| Soliloquy |
Despite her apparent shortcomings, her wide fleshy aerobic-proof hips and
thighs, her muscular shelf of stomach, her angry attitude and hirsute upper lip,
Chris received no shortage of attention from men. She attributed this not to her
sharp wit, kind heart, or intelligence but to her upbringing at the hands of the
culture of the 1980’s and 90’s. I understood her point before she made it, that
drunken night while Robin was downstairs getting loudly nailed. Like Chris, I had
learned exactly one hard fast fact about sex—the right answer is always, always
yes.
If you are on a date, and the man wants to kiss you, yes. If you are asked for
your phone number or your Saturday night, yes. If he wants you now, tonight,
yes. In the mouth, in the vagina, in the ass. Yes.
Taught that refusal was the exclusive province of prudes and religious fanatics,
and armed with the basic understanding that whether or not we did it, men would
say we had, Chris and I and millions of other young women spent our teens
saying yes, no matter what we wanted. Some their twenties too, I suppose.
“The first time I honestly think of as an accident,” Chris was saying. “This guy,
Dougie, asked me to come to his house after school. I said okay, and when we
got there, he immediately started pulling at my zipper. I pushed him away at first,
not really because I was opposed to fucking him – I hadn’t given it much thought,
but just because it seemed so dull and unromantic. I wanted him to try to kiss me
or something, maybe tell me I was pretty. But when I stopped him from taking off
my pants, he just pulled down his own, and here was this sorry little boner staring
up at me, looking confused and angry, just like Dougie did when I finally
remembered to look back up at his face. I’d never seen one hard before, and he
seemed to think I should have. He said, ‘Are you gonna let me fuck you or not?
Why’d you come over here anyway? You better at least give me a blowjob if we’
er not gonna do it.’ And then, because having him inside me for a couple of
minutes just sounded like less trouble than going down on him, which I didn’t
even know how to do, I took off my pants and let him fuck me. It really was a
sorry little boner. If I hadn’t been a virgin, I doubt I’d have felt it. Turned out he
was sure I’d do it cause Simon Wilcox said I’d done it with him. Dougie was
desperate to lose his cherry and thought I was a sure thing. After him, I got pretty
popular. I was the first time for half the losers at Reagan High. But I was never
their second.”
“Did you ever wind up actually doing it with Simon?” I don’t know why I asked.
Chris smiled, her lips tight and gray. “He was my best friend all through grade
school. Then we hit 9th grade, and he tried to hang with the guys. I guess he
told them he’d fucked me to sound important.” She paused so long I didn’t know
there was more, then added quietly, “He lost his virginity to me in 12th grade, 3
years after he took mine.”
thighs, her muscular shelf of stomach, her angry attitude and hirsute upper lip,
Chris received no shortage of attention from men. She attributed this not to her
sharp wit, kind heart, or intelligence but to her upbringing at the hands of the
culture of the 1980’s and 90’s. I understood her point before she made it, that
drunken night while Robin was downstairs getting loudly nailed. Like Chris, I had
learned exactly one hard fast fact about sex—the right answer is always, always
yes.
If you are on a date, and the man wants to kiss you, yes. If you are asked for
your phone number or your Saturday night, yes. If he wants you now, tonight,
yes. In the mouth, in the vagina, in the ass. Yes.
Taught that refusal was the exclusive province of prudes and religious fanatics,
and armed with the basic understanding that whether or not we did it, men would
say we had, Chris and I and millions of other young women spent our teens
saying yes, no matter what we wanted. Some their twenties too, I suppose.
“The first time I honestly think of as an accident,” Chris was saying. “This guy,
Dougie, asked me to come to his house after school. I said okay, and when we
got there, he immediately started pulling at my zipper. I pushed him away at first,
not really because I was opposed to fucking him – I hadn’t given it much thought,
but just because it seemed so dull and unromantic. I wanted him to try to kiss me
or something, maybe tell me I was pretty. But when I stopped him from taking off
my pants, he just pulled down his own, and here was this sorry little boner staring
up at me, looking confused and angry, just like Dougie did when I finally
remembered to look back up at his face. I’d never seen one hard before, and he
seemed to think I should have. He said, ‘Are you gonna let me fuck you or not?
Why’d you come over here anyway? You better at least give me a blowjob if we’
er not gonna do it.’ And then, because having him inside me for a couple of
minutes just sounded like less trouble than going down on him, which I didn’t
even know how to do, I took off my pants and let him fuck me. It really was a
sorry little boner. If I hadn’t been a virgin, I doubt I’d have felt it. Turned out he
was sure I’d do it cause Simon Wilcox said I’d done it with him. Dougie was
desperate to lose his cherry and thought I was a sure thing. After him, I got pretty
popular. I was the first time for half the losers at Reagan High. But I was never
their second.”
“Did you ever wind up actually doing it with Simon?” I don’t know why I asked.
Chris smiled, her lips tight and gray. “He was my best friend all through grade
school. Then we hit 9th grade, and he tried to hang with the guys. I guess he
told them he’d fucked me to sound important.” She paused so long I didn’t know
there was more, then added quietly, “He lost his virginity to me in 12th grade, 3
years after he took mine.”
