by Amy Polino
The first boy I went out with was Billy Ripkin, who by then everyone was just starting to call Bill. He asked me out to a movie, and I accepted. We went that evening right after dinner; he didn’t have a car, and so he just walked to my father’s house and knocked on the door, and then the two of us walked to the theater, which was only half a mile away. He was sort of a pudgy kid, with long greasy hair and a very pale complexion. I didn’t like him much, and we hardly even spoke on the way to the theater, other than him trying to explain to me how great he was and that no one seemed to notice. I suppose he was trying to impress me, but it had the opposite effect and I began to feel sick.
The movie turned out to be a horror movie, the one kind I really can’t stand. Leave it to Billy. I was already uncomfortable just being there with him, and the movie, as terrible as it was, still managed to be scary. I sat there stewing, hardly able to wait for the whole thing to be over with. It seemed to drag on and on, and at one point he reached over and took my hand, holding it in his warm, sweaty one. It made me feel even worse. I kept thinking I was going to catch some strange disease from his unwanted, moist touch.
The movie finally ended, after what seemed like forever, and he walked me back home. He kept bringing up stupid parts of the movie and reenacting them for me as if he forgot that I just sat through the whole dreadful thing, too. It made me feel sorry for him and like him even less at the same time. The half mile felt more like two miles, and on several occasions he tried to hold my hand. I didn’t let him, explaining that I needed to swing my arms to walk properly. I felt funny swinging them so exaggeratedly, but it beat the hell out of having him grip me with his clammy hand again.
When I finally made it home and thought the whole thing was at last over, he kissed me. We were standing right outside the front door of my father’s house, and he put a hand on my waist and leaned into me, pressing his mouth to mine. I couldn’t believe I didn’t see it coming. His lips felt cold and slimy and I could smell his breath, which stank something awful, like he’d eaten liverwurst for dinner and hadn’t brushed his teeth.
I pulled away quickly, wiping my mouth. He didn’t like that and said goodnight, slinking away into the darkness. He probably felt as bad as I did, but I didn’t care.
My first kiss! I went inside and washed my mouth out with Scope.
The next day at school he was acting as though we’d had a great time and even bragged to several people that I was his girlfriend, which I certainly was not. I wasted no time in telling him how I really felt, which hurt his feelings all over again, but at least it put an end to the whole mess.
He didn’t talk to me anymore after that, and I was glad.
* * *
The second boy who I let take me out was two years older than me, and on the football team. Brad Simmons, his name was, and he was sort of musclebound. He’d been hitting on me for much of the school year, and I admit, I was kind of attracted to him, so when he approached me after school one day and offered to buy me dinner at a new Italian restaurant, I said okay. It made me wonder why I ever agreed to go out with Billy in the first place, although, looking back, the date with Billy was much less of a mistake.
Brad had a car, an old Ford Escort, and he picked me up at my father’s house. My father hardly noticed. He was still working as hard as ever on his endless stacks of papers, and had gotten into the habit of eating TV dinners, so when I left he didn’t even look up. He just told me to have a nice time and made some scribbles with his pen.
Brad was so different from Billy that there was almost no comparison. He was bigger, stronger, more aggressive and much more confident. I had no plans to do anything with him other than have dinner and maybe let him kiss me, but of course Brad had plans of his own.
We did eat dinner, and it was very good. Brad ordered the chicken parmesan, which sounded wonderful to me, so I ordered the same exact thing. We also had a large mixed salad and fresh bread, with a little bowl of oil and vinegar to dip it in. Both of us were obviously underage, and so we drank root beer with our dinner, although Brad hinted he had a little “nightcap” out in his car for later.
The nightcap turned out to be a bottle of rum, a bottle of Coke and a couple of paper cups. He drove out to a little place the kids used to call “Dead Man’s Island,” which was really nothing but a secluded strip of woods near the parkway, and mixed us a couple of cocktails. We could see the headlights of other cars as they passed through the thick expanse of trees, but it was unlikely that they could see us. Not unless someone actually drove around and pulled up right near us, which on this night they didn’t.
“Drink up,” Brad told me, handing me a cup of rum and Coke.
Not knowing what else to do, I drank up. It was the first time I had alcohol, and I must admit, I liked it. It tasted fine and it made me feel really good almost right away. We drank slowly while he told me stories about his greatness on the football field, although I was fairly certain he was average at best. It was nice for awhile, sitting there and drinking as the sky grew completely dark. We each had two full cups and then he poured us one more, a strong one to share. I probably wouldn’t have shared the same cup with someone under normal circumstances, but by then I was sort of half-way drunk and I didn’t really care. We passed the cup back and forth, taking big sips until it was gone. Then he sat there looking at me with a little smile on his face. Every time a car went by and the beam from the headlights filtered through the trees and illuminated him, he looked a little spookier to me.
“You’re really pretty,” he told me. “Can I get a kiss?”
I’d already decided I was going to let him kiss me, and after all that rum I really wanted him to. Still, I was feeling a little frightened. I nodded my head, consenting to the deal.
Brad didn’t waste any time. He leaned over in his seat and slipped a big hand behind my neck, pulling me closer toward him and pressing his mouth against mine. I went with it, and soon his tongue was poking around inside my mouth. It was kind of exciting, much better than the cold, oily kiss Billy had given me several weeks earlier. It would have been perfect, actually, but then he got carried away and began crushing me up against him, very roughly, and sucking at my tongue until it became painful.
I’m not going to go into all the details here, mainly because that’s not what my story is about, but also because I don’t like thinking about that night. I do want you to understand, though, that I made it very clear to him that I didn’t want our little date to go any further than it already had, and that he refused to listen. It was almost as if he felt it was his right to have me that night, despite all my protests. In fact, I couldn’t even really get through to him. It’s like he wasn’t hearing me, like he was programmed or something, and there was no reasoning with him.
I fought him off for a minute or two, physically and verbally, but soon gave up out of sheer fright. He shoved me and choked me and pulled my hair. He was like an animal. We ended up in the backseat together, me literally trembling with fear as he took my virginity. The experience was horrifying, and I blocked much of it out even as it was happening, not allowing myself to think about it. Instead I thought of my mother and of how much I loved her and missed her. I have no idea how long it went on; it could have been ten minutes, or it could have been an hour. Either way, eventually it was over and I was dizzy with shock and fear and pain. I also felt dirty and ashamed, even though I hadn’t done anything wrong, except maybe drink a little.
Brad must have sensed how I felt, and feel pretty ashamed himself, because once we got ourselves back into the front seat of the car he began apologizing profusely, and explaining that he didn’t know what had come over him. He drove me home without further incident, making me promise not to tell anyone what had happened. Then he drove away, leaving me standing there in the dark outside my father’s house, still trembling and crying.
It took me a long time to get over that night. In fact, I’m not sure I ever did.
That was
the first time I ever had sex with a boy, and the last.
Chapter 2
For the rest of that school year, I pretty much kept to myself. Other boys continued to flirt with me on occasion, but I had no interest in dating anymore so I politely declined any offers I received. I didn’t have any girlfriends, either, so I garnered a bit of a reputation as a loner. That was fine with me. Being left alone had its advantages.
That summer I turned sixteen and got my first job. I was getting to the point where I wanted more spending money, and the months off school left me with nothing to concentrate on, so a job was the perfect solution. I put in lots of applications and ended up taking the first job I was offered, which was at Six Flags Great Adventure, a massive amusement park about twenty miles from my father’s house.
Luckily, my father had a second, older car which he kept as a backup, and I had just gotten my drivers permit, so I was able to use the car to get myself to and from work. Technically, I was supposed to have a licensed driver in the car with me at all times, but lots of kids ignored that little detail.
Great Adventure was huge, and it was a very popular place for kids from miles around to get summer jobs. The only question was what type of job I would secure, which I wouldn’t find out until my orientation. I spent a few days daydreaming about operating one of the big roller coasters, or maybe the runaway train, and watching as people got on looking happy and excited, and got off looking dizzy and sick. It would be an interesting way to spend the summer.
As it turned out, they put me on second shift in food service, one of the crappiest positions available. I almost quit before I even started, thinking I’d have to stand at a cash register and thank people all night for buying fries and burgers. I got a little bit lucky, though, and ended up at a funnel cake stand making the actual funnel cakes.
It was hot work, standing over a giant vat of near-boiling grease and cooking hundreds of funnel cakes each day for the endless line of customers. I had to wear a uniform, too, with an apron and a baseball cap, and between the heat of the summer and the heat rising from the grease, I was almost always sweating. I had big five-gallon buckets of batter lined up on the floor beside me, and I used a ladle to fill up my dispenser and stood there swirling it into the grease in front of all those hungry people. When the funnel cakes were halfway done I’d flip them over, and when they were a nice golden brown I’d lift them out with tongs and set them on paper plates. I’d put the plates on the counter beside the cooking vat, and they were then the responsibility of Dianne, one of my coworkers.
Dianne was the girl who bridged the gap between me and Sara, the girl who worked the register. It was Dianne’s job to take the naked funnel cakes and confer with the customers as to what kind of topping they wanted, if any. Some people liked them plain, and others liked them with powdered sugar. Still others liked fruit toppings, of which we had a wide variety. The fruit was all in big cans, and heavy on the syrup. We had strawberry, peach, apple, blueberry and raspberry. We also had chocolate sauce and a variety of sprinkles. So Dianne stayed plenty busy, dressing up the cakes to order and passing them on to Sara, who rang up the sales and made change.
Dianna was two years older than me, and very pretty. She was a blond with bright blue eyes, and I found it very enjoyable to look at her. She had just graduated from high school in Jackson, two towns over from where I lived. We had a lot of time to talk, and joke around together, especially when the line of customers grew thin. She was very fun to work with, and I liked her a lot.
Neither of us cared much for Sara, and ignored her most of the time.
As the summer wore on, Dianne and I grew more and more fond of each other. We always took our breaks together, and even lingered after work in the parking lot, laughing about our daily adventures. Since we worked the late shift, sometimes we came to work a couple hours early and met up at the gate to go on the rides together. We especially liked the Ferris wheel, riding it high up into the sky and looking down at our little funnel cake stand.
Dianne was the first real friend I ever had, and I admired her tremendously.
* * *
One night after working together for about a month, Dianne and I were in the back room, standing at the big sink and washing out the empty buckets. It was something we did every night, before mixing fresh batter and refilling them for the morning shift. Anyway, we were standing there after a long day, and both of us were dirty and grimy with funnel cake batter. She was washing my funnel cake dispenser, and at one point she yanked it out of the water, splashing me and getting the whole front of my apron soaked. I couldn’t tell if she did it on purpose or not, but it certainly seemed like she must have. She really splashed me good! She apologized, looking absolutely adorable with her cute little smile and her long, blonde hair spilling out from under her baseball cap.
I smiled back, and, kind of joking around, plunged both my hands into the sink of water and then splashed her pretty good with a sarcastic “Oops!” I didn’t get her as good as she’d gotten me, but I definitely got her attention. She dropped the dispenser into the sink and spread her arms wide, looking down at herself.
“Hey!” she said. “You did that on purpose!”
I tried to wipe the smile off my face, but I was unable to do so. “What makes you say that?”
She flashed me a devilish grin and quickly pulled a bucket from the sink, which was at least a quarter of the way filled with dirty water. She hoisted it, as if threatening to splash me with the contents.
I held up my hands, taking a step back. “You wouldn’t!”
“Oh no?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
I knew she was going to splash me, and it got me very excited. “Please don’t!” I pleaded. The smile on my face undoubtedly betrayed my plea, because she flung the water at me with gusto. If I was soaked before, now I was drenched.
“Whoops!” Dianne said, dropping the empty bucket to the floor. “Sorry about that!”
My mouth was open in shock. The water was very cold, and I was soaked to the skin, dripping all over. I looked at her standing there, still grinning, her hat cocked off to one side. She had a little smear of funnel cake batter on her chin and she appeared so sweet and beautiful that it was almost heartbreaking. I think it was at that very moment that I realized I was in love with her.
I had to fight to tear my eyes away. I began looking around for something with which to perpetuate our little game; allowing it to end now seemed out of the question. There was a full bucket of batter sitting just off to my left, near a storage shelf, and I lunged toward it and began prying the lid off.
Dianne watched me, still grinning. “Amy! Don’t you dare!”
I felt like I had no choice. The bucket was too big and heavy for me to lift, so after getting the lid off I simply shoved my hands deep into the gooey batter and flung some of it at her.
She screamed in delight, dancing around in a little circle as the goop peppered her uniform. Then she dashed over and plunged her own hands into the bucket, her entire face alight with glee. I thought of running away before she could get me, but the truth is, I didn’t want to. I wanted her to get me. She brought her cupped hands up out of the bucket in a flash, splattering my entire chest and stomach in the wet, gluey funnel cake batter.
I screamed and twisted around, and she laughed, splattering more of the goop all over my back.
“Oh, you stinker!” I yelled. I turned around again and dug my hands back into the bucket, flinging batter up all over her breasts and even getting some on her pretty face.
Dianne screamed again, but she was loving it as much as I was. We were lucky Sara couldn’t hear us. She was up front with the night manager, counting her money and filling out the paperwork.
We both stood looking at each other for a moment and then Dianne leaned over and gripped the lip of the bucket with both hands. We were both really glopped up pretty good already, and it sent a thrill through me to think she was going to dump the e
ntire bucket just to get me again.
“You’d better not,” I told her. I still couldn’t get the smile off my face. I smiled a lot when I was with her, and I’d never had so much fun.
She was smiling, too. “Who’s going to stop me?” She lifted the bucket up off the floor and I immediately grabbed it, too, trying to prevent her from dumping it on me.
We both laughed, struggling to tip the bucket away from ourselves as it somehow got lifted higher and higher. Soon it was up above our waists, and it was very heavy. We got a little reckless, both of us clearly wanting something exciting to happen. There was something there, between us, besides the bucket, and we both felt it. I wasn’t sure what it was at the time, but I do now: it was desire.
The bucket went a little higher, and both of us were still grinning like mad and giggling. Dianne let go with one of her hands and then quickly repositioned it beneath the bucket. I pressed the top edge further toward her, so excited I could hardly breathe. It began to tip, but then she lifted it even higher from the bottom and suddenly the balance shifted. I felt a light quivering deep in the pit of my stomach as I realized we’d lost control of it, and then the entire thing was spilling over, dumping gooey wet funnel cake batter down the entire front of my uniform. It even ran down my legs and coated my sneakers, sparing no part of me. It coated me completely, turning my entire body into the dull, tan color of funnel cakes.
The bucket, not quite empty but close to it, hit the floor and bounced away with a clatter. Dianne stared at me, her smile wider than ever. I thought she was going to laugh, but she didn’t. She looked me up and down, as if appraising me, and then did something that I didn’t expect: she took a step closer to me. Looking me right in the eyes, the hint of mischief gone from her expression, she moved even closer until her body was pressed up against mine and the mess of batter was all over her, too.