It was high school and ok, by my own admission my short hair, black Levis jeans, bloodstone boots and Jack Daniels t-shirt had me at a distinct disadvantage with the boys. Not to indulge the stereotype but I wasn’t the kinda girl you’d ask to split a milkshake with, no I looked more like the girl a knowledge hungry high school boy might come to for advice on fisting.
Then came the summer of 96 and with it came the shedding of my sexual ambiguity and out sprung a bonefide boy fancying girl (granted I’d still kept the souvenir of being about 7 pounds overweight, but I wore it well, namely in my breasts, and anyway I was more then willing to work it off with any member of the boys 1st Eight Row team – I had to settle on the 3rds; private school politics).
But the boys were noticing me and I’d recently developed a talent for giggling and batting my eyelashes. As such I found myself being invited to parties for the first time based on my bustling wit and less to do with my earlier approach of ‘you can put it anywhere I can’t reach’.
One such party was at my neighbour’s house on a Saturday night. She was the year above me at school and for a short while we were friends, until she picked up a pamphlet on ‘Bullying, bitching and f&*kwit behaviour’ and became an instant convert. Now there was a boy at this party – Peter, slightly older, less inclined to wash and shave, more inclined to smoke Wini blues and call girls ‘babe’. HOT!
It was set; I had a date with pash rash and passive emphysema and then Jared showed up. Tall, gangly, most certainly a virgin in every regard and recently suspected of playing with himself behind his Cello in music class, Jared opened every conversation with me the same-
‘Hi Lou, can I touch you…get it it rhymes….good times, good times.’
‘No Jared. Shut up and die’.
He’d then spend the next hour or so sulking and then finally I’d feel bad and dance with him and let him touch my wrist.
The truth was though this was high school and hanging out with Jared, well it made me a loser, and at 16 I’d take the potential labelling as the ‘town bike’ over being a known associate of Jared Robuckle any day.
So pulling my t-shirt down and my skirt up I made straight for Peter, he liked short girls and as long as the school midget Katie didn’t make an appearance I was in a with a shot.
‘Oh hi Lucy’.
‘I thought it was Lucy’
‘Oh you’re right. It is. I forgot. I’m always forgetting things like that, I’m such an idiot’ (cue giggle)
‘Cool – so do you go to school?’
‘Yeah, I go to your school’
…and then I could’ve been as in as Flynn, nothing was going to stop what happened next.
I felt heaving breathing on the back of my neck and knowing it wasn’t the good type I was reluctant to turn around, there was a distinct home invasion feeling in the atmosphere.
It was Jared – why was he not dead? I’d told him to go and die somewhere. Could no one commit to basic direction anymore?
‘…good times, good times…’ he mumbled.
Something was wrong.
‘I really like you Lou…’ and with that he threw up all over me, and looking at Peter’s face as he ran away I suddenly knew why so many teenage girls killed themselves, oh and then it started to rain.
It’s not often you get someone’s life placed firmly in your hands, that power to decide if someone lives or dies and unlike the time my little sister locked herself in the fridge and I knew the right thing to do was let her out before she suffocated to death, I was conflicted over to whether to save Jared from choking in a pool of his own vomit. Surely it was his decision – conscious or unconscious?
The rain was persisting and so realising I wasn’t going to be getting to know Peter in the laneway next to the bins anytime I soon, I dropped to my knees and picked up Jared’s head. He drew breath, tried to open his eyes and then started vomiting again, this time down my top –, my own personal money shot.
Seven hours later I awoke to find Jared passed out next to me, one hand trying to reach my wrist, the other trying to get down his pants. Quietly I picked up my shoes, reconciled that the vomit was going to have be shampooed out of my hair and made my escape.
That should have been the end of it, but oh no the Victorian government had to be all serious about school being compulsory and ‘you will be going back to school on Monday Louise –whatever happened on the weekend, well young lady you’ve made your bed and now will just have to lie in it.’
‘But mum, that’s problem – it was the wrong person, wrong bed’.
‘Explain to me Louise, when did beggars become choosers?’
I retuned to school, ready for the stares, the whispers, the gossip, the tabloid press, but to my relief there was nothing but by my own admission it was 6.30am in the morning and I was hoping to make it to the library before anyone noticed I still existed, and that’s when I discovered Jared standing by my locker, my vomit covered bra clutched in his hand.
‘Hi Lou..can I-‘
‘Why have you got my underwear!’
‘You left it behind and why are you yelling at me?’
‘You have my underwear!’
‘Underwear you took off when we spent the night together’
‘Underwear you threw up on’
‘Yes, when we were doing it’.
My world stopped.
‘’We did not do it – you were unconscious’.
‘How do you really know we didn’t do it, you were asleep’.
‘Basic logistics idiot boy’
‘I’m just saying I didn’t feel like a virgin when I woke up the next day’
‘Well I didn’t feel like a virgin when I woke up either, but then again I didn’t go to sleep one!’
‘Exactly! Ha! You admit it – we sooo did it.’
‘No, you threw up on me and kept passing out in pools of your own vomit. No one would come near me because I was also covered in vomit and so I spent most of the evening holding you up over a toilet.’
‘Maybe we can just agree to disagree on this one…?’
I watched as he fingered my bra.
‘Can I have that back’
‘Ok’ reluctantly he handed it back, his fingers now lingering around my wrist.
‘What do you want Jared?’
‘I just thought now that we’re officially boyfriend and girlfriend…’
‘Are you retarded?’
‘I just wanted to sit down like adults and talk about us, thought maybe I could buy you a milkshake?’
‘Oh and then what? We go down to the army barracks and I give you a hand job?’
‘Christ Lou, that wasn’t what I had in mind…I mean after we did it I thought we’d be talking blow jobs if anything’.
I’d like to say Jared mysteriously lost his penis that day. I’d like to say that I wasn’t so easily swayed by milk products and declined his invitation of a milkshake – to be honest there are a lot of things I’d like to say I never did.