It was strange, thrilling, wonderful, and yet terrifying all at once. I entered into Mr. X's house. I think it was the fear that gives the memory both a fog and crystal clear image in my mind. I can clearly remembering sitting on the floor as he sat on the couch behind me and started massaging my tense shoulders, and yet for the life of me, I can't recall any moment up to that point.
In order to understand my trepidation, we must go back to the year before, and to that dance. Seventh grade, still young, still innocent (in my soul), still full of romance, and hopefully, painfully in love with a Ninth Grade boy in my percussion class. Matt Barton. My junior high had kids from two cities (Gen X was a small population). Riverdale and Washington Terrace. I lived in Riverdale, and had the joy of walking home with a bunch of kids, at least seven of us, one of them was Matt's younger brother. (Lucky me). It started really sweet, I would stare at him in class, he would look up, catch me watching him, and he would smile. After about 6 months of this, he had a friend ask me if I liked him. I giggled, and soon enough we were boyfriend-girlfriend. He even started walking home with us. (I don't think his brother liked that, but it is what it is). So for the last few months, that was our relationship, a few notes here and there (today's kids are missing out, passing notes is funner than texting). Did I kiss this boy, I mean we did "go-out" for 3 months. No, I didn't, I was too afraid. This was the age of sexually transmitted disease and the rise of AIDS. They hounded it in our heads so much that they went so far as to have people come to the school and talk about how their lives were ruined by sex. Sex equaled death in the late 80's, early 90's. So what did I have? It was the last day of school, the last dance, and just like I had always dreamed, Matt came up to me, he didn't ask, he simply swept me up and started dancing with me. My heart melted as I rested my young head against his chest. The song ended, the dance was over, he kissed me on the forehead, and we parted ways.
This memory was seared into my brain, and so when an older man was sitting behind me, rubbing my shoulder's, I thought: Gee this isn't romantic. As the moments progressed, his hands shifted until his fingers danced along my neck, and slowly, gently pulled my face towards his. Our lips drew close, I could feel his warm breath on mine. His arm pulled me closer and closer, and then, like the child I was, I pulled back, jumped up, and ran out of his house.
It took me a good hour to walk home, my dreams shattered, my ego wounded. I walked down to a payphone (any teenagers reading this: A payphone is a phone you would put a quarter in to make a call, they were everywhere back in my day, no cellphones, this was the time when "pagers" were just starting to make it big). I called my friend Kelly, she laughed and laughed and laughed, but agreed to come over that night so we could figure out why I was a frigid frightened little girl.
Now I know I haven't been a bad-girl, yet, but one must put into context the situation by leading up to it, and understanding all the events that shaped and molded us. As eighth grade ended, and the dawning of ninth grade came, I channeled my inner bad-girl, and as any of my past boyfriends will tell you: I was a man eater. We will flash forward to the summer before my ninth grade year, which contained the betrayal, the change, and me channeling my inner Lolita (Which really isn't an accurate picture, as Lolita was 12 and I was 14...but really, do you know of any other story where a child learns to control an adults?)
Monday-Friday: Dangerous Liaisons- - Kelly will show her true colors and I will go from shy little girl to master manipulator.
As always, have a lovely day!
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