Chicks Are Weird

The year was 1988.  I was thirteen years old.  Some people might think this is young, but I like to consider myself ahead of the times.  A “trendsetter” if you will.

The location was Lakeside Villas (Culver City represent) in my second floor bedroom with a window that overlooked not only the doughnut shop (that was the British spelling of donut) that sold cigarettes for $1.25 to 11 year old’s, but also the Recycling Center in the Albertson’s parking lot where a 26-year-old Mexican who just so happened to moonlight as a pot dealer worked.  The 26-year-old Mexican was really nice and gave me E.T. on VHS!  At least that guy gave me E.T. on VHS and weed because all the virginity guy gave me was his wiener and a broken heart.  But virginity guy didn’t give me herpes or the need for a trip to Planned Parenthood, which is proof that sometimes you just have to look for the good in a situation.

I hearted virginity thief forever (forever = 6 months) and I know he liked me too!  I know this because during the pre-stealing of the virginity negotiations I asked him.

“Do you like me this much or THIIIIIIIIIIIS much?”

To which he responded,

“I like you THIIIS much?”

3 “I’s” were enough for me!  Who needs the restriction of rules created by society by having the title of being an actual girlfriend anyhow? At least that’s what he asked me.

Hook, line and hump her.

The wine in a box and joint probably aided a bit in the decision making process to give away my love canal, but screw it.  I was already 13 and falling way behind in the sexual experience category.  Who wants to be the last virgin in 8th grade?  I most certainly didn’t want the shame that came from that title.  God knows how your popularity will soar once you give become hymenally challenged.  Oddly enough I became very popular with the boys, but with the girls, not so much.  I guess his promise to “not tell anyone” only applied to not telling anyone that didn’t go to our school.  I must have misunderstood that portion of the pre-hump negotiations as well.  Silly me.

Sexy virginity guy came over after school while my mommy was at work.  He was so desirable with his brown hair with flippy bleached blond bangs and cast from his ankle to his thigh.  If there is one thing a gal can’t resist it’s a full leg cast.  Casts and splints and ace bandages and even star wars band-aids show a woman that the guy in said splint is an adventurer who can survive the dangers of the world.  All a gal wants is security, so when we see a man with a band aid on his face due to a freak shaving accident we know this is the kind of man that can survive a catastrophe.  This is very important.  Sexy virginity guy was this kind of man.  My kind of man.

Plus he read every single note I wrote to him that had cute little hearts and professions of my undying love for him and only showed them to like ten different people!  I’m positive that when sharing the origami folded notes he wasn’t making fun of me.  What he was doing was actually bragging.  Sometimes bragging and public humiliation look a lot alike.  It’s all about perception.

And boy was he romantical!  He wanted the mood to be right for my first time so tenderly turned the radio onto Power 106 where the most passionate love song of all time was playing, Please Don’t Go Girl by New Kids on the Block followed by Kylie Minolgue’s beautiful rendition of Locomotion.  He probably requested those songs so as to create a beautiful life long memory.   He thought of everything,

Including his escape route.

You see, this was during the olden days before cell phones and pagers even.  The telephonic item that prepubescent teens would beg for in the 80’s was to have their own phone line.  My phone was baby pink and in the shape of luscious lips.  Talk about a coincidence.  I bet when mom had that installed she never imagined the involvement it would have in the stellar tactical planning in the revocation of my v-card.  The Cherry Picker who caused 3 whole minutes of life long first time memories had already set in motion a covert operation so as to not have to participate in a post coital cuddle.  16 year old boys can’t use the “I have to work early tomorrow” line, so he needed to be creative, and creative he was.

As soon as the vaginal pilfering was complete a very strange coincidence occurred:  the homie for life of my full leg cast-wearing lover happened to call my pink lip phone.  Sometimes a coincidental phone call to your lover immediately after he uses your vag for playtime looks a lot like a phone call from your mom’s downstairs phone so as to give the virginity thief an escape route so that he can go over to Jenny Johnson’s house immediately after your romantic times to ask her to be his girlfriend.

I listened to Please Don’t Go Girl on repeat for the next 6 months.

Only did it with him the one time.

Ok, maybe I did it with him one more time after that because every girl knows the way to win a guy over is to lie on a bed crying while he gives it to her, especially after he has screwed her over no-pun-intended.  Men appreciate this kind of confidence in a woman.

It was quite a few years before I let a boy lie to me again while I was under the influence of an illegal substance.