Monday, March 28, 2005

A Deer in the Headlights

Her hands were warm on my neck, and her breath danced in my ear as she said I love you you know. We’ve been friends for twenty one years and share many quirks. One in particular is that neither of us likes to play by the rules. We seldom plan to get together ahead of time it's nearly always spontaneous, and always bohemian in one way or another.

I had asked for a neck rub and she didn't hesitate to oblige. She knew I was feeling lonely for a ghost lover who can't say I love you even though he does, who knows he needs me but won't admit it and who waits patiently to be with me as an unknown fate unfolds.

Yearning to be with someone at a distance leaves me feeling exposed and vulnerable, but terribly alive. We've never even kissed.

And now, a friend's warm hands on my body nourishes away my edgy rawness and I feel myself melt into a safe place, there in her loving arms. Her body presses against mine and her hands leave my shoulders, traveling down my biceps, forearms and hands, fingers finally interlacing with my own. After all these years, it feels as if our souls are also interlaced, dancing in and out like a delicate Celtic knot. She and I have shared men, mentored, mothered, challenged and rejected one another at different times.

As her hands move back up my arms I realize that her touch is different, more primal, perhaps more soulful. And then it dawns on me - she had earlier shared that she was ovulating and quite horny. Hmmmmm... I freeze like a deer in the headlights. Horny friend is rubbing my body in tantalizing ways. Feels good, but slightly alarming. Is this where I want go? All I can think is that I've not brushed my teeth. Uggh!

I relax and let her continue - flowing, delicate hands work their way over my back, shoulders, scooping through my hair, along the sensitive sides of my neck and then down the front of my thighs. Oh my god. I think I'm terrified. My pussy is moistening though. She leans in closer and wraps her arms around my waist. I'm terrified that she'll move to my breasts next - what about my fucking teeth? Where's my toothbrush?!!!

I could not initiate this - I'm far too self-conscious. That one time that I invited her to stay with Drew and I, she panicked (something about not having shaved her legs). And now I'm the one who's hesitating, unsure of exposing myself fully to her.

She presses even closer and says teasingly, "You know, if I were a man..."

I reply, "That's not an issue - but I do have a daughter I need to tend to". The invitation is tempting though (I could always ask her to wait while I make sure my girl's settled in to sleep upstairs).

But the truth is, I'm slightly relieved to have an excuse. Despite rampant escapades with other girls in my teen years, I've only been with one woman since I turned sixteen, and only one time. We didn't kiss (but enjoyed a few other exciting forms of contact).

Last night, I was seriously tempted but totally shy. Next time, maybe I'll let go. I'm sure there will be other nights when I'm not playing mom.

Her breasts are lovely, full pieces of art - warm bread dough, waiting to be kneaded. Nothing turns me on more than the thought of a puckered nipple, begging for contact with soft warm lips. I may just let myself go there.
To be continued...

What my mother never knew #14: Herbicide and other atrocities

We'd met some boys downtown and were invited to go and have some beers in the park with them. As it turned out, they really only had a few and nobody had any cash. We walked around the park in the dark and the guys we were with began bashing the flowers with sticks. It started out with just the odd one. A random swing with a stick or shoe. But they got a real kick out of it and pretty soon, all of the flowers were being massacred. I was with a mob of herbacidal maniacs! Too much festering testosterone I guess.

So we walked along raucously with no particular destination in mind when the two boldest guys came up with a plan to keep the party going. We were to go to a different part of the park and they would beat up some fags that liaised in a certain part of the woods. They'd steal their money and we'd be set. This wasn't a crowd that I'd hung around with much before although my best friend knew them a lot better. I was definitely not into pounding homosexuals. I'd never pounded anyone. I didn't want to be anywhere near it. So my friend and I waited in the playground while the boys went off to be idiots.

When they came back unsuccessful, they had a new plan. This one involved me - and I had no idea how to get out of the predicament. My friend and I were to stand near the park road and stop a car with guys in it, to ask for the time. The plan was that we would flirt with them and lure them into the bushes for promised sex where our thugs would be waiting with a two by four and other implements of welcome. I was horrified - I didn't know how to say no. My girlfriend was all business. She said all I would have to do is stand there and she'd do all the talking. So I did.

I stood there with my heart racing, afraid that I'd be hurt in the process. I stood there in the lights of oncoming cars, a forced smile pasted on my face, like a first time prostitute. I felt like one. A car slowed to get a closer look at us. My friend waved and began to walk over. The car was full as it turned out, and there were girls as well as guys. The rolled down their windows and yelled "YOU FUCKING SLUTS!!!" and other obscenities as their tires screeched away.

That was it. I walked away and refused any further humiliation. I felt I deserved every insult that was thrown at me from that car. I guess I would have felt a lot worse if I'd contributed to someone being beaten and robbed or worse.

Thursday, March 17, 2005

What My Mother Never Knew #13: Denial

There were many times when I wondered what I was doing. But I never wanted out - I just wanted to downplay the nasty parts.

Friends would say "I'm going out to get shit-faced tonight" and I'd wonder how they could be so OK like it was something to be proud of. I knew I was going out to do the same thing but I wouldn't want to SAY it out loud. I knew there was something wrong with mood-altering as a form of entertainment. Just like I knew that there was something wrong with staring into the floodlights at the hospital grounds and then tripping around in a "purple-city" for the next half hour. Or that asphyxiating yourself with a towel, keeling over and grinding your chin on the pavement in convulsions was stupid. I knew but I pretended it was all OK.

I know on some level, it was normal to experiment. The thing was though, we didn't care about anything else. I went from being an honours student to C's in the course of a year. I got drunk to the point of blackout and vomiting every time I drank. I often came to school high even thought it left me with a tremendous headache each and every time I smoked it during the day. There are some things that make me smile when I think back though too. One time I even did acid over the lunch hour and absolutely destroyed a piece of woodwork I'd spent hours on. And the trampolines were very very wild - I nearly peed myself laughing.

There were more beach parties, rowdy boys who seemed to enjoy destroying public property and smashing beer bottles on beaches, mushroom picking expeditions, and mini-bar invasions to concoct sickening mixtures of brandies and liquors. We stole my mother's live in boyfriend's -homemade Portuguese wine (not fit for consumption by any standards) and we scrounged through our parents coat pockets to find any stray fives or tens that might help our cause. It was almost as if we had no conscience, but as I've already said, mine was there with me every step of the way, however desperately I tried to fake it out. One incident left me feeling horribly guilty - but I'll save that for next time.

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

What My Mother Never Knew #12: Numb in the Bunker

Changing schools was old hat for me - this was my eighth school due to many moves. Even though I was placed in the enriched program for high achievers, I immediately latched onto the smokers who hung around on the treed hill behind the school. There were many insane times for me in that school - none of my memories involved academics though. Perhaps, after three years there, my grade 10 year-book entry said it all: Goal in Life: To stay comfortably numb.

There were three kids from the same family who were all in cadets. They were all a bit on the dorky side but their parents allowed them to convert their basement into a bunker of sorts. We sat around there butting our cigarette ashes into an empty three foot shell and listening to reel to reel tapes of Peter Gabriel, the Who, ZZ Top, Judas Priest, The Doors and of course, AC/DC and Black Sabbath. This hang out was the centre of many foggy adventures and burnt out mornings. I still don't know why their parents allowed us to hang out there with no supervision - in all that time, I don't remember meeting the parents once! I'll start with my worst memory there and one of my first. The term 'memory' though is a bit of a stretch given that I only recall falling into the hedge in front of the house and being dragged out by some faceless boy. Everything else that I learned about that night, I heard from others at school the next day. Apparently a creepy pimple-faced ass-hole had sex with me in the bathroom all night. I was mortified. Despite my substance abuse, I was a virgin and had no idea what had happened. I felt like running from the school when I heard and wanted to vomit. Could I be pregnant? Was it rape? I went and spoke with the school counselor, in a panic of tears. She was a good listener but in her late fifties, I sensed that she really had no idea what to say. I never felt more alone, and was filled with shame. There was no way I could talk to my mother about it as I would have had to confess to the partying.

Two days later I found out that this hideous kid's brother told two of my friends that the story had been made up - all that had happened was kissing (I was so drunk that I even doubt that). I was so relieved but not necessarily any wiser. My drinking continued, as usual, and vomiting and blackouts were common. Getting booze was easy and somehow we always had enough money to all get quite high. Of course we frequently partied all night, claiming to be sleeping at each other's houses and we were never actually caught. I'm sure I wasn't the only one in my crowd prepared to sell my soul for "the high" but I certainly was at the front of the pack, giving myself completely to this intimate and reliable friend.