Happy New Year

There isn’t a long span of time between my brithday and New Year’s Eve.  I guess you could say that I was itching to find a little more of the intimacy I had previously found with Bill.  I didn’t have to wait long.

There was a party in the neighborhood for New Year’s Eve.  The usual crew was there, including Bill.  The only problem was that Bill’s not-much-unlike-the-biggest-bitch-I’ve-ever-known was also at the party.  Alcohol flowed.  Considerably more than it should have for a party full of underage drinkers.  For being as young as I was, I already knew my limits and had no intention of reaching them that evening.  Partly because strange things happen to you if you’re the first to pass out and partly because I just needed to see what happened.  Drinking games abounded.  President (or Asshole), 3-man and the like. 

I played a little, watched more.  I fed Bill’s girlfriend liquor.  Not that she needed encouragement.  But I fed her more.  I watched her stumble to the bathroom.  I peeked in to make sure she was okay.  Hammered, but okay.  I knew she was close to being done for the night.  I left her in the bathroom and went to find Bill.

“Hey, The Bitch is in the bathroom, you might want to check on her.”

And with an eye roll he was gone.  He gathered her up and took her grain alcohol infused ass over to his house next door.  I hung around the party a bit longer.  Took a trip to the bathroom myself, but only for natural, not stomach reversal reasons.  There I found something belonging to The Bitch.  Not an opportunity to pass up.

I trotted the item through the yards and over to Bill’s house.  He graciously thanked me for bringing the item over to him.  After a mildly awkward pause, he asked me if I wanted to stick around a while.  It was early and I wasn’t really interested in returning to the party, and I actually felt bad that his night was ruined because The Bitch couldn’t hold her liquor so I said I would stay.

We played a little Nintendo as we were prone to do.  I sat on the loveseat, he on the sofa.  We finished our game and he motioned for me to come sit with him.  I obliged.  And for a while, we just sat on the couch, enjoying each other’s warmth.  Sitting turned to touching which turned to stroking which turned us both on.  We ended up making love on his parents’ couch while his girlfriend was passed out in his bed.  Did I feel bad?  No.  She’s not The Bitch for nothing.

It’s quite possible that I started to fall in love with Bill even though I knew deep down that I would never have him.  There are some things that are meant to be and this just wasn’t one of them.

Before we knew it, midnight was nearly upon us.  We resumed our vertical positions and went outside.  As was common, people were out shooting their guns in celebration.  Bill asked me if I wanted to take a shot.  I said that I would.  He showed me the shotgun and showed me how to hold it.  He warned me that it would kick.  A lot.  I said it was okay.  He decided to stand behind me to help me brace myself.  I have to say that there was nothing like the feeling of being in his arms.

I took my shot and it damn near ripped my shoulder off.  I was sore for a week.  But it was well worth it to spend the time with him, to feel him, to pretend he was mine for just one night.

The real first time

On the evening of my 16th birthday, there was a party.  The party wasn’t in my honor, it was just a coincidence.  I believe that one of my parents dropped me off at the party and knew that neighborhood people would be at the party so I would be able to get a ride home without problem.

Upon arrival, I spotted a friend and asked if I could catch a ride home.  After my ride was secured, I went about entertaining myself during the festivities.  Quite the social butterfly, I made my way around the room, chatting it up with everyone, having a great time, but after a while, I grew tired and wanted to head out.

I located my ride and found that he also was ready to go.  As we were leaving, he put his arm around me and I thought nothing of it because we were friends.  We arrived to his car and he walked me to my door where he kissed me.  I was shocked.  We had been friends for years, more than five, I would venture to say (and at that point, that’s a lifetime), and he had never in the least been anything but almost big brother friendly towards me.

I kissed him back.

As we pulled away from each other, he just stood for a moment and looked at me.  He looked me directly in the eyes.  Maybe he was trying to see my soul.  I still wonder if he knows he was my first real kiss.  But he just stood looking at me for a few moments and I looked back.  We had crossed a line that could not be uncrossed and somehow we knew it and were okay with it.

He opened my door and I slid into the car.  He walked around the front of the car and glanced at me through the windshield.  When he got in the car, I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything and neither did he.  He just started to drive.

As we drove, he reached out to me with his free hand.  I slid a little closer to him.  He rested his hand on my leg.  Closer to home he asked if I needed to get home right away and I told him that I didn’t.  I guess I knew where it was going but I had so much trust in him that he would never hurt me.

We went to one of our favorite hangouts.  It was quiet and open.  He parked and we sat on the back of his car for a while, not really talking, just sitting, enjoying the night air and the almost full moon.  He pulled me in closer and put his arms around me.  For a long time we just sat like that.  At some point we got turned around facing each other and he kissed me again.  Having never been kissed by anyone else, I thought it was the best thing that had ever happened to me.  He was tender and patient, and just, well, just Bill, yeah, we’ll call him Bill. 

He slid off the car and took me by the hand.  We went to sit in the back seat where kissing turned to fondling and fondling turned to sex.  Not sex like with Abe.   Bill went slow with me.  He may have known about Abe, maybe not, but probably did.  He listened to my breathing; he felt me.  If I showed the least bit of discomfort he stopped what he was doing. 

It is to Bill that I truly feel I lost my virginity.  And it is with Bill that I think I first fell in love.  My very good friend, my lover.  I looked at him in a different light after that night, almost with a longing to be touched again.  Our group of friends was so close-knit but yet we kept secrets from each other all the time.  This was one of them.  To this day I would guess that only Bill and I know what really happened on my 16th birthday.

The turning point

By the time I had hit high school, I had never been kissed.  Never held hands, never danced with a boy I liked, never had a boyfriend or a date.  I was still somehow playing the role of little sister/best friend.  Did I have crushes?  Sure!  But again, I was an untouchable.

I watched the other girls flirt and acquire boyfriends but those same techniques never elicited any response coming from me.  I was starting to yearn for the attention other girls got, but it was difficult.  I was only 15 and petite.  I hadn’t yet blossomed.  I was short, my hair was short and I was certainly short in the breasts and hips department.  I was still, basically, the tomboy I had always been.  That gained me the respect and friendship of the guys, but never any romantic interest.

Everything changed forever that summer. 

I attended a party at a local park celebrating a joyous event for a member of our core group.  Our group, along with some of our neighbors and people from school spent the majority of the day in the park.  It was there that I met a guy, we’ll call him Abe, whom I found to be the most attractive guy that I had met to date.  From my years of rejection, I knew better than to even try to grab his attention, so I continuted on with my day.  We all played badminton, volleyball, horshoes and whatever else we could get our hands on.

Because I had put Abe out of my mind, except to occasionally glance at him when I thought he wasn’t looking, I didn’t realize that he was talking to me more than anyone else at the party until it was pointed out to me.  All of a sudden, I felt special.  I felt pretty.  I felt acknowledged.  Abe was talking to me.  Singling me out.  And Abe was 21.

Abe and I chatted on and off throughout the day.  As we wrapped up the party, it was nearing dusk.  We all headed back towards the home of the friend for whom the party was thrown.  A while later, I had to get home.  My house was less than a quarter mile away, but I knew when I had to be inside and chose not to endure the wrath of my parents.

As I was leaving, Abe asked if I would be returning.  Shocked, I said that it would be a little while, but I would, as a formulated a plan on how I could make it work.

I knew that my parents would be going to bed early as they always did and so I planned to sneak out after they went to sleep.  I was tremendously nervous.  Not only had I never snuck out of the house before, but I had surely never snuck out because a boy wanted to see me.

When an amount of time that I considered to be safe after my parents had gone to bed had passed, I got dressed and left.  I walked back to my friend’s house where the party was still going strong.  I spied Abe but didn’t go over to him right away.  I spoke to some other friends and had a drink.  At long last, Abe came over to me.  We chatted like we had known each other for years rather than hours.

After a bit, he asked me if I wanted to take a ride and I said yes.  We hopped in his car and just drove around for a bit.  He pulled into the cemetary that was about a mile away from the party and turned off the car.  It was then that he started making his moves, or as much moves as need to be made on a young girl who was craving attention anyways.

I didn’t protest and I let him do what he wanted.  I lost my virginity to a guy a hardly knew in his car in a cemetary.  Yes, my first sexual experience was statutory rape although I never looked at it in that way until many years later.  He finished before I ever knew what would have been starting and took me back to the party.  I didn’t stick around long.  I just went back home to think about what had happened.

That night was the beginning of a downhill slide for me.  A slippery slope that I just couldn’t get away from.

Young debauchery

I got drunk for the very first time at the age of 13.  It was only beer and I had been drinking that for a long time.  Not in massive quantities, mind you.  Just a sip from a parent here and there.

It was the dead of winter, which, in and of itself is not a great time to be drunk.  We had a huge sled riding party complete with bonfire.  We were country kids; we knew how to keep warm.  There are honestly not a lot of things I remember about that night.  Among the things I do recall:

• blowing up two plastic innertubes like one would use in the pool, by mouth, so we could use them on the hill
• drinking six beers
• innertube riding
• climbing up to the top of the hill with no tube and then just rolling down
• upon reaching the bottom of the hill, hearing someone say, “Man, she’s wasted.”

Somehow, I managed to not throw up and I managed to get home in one piece that was not frozen.  Although lonely, I actually look back fondly at that night.  Up until I took the tumble, it was a good time.  The tumble didn’t hurt me, just woke me up a bit I guess.

The early years

We had quite the tight-knit group of friends when I was growing up.  The core group consisted of about 6 kids but as we grew older and made new friends, it ended up topping out at about 14.

We used to gather on weekends and watch movies and eat popcorn and while I was the youngest, I always seemed to end up the responsible one give or take a time or two.  There were always one or two couples in our group and when there weren’t, someone was always trying to get the attention of someone else.

I won’t say that I didn’t try because that would be a lie.  I just didn’t succeed.  I was different than everyone else.  It’s possible that some folks were afraid of my father, but it’s also possible that I was just an untouchable.  So I sat on the sidelines.  And I watched as people connected and I was left alone.  I was always the friend, never the girlfriend.  I was everyone’s little sister but nothing more.

While the girls were running around in their t-shirts and undies, I was there to protect and make sure nothing too bad happened.  I was dressed the same as they were, but somehow I was the Madame of that crazy house.  I got respect, certainly, but affection, not as much.

There was a night in which I lost it.  I just couldn’t take the lonely anymore.  I locked myself in a room and played the same depressing song over and over, crying my eyes out.  Various people came in after forcing me to unlock the door.  They asked what was wrong and when I couldn’t provide an answer, they left me to cry.  Only one person stayed to talk to me, to see what was really wrong, to make me open up.  By far, that person was the one I considered to be the best of all my friends.

From the beginning

My parents were like your parents, and your parents, and your parents.  Well, minus the drugs I guess.  But they were normal, hard-working people and they loved me and they loved each other.  They just didn’t show it much, or at least not to each other that I can remember.

They both worked and sometimes opposite shifts so there were times when I didn’t see them together very often.  Throughout the years, I saw them together more but they were never the ‘one spouse at the door waiting for the other spouse with a hug and a kiss’ type of couple.  I think the closest I saw them was when they were bowling together.

I won’t say it was a loveless marriage, because that’s not my place.  I will say that what I saw probably affected the way I look at relationships today.  They were cordial, that’s the word, but loving, I don’t think so.

My mom left my dad for a while when I was about 20 or so.  From what I understand, she was just tired of him calling her fat.  She stayed away a while.  He helped her move her stuff out and move it back again when she returned.  She stayed until the end then.  Right up until the day he succumbed to the cancer that ended his life.

Welcome

This is a candid look at my life as I remember it.  The names of the participants will be changed.