. "You're eighteen, right?"
"Yes." It was true; I'd legally become an adult just in time to be one of the six or so people in Pennsylvania that favored Jimmy Carter over Ronald Reagan.
"You suppose," Billy half-mumbled, "that I could, uh, ask you to buy me some beer?"
I stopped. My first inclination was to summarily reject the request, but I filed my spite under 'unnecessary' and changed my mind. "Ok," I agreed with a shrug.
Billy's eyebrows shot up. "Cool!" He grabbed my hand and began to lead me in the opposite direction.
"Uh," I muttered. "Where are we going?"
"To my car," Billy replied curtly, as if I was daft not to have known.
After a few paces I realized a jock was really walking with me
and
holding my hand. Not that I had any foolish delusions that I was his girl or anything, but I found myself smiling just the same. I couldn't resist the impulse to grip his hand back.
The instant Billy felt my returned pressure he shook his hand. My spirits sank for all of a second before I heard a dull thud and saw Billy flinch out of the corner of my eye. I turned to search for the source of the noise just in time to see Billy's crumpled athletic jacket slide from his body to the ground.
"Sally was right!" came a voice to my left, beyond Billy. "You are a two-timing prick!" I craned my head from behind my companion to see the speaker. I expect my eyes must have widened considerably as I saw Cindy Pierce.
Cindy's face was so exquisite, her figure so fine, that one could practically hear the crackle of cocks hardening whenever she walked past. One of the upper echelon, she'd have been a serious candidate for prom queen if she'd only paired up with an equally elite athlete, instead of just an ordinary jock. In spite of the accompanying drop in her social status, Cindy had remained Billy's on-again, off-again, girlfriend for as long as anyone could remember.
"It's not what it looks like," Billy stammered.
Cindy crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "Really?"
Billy declined to meet her stare or answer her allegation, opting instead to reach down and pick up his jacket.
The awkward silence got the better of me. "We're just going to get some beer," I said.
Cindy merely tilted her head and smirked.
"Yeah," agreed Billy, standing. "We're just getting some beer for after the game."
Cindy's brow jumped into her forehead. "And you need to hold hands for that?"
"Well, uh, we... " Billy stammered, worse than before.
Cindy sighed as she uncrossed her arms. "I didn't think so." She turned and stalked away.
Billy's gaze remained rooted to the ground as the gathering of chance onlookers slowly dispersed.
"I'm sorry," I finally offered, breaking his trance.
"Well," Billy shrugged. "I think it was about time for our monthly break-up anyway."
For the remainder of our silent walk to Billy's car I kept trying to convince myself that it wasn't my fault that Cindy had dumped Billy, but no matter how many ways I found to tell myself, I couldn't find one way to listen. The initial portion of the ride was more of the same. Neither of us spoke a word until we reached the liquor store.
Billy retrieved his wallet and handed me a twenty. "Get a couple six packs."
I took the bill. "What brand?"
Billy shrugged. "Whatever's cheap."
I felt like public enemy number one walking into FBI headquarters as I entered the establishment. After gaining my bearings, I found the beer cooler, grabbed the cheapest swill I could find and then headed for the counter. All my apprehension was for naught; the old man at the register barely looked at me, let alone ask for my ID.
Back in the parking lot, I opened the car door and set the cans in as far as I could reach before climbing in myself. Only after I'd settled in did I realize that I'd put the beer directly atop Billy's jacket.
"I'm sorry," I said, lifting the cans to the side before attempting to straighten the garment.
"Don't worry about it," said Billy. "This is my last semester in sports anyway." He tossed the jacket in the back seat as if he were tossing garbage into a dumpster.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Billy sighed. "I'm failing second year math.
Again.
