Losing Virginity (13 page)

His
voice awakened me from my sexed up daydream of him and I. Thank god. I didn’t
want to have to say, ‘Oh sorry, I couldn't hear you over the imaginary sex I
was having with you in my head,’ when he asked me why I wasn’t listening.

“As
I was saying, I had the pretty potent horse laxative in my hand and a half full
fifth of scotch that I stole from our parent’s liquor cabinet. I was going to
make sure that they drank the laxative, so I had to do it slyly. If I tried to
give it to them outright, they would know I tampered with it. I had threatened
to pay them back not too long before. So my plan was to dose the scotch with
the laxative and then walk by the corn fields they always were shooting the .22
in.”

I
could tell where this was going.

“They
made you drink the scotch?”

“No
and you are one of those people who likes to guess the end of a story before it
is finished and ruin the whole telling of it,” he said, laughing. “So, as I was
saying, I dosed the scotch with a fair bit of the horse laxative and walked
down through the field. I caught site of my brothers at the edge of the corn
field, shooting cans and I skirted it pretending not to see them.

When
they caught sight of me swinging that bottle of scotch and pretending to drink
it, they took off after me like bloodhounds and I led ‘
em
on a grand little chase. They ended up catching me near the back fields of Mr.
Gafferty’s
property and pinned me down. I made a big show
of being angry at them, telling them the bottle was mine and calling them all
sorts of names. When I called Johnny a son-of-a-bitch, he lit up with rage and
dragged me to a nearby outhouse that the field hands built and threw me down
the hole.”

“Oh
no,” I blurted out. “Oh no, that is terrible.”

He
grimaced as he saw it dawn on me what was about to happen.

“They
laughed and laughed that they got me good and that pa was going to give me a
whuppin
for stealing his scotch. They all took big swigs of
it, pretending to drink like they thought real men drank, guzzling it down. Not
even tasting the horse laxative, or if they did taste it, pretending they
didn’t. Those assholes didn’t know what scotch tasted like.”

I
started laughing, but guardedly. This was a really embarrassing story and kind
of gross.

“You
can basically figure out what happened next. All I can tell you though, is that
diarrhea that is full of scotch really burns your eyes and any cuts you may
have. It was a really terrible day.”

My
laugh got out of my grip and let loose and I just laughed at him for quite a
while. He let me get it out, a slight grin on his face, and finished smoking
his cigarillo. As gross as it was, it still was funny.

“So
how is my first standup routine?
Pretty funny?
The
actual story is pretty boring and has nothing to do with shit. Stretching the
truth, a lot,” he said, with a sly smile.

“What?”
I asked, still giggling over a “shitty” story. “Then why did you tell it?”

“I
just wanted to tell an embarrassing story that would make you
laugh
,” he said, grimacing slightly. “It was a pretty good
story though, right?”

“Did
you make that up right here?” I asked.

He
nodded.
“For the most part.
I just used a bad story
and tried to make it funny and cringe worthy.”

“Well,
it was a pretty good story on the spot. If you paused just right that would be
great for your first standup routine. The Dane Cook fans would love you.”

"Yeah,
too bad I’m not a comedian... Anyway, now it’s your turn," he said,
leaning back on the bench and preparing himself for what he probably thought
was going to be a hilarious tale.

"Oh,
okay. Now it is my turn to make up a ludicrous story that didn’t happen? I can
manage that.”

“No.
You started this game. Just because I don’t play by the rules doesn’t mean
everybody is a cheater. Go ahead,” he urged.

“No,"
I said. "I have told enough embarrassing things about myself tonight. I'll
save my turn for next time, if there is one."

He
laughed.

"Well,
that almost sounded like you just invited me on another date."

"Almost."

I
was getting into this guy...
Too much.
I didn’t know
how he felt but I didn’t want to slow down… Neither did my… My lady parts...
I’m sure she was waving come on in with her wings. Why was I relating my vagina
to wings?

"So,
would you like to go for a ride?" he asked.

I
did, but I had heard about riding in cars with boys. There was even a movie
about it. It had something to do with Drew Barrymore being pregnant.

"Sure.
Just a ride though, no throat-slitting or chloroform," I said jokingly.

"How
‘bout scotch with horse laxatives in it?" he asked.

"Of
course that. I mean, it wouldn't be a party without scotch and horse laxatives,
right?" I laughed. "You can bring those party favors as long as you
let me reenact your pretend childhood for you."

He
laughed too. "I've been waiting my whole life for a woman to say that to
me: 'Ryder, I want to diarrhea scotch onto your face, just like your brothers
did' Of course, that didn't really happen."

We
both cracked up and he stood, offering his hand to me. Maybe this meant the
shit talk was over.

We
walked out to the giant city parking lot where hundreds of student’s vehicles
sat, unused for weeks at a time. He pushed the clicker to his keys and the
front lights of a 1971 Maserati Quattroporte blinked on.

"Oh
my," was all I could say.

I
sounded like a titillated young girl seeing her first penis. How did I know
what that was like? I had seen a penis before and so had my friends. However, I
didn’t exactly do anything with my first penis. The guy dry humped me over my
jeans which I could only imagine felt like sandpaper to him. I cringed with
every “hump”. A penis already has a rough life the way it is. His hair always
looks a mess, he stays next to an asshole, his family is nuts, his best friends
are pussies and his owner is always beating him. But he must have enjoyed it
because when he got off me he had
jizzed
on the
crotch of my pants. This car was a much prettier scene then that.
MUCH prettier.

"That
is a 1971 Maserati Quattroporte," I said, standing still and looking at
the car.

I
started to circle it. It was black and sleek without a spot of dirt on it. The
tires looked barely worn, the chrome sparkled and I could see how perfectly
cute my hair looked as a little wind swept in my reflection in the spotless
windows.

"How
did you know that?" he asked, astonished. "Not that I'm saying girls
can't know about cars, but this isn't a car that is incredibly well known. I...
Am...
Really turned on by that."

I
slapped his arm, continuing to circle the car, feeling the lines of it. Truth
be told, I was turned on that he was driving it. My lady parts were beginning
to scream flood warning!

I
took a deep breath. "My father had the 1972 Quattroporte, except his was
blue." I said, remembering back to very simple summer nights when mom
would order pizza and we would talk about high school and our social lives out
on the porch and dad would work on his 'fixer upper' car in the driveway.
"He would always go out into the garage to work on it in winter, but my
mom and I always assumed he was out there drinking a beer and doing man things."

He
laughed out loud.

"He
probably was," he said. "I had always wanted a car like this when I
was young. When I heard that song 'Life's Been Good' by Joe Walsh, I always
wanted to own a Maserati."

"What's
that song?" I asked. Even though I knew the song, I always liked to ask
that question because then everyone always tries to sing it for you.

Then
he tried.

"You
know, it goes," here he started with a high pitched twang, "My
Maserati goes 185, I lost my license, now I don't drive."

I
laughed at his rendition of the song, but thought it was cute.

"So,
does it go 185?"

"I
don't know," he said. "I never tried to get it that high."

I
got a mischievous grin on my face.

"You
realize that you have to drive me around now," I said. "I'll tell you
a story on the way if you do."

“Anything
to get you in my car,” he said, grinning.

Jesus
Penus! I turned and checked myself out in the car’s window next to us. I bent
forward to get a better look. I moved my hair behind my ears and then grabbed
my boobs, pushing them up and together. Suddenly, something moved inside the
car. I paused and the face of some girl got clearer as she pressed her face
against the window.

This
was that awkward moment when you're checking yourself out in the window of
another car and realize there's someone inside… She started laughing at me and
I realized I was still holding my boobs. I let go and walked backwards until my
butt pressed against Big Stick’s car. I turned around and he was sitting in his
car laughing. My ass print covered the window.

Embarrassed,
I knelt down so he couldn’t see me anymore. I heard the car window slide down
above me.

“You
okay out there?”

“Tying my shoe.”

I
was wearing sandals.

I
took a deep breath, stood up, and slowly got in the car. I sat down in the tan
leather interior and adjusted the seat. It was a beautiful car on the inside
and the outside.

“Everything
okay out there?” he asked, grinning.

I
glared. “Yes,
Big
stick.”
 
Then I smiled.

He
gripped the steering wheel and I imagined it on the highway.

"I
wonder if my father ever actually intended to fix his Maserati, or he just left
it out there as a reason to go off by himself."

"I
think you might know a little more about guys than you think. You would be a
very difficult wife to stealth-drink around."

"Well,
I'm a harsh, but forgiving master," I said, grabbing his hand.

He
just smiled and bowed his head. He turned the key in the ignition and it roared
to life, settling down into a silky feline purr.

“Nice
shoes.”

I
looked down at my sandals and smiled.
Busted.

He
put the car into gear and eased out of the parking lot and onto the road which
would take us to Route 91.

“So
how about this story?” he asked, squeezing my hand.

"Well,
when I was thirteen, I was friends with a couple of the cool kids in school. We
all hung out and everything was alright and I started to have a crush on this
guy, Derrick."

He
shifted into second gear and revved onto the access road that led to route 91.

"One
day I invited Derrick and my friends to a pool party at my house. They all came
and we had hot dogs, we drank Kool-Aid that Alisha secretly spiked with some of
her mom’s vodka.”

He
shifted into third and got onto the highway, picking up speed rapidly.

"There
was one point when we were all in the pool that Amanda said we should play chicken,
you know, the game where two people sit on two other people’s shoulders and try
to knock each other off.”

He
shifted into fourth and switched three lanes over to the fast lane.

"Amanda
sat on Bruce’s shoulders and I was on Derrick's shoulders and we went at it. We
grabbed hands and tried to force the other off their partner.”

He
was in fifth now and cruising along the highway. He looked at me and grinned,
not afraid, but wondering where this was going to go.

"Then
I heard it. Derrick had turned around and Bruce saw something he could not help
but laugh at. And when he laughed, everyone joined him. As it turned out, I had
just experienced my first blossoming as a lady, all down my boyfriend’s back.”

He
gasped, obviously not trying to offend me. Had he not gotten the car up to 95
miles per hour I’m sure he would have offered a sympathetic look, maybe even
hold my hand for just a second. Then a bird slammed the windshield.

“Angry
birds!” we both shouted and instantly looked at each other laughing.

“You
really are a dork!” I shouted.

“I
told you… Don’t go telling everyone though. I’d like to keep some of my manly
image.”

“I
won’t,” I said smiling. “I think when a bird hits your window it’s just God
playing angry birds with you?”

He
laughed. “I’m not that dorky,” he said, winking. “Alright, finish your story.”

"Well,
when I went into school the next day, somehow the story had gotten out and
several of the nastier
sort
of thirteen year olds were
wearing red capes around the school, trying to fly at me like Superman.”