TMI Thursday: My Flower, Devoured

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Today is my friend Rick's birthday. He's an occasional viewer (not since I've moved, I believe). He's 42 today. So, essentially, Rick is the answer to the Ultimate Question in Life, the Universe and Everything.

Christ, I hope someone gets that...

By fortunate, cosmic coincidence, today is also my high school ex-girlfriend's birthday. She is, I believe, 34 (only because I'm pretty sure that she's a couple of months younger than I am and I'm 34). So, she's not really the answer to Everything.

I really hope someone gets that...

She is, however, the answer to a bit of trivia in the world o' MJ: To whom did the Indefatigable One lose his virginity?

And this is the story that accompanies that question:

I had been sort of friends with this girl for a while during my junior year of high school. She thought my humor was rapacious and witty; I thought her tits were huge. While I won't give away her secret identity, I will say that she shares a name with a city in Ancient Greece and a moon in our solar system...which was named for a nymph that lived near that Ancient Greek city. Anyway, she was friends with my good friend, Kelly, and so Kelly kind of pushed us together.

Unfortunately, though we knew each other, we didn't know each other very well. No problem, right? That's what first dates are for. Things on the first night went well enough, and as we were waiting for my dad to pick us up--wait, wait...let's hold up.

Yes, I was seventeen. And my dad was driving my ass around. Because my mom didn't think I could handle the intensely awesome traffic of Huntington, IN. So, she forced my dad to chaperone our asses around--Miss Daisy Style. We were in the back seat, my brother was in the front with my dad. Oh, what fun.

Anyway, we ate, and then we ended up going to this place called Penguin Point because my dad wanted to talk to one of his friends from high school. While we were waiting for my dad to pick us up (he had dropped us off and then went to putz around Target(!) or K-Mart or something for an hour), she revealed to me, in a sort of rushed way, that she wasn't a virgin.

It was kind of like: "Oh, by the way...I'mnotavirgin!"

Oh.
Hot.
Damn.

Not only is she attractive, and I enjoy spending time with her, but she puts out! Upon further review, the ruling on the field stands! Touchdown!

Everything advanced swimmingly. We talked on the phone almost every day. We walked to and from classes together, spent time together in the mornings, and immediately after school. We held hands. We smooched after dates. She introduced me to Dr. Who; I introduced her to the motion offense, via Indiana University.

We were in love. High school style.

The sexuality was ramping up weekly. She would tell me about what underwear she was wearing and we would talk about sex and possibilities and such. Sometimes, while we were talking about sex and her underwear and such, I would beat off while on the phone, and try not to let her know what was happening. She let me fumble around awkwardly in her sweaters, and she would rub me through my jeans. It was pure, unadulterated high school sexuality.

One Saturday afternoon, we were out driving around, and we drove out into the state reservoir that stretched south of my little town. We had had some lunch together that afternoon because she had to be at work that evening (at Target!), but before I took her home, we decided it was go time.

So, there we sat, a little nervous, but our bodies pumping with youthful, sexual energy, awkwardly fumbling with each other's bodies in the front seat of my father's Ford Escort Wagon. I referred to it as the "Doody-mobile", because it wasn't polite to call it "A Rolling Pile of Shit on Wheels". If it went more than 54 miles per hour, it would vibrate violently, and the car was so out of line that Twelve-and-Seven were the new Ten-and-Two. The thing redefined the term as "Grocery Getter".

Because there was a console between her and my throbbing genitalia, things were even more awkward. Finally, I motioned for us to get into the back; as smoothly as possible given the tight constraints of the interior, we slid back to the trunk. Ro-fucking-mantic! That's when clothes began coming off.

Naturally, being that I was a horny teenaged male, I practically tore her sweater off. She worked the button and the zipper on my pants expertly, but was having troubles with my underwear--I was a tighty-whitey man at the time (mostly because my parents still bought my unders for me), so her inability to operate the flap on the front is understandable. Especially with myself throbbing against it.

Finally, I was free. I ended up just pulling my pants and briefs down, and she grabbed me in her hand and then her mouth. Oh, it was bliss. And then I decided that she needed to be naked, as well, and so I first pulled down her pants and then slowly removed her panties.

What I saw shocked and awed me. Stifling a terrified shriek, I was met with a wild, tangled, twisted, thick mat of dark, dark hair. It was exactly at that point in my life that I decided that I did not like pubes--not on my soap, not on my women. And, well, not on myself, either, but that's a different story. Undaunted, I went forward. I mean, it wasn't like I was going to pull them back up and instruct her to trim up a little before we could progress.

We messed around with our fingers and mouths for a while, and then finally I dug through my pockets of my casually discarded jeans to find the condom I had bought a few days earlier (at Target!), and I slipped it on, pinched the tip, and I thrust forward with my dick as if I was trying to unhorse my opponent. Unfortunately, (or maybe fortunately) I just bounced off her. Jesus Christ, can I look any more like I have no clue what I'm doing? Again, I tried to joust away into her when she took me in her hand and guided me inside of her. At which point I started jackhammering away like I was trying to bring down a concrete edifice.

For a few minutes, we were locked together in some grotesque, twisted version of teenage lust and sexuality. It was cramped, it was sweaty, it was hot and it was awkward, but, dammit, I was having sex! A few minutes later, I was finished. I rolled off and quickly shed the condom (that's what we were instructed to do in all those educational videos in health class--ejaculate, pull it out, strip that fucker off, pray the rosary). I ducked out of the car and hid the used rubber in a discarded Pepsi cup that I found in the little parking area where we made sweet, sweet love.

Er...something like that.

Tossing the cup containing my seed-doused prophylactic into the bushes, I pulled my pants up, crawled back into the car, and we kissed for a little while longer. Then I had to get her home so she could get ready for work, and I had to get home before my mother and her kitchen timer decided that I had been away from the house for too long and she would punish me.

We did some more things while we were together--she gave me a blow job, I fingered her a few times, some more secret, silent phone sex--but about two weeks after the sex my mother decided that we were too close and spending too much time with each other. She started pressuring me to break up with the girlfriend, and after about a month, I finally caved. I just kind of started avoiding her and didn't take her phone calls. Eventually, the relationship just sort of collapsed.

I'll admit it: It was a horribly immature way of going about it, but my mom was really fucking persistent (read: shrilly nagging) about me ending it with my girlfriend. I felt kind of bad, but my life at home was a lot easier because I didn't have to deal with my mom reminding me not to have sex and that my girlfriend probably would try to pressure me into having sex just so she could get pregnant and shit like that. *eyeroll*

We didn't speak for the rest of our junior year, and, fortunately, her last name and mine were far enough apart in the alphabet that we didn't have lockers near one another as seniors. Also, we didn't take the same classes, except for calculus, when we were seniors, so we didn't see each other then, either. I emailed her once while I was in college, just to sort of catch up, and I saw her once at a grocery store back home, but I didn't say hi. I don't know if she even saw me. I didn't REALLY see her until about seven years ago, at Kelly's wedding. I didn't get to talk to her, but we smiled and acknowledged one another. I was trying to get over to her table, I was even going to ask her for a dance (all vertical, no horizontal tango--don't worry), but she and her new husband (or maybe they were just dating at the time) left before I got a chance to.

So, I guess this story satisfies Rule 34, at least as it concerns my ex-girlfriend.

And that is the gift that keeps on giving.