Touched
for the Very First Time
written by
B originally for Whatever-Dude.com on september 18th - 2001
Full text at http://www.whatever-dude.com/posts/181.shtml
"I was not quite prepared for the reality of my dual role. On the one hand, the willing corrupter of an innocent, and on the other, Humbert the happy housewife." - Jeremy Irons, Lolita, 1997
A normal man, given a group photograph of school girls and asked to point out the loveliest one, will not necessarily choose the nymphet among them. In 1983 I was three years old, and my most pressing matters involved finding one of those boxes to stand on in the arcade. I was a short kid, and my head's a little too big for my body, but in the memories between Ronald Reagan getting shot at and the first day of school I was a pretty smart and mature little guy. Sure, I still pooped my pants every now and then but I could read and write, and that's all any man can ask for. George Washington Carver pooped his pants and look at him, he invented the peanut. Without the peanut we would've never had the 1985 classic "The Peanut Butter Solution," and without that we would've never found the harrowing connection between peanut butter and witchcraft.
Life ain't nothin' but bitches and Pac-Man.
So in 1983 I was well on my way to inventing the peanut (or some other nut, like the space nut) when she was born, so God tilted the whole world sideways and shook all my dreams and intentions of a pure Christian marriage right into Heaven's recycling bin. In retrospect, I think Mandy Moore might've gotten all my hopes and dreams. And to think, *I* could be dating Fez from "That 70s Show." So far we've established that Jessica Mounts (and her unfortunate last name) has prevented me from inventing a space nut and doing Neutrogena commercials. See where this is going?
First I stole your dreams...now? THE CHOKESLAM
Time folds, and I'm being lead down a hallway adorned with pictures from her childhood. Baby pictures with a Nintendo in the background. Images telling stories of how she used to dance in her crib to Billy Ocean. I think back to what lead me to this, back when I was popular in elementary school all the way through awkward weight gain and acne through middle school on up into high school. I hadn't been long graduated, but I'd managed to escape high school (and a Mormon girlfriend) with my purity and morality intact. Not one of those "oops I forgot to wear a condom and now you're carrying my awkward teenage seed" trips I'd seen all the pretty girls in Spanish class take for me. I wanted real love, and thanks to America's public education system, I'd mistaken "true love" for the fifteen year old girl with a high-level C-cup. It's a common mistake.
But I'd just graduated...I had no idea what love, or relationships, or interpersonal conversation with a girl without worrying about my jogging pants riding up my crotch would be like. Those sweat stained pants had been replaced with cool black pants, my old ratty hockey jersey replaced with a nice looking shirt...and the first thing that popped out of my sheltered womb of social growth was a desperate need for companionship and a second chance at those girls who wouldn't date me three years ago.
I was a daisy fresh girl and look what you did to me.
Looking back I feel like Jeremy Irons, watching Dominique Swain take her retainer out before going down on him. We were in her mom's room, on a big waterbed that probably had contained gross motherly acts of parental private pounding already. She really was a beautiful girl...coming off the same Paul from the Wonder Years geek streak that I was just over, only three years sooner. In this world where Anna Nicole Smith marries a man who was alive when Mash was popular, losing your virginity to a girl three years younger is like watching Night Court reruns with a gun to your temple - not a big deal.
I don't remember how it happened, because we were both waiting until marriage, but when standard making out lead to her reaching down and unzipping things and moving things and inserting things the world started to go blank for me. Some people get nervous during their first time, or feel moral or physical pains, or come to some realization about themselves...it wasn't the case for me. I just closed my eyes and when I opened them, I could see down the hall. And do you know what was down the hall?
It Takes Two.
Two identical strangers. Two different worlds. One harsh
reality -- your girlfriend was 11 when this was released.
The Olsen Twins movie. With Steve Guttenberg. As an 18 year old heading into his first year of college I was having sex with someone who owned the Olsen Twins movie. It's not like me going back and buying Transformers on DVD for some kitschy kick because it was released in the mid 80's either, this is an "I own this movie because I indentify with it as a small girl" scare. As her fleshy body and soft brown hair trickled down my shoulders and over my chest I kept thinking "oh my God, she was 11 when that came out, she was 11 when that came out." I closed my eyes again and turned my head to the side...every time I opened them back up I saw something else...a Hanson CD, a copy of Mighty Ducks laying on the floor, the list goes on and on.
I had to tell her to "Cut...it...out...." at least for now.
I went on to date her for a few months afterwards, but things were never the same...sex made our relationship go from an innocent courtship to a complicated coexistence, where she had to come to terms with an older man stacking up a big brick wall between herself and her sheltered family's dogma and where I had to come to terms with the fact that I had sex with somebody who likes Hanson. Since then I've had sex with somebody who had a giant "Pink Flamingos" poster in her living room, so I guess I'm going to be associating passion with crap eating for the rest of my life.
Actual dialogue from the film: Stay where you are, or I'll
shoot. And get your hands off that steaming dog turd. It's mine.
Shortly after losing my virginity and becoming one of those sappy enamored kids who brings the woman they love a flower every time they see them for the first three months of dating (and I really wish I was making that up), I was dumped about a week before Christmas. I made up with her, though, don't get me wrong. After another happy month of dating I got dumped on Valentine's Day. I was considering getting back together with her right before St. Patrick's Day just so I could have a great excuse to get drunk and moon everyone in a large city from a float. But I thought that would've just been self-destructive.
What's the lessons learned from this? First of all, date somebody your own age. Until you hit 50 and start wearing those fat guy hats that button in the front, the kind that Gallagher wears, you're going to be growing and learning. If I'd looked at a group photo I would've never looked at Jessica and though she was capable of doing that much damage...a short, soft, beautiful little girl who, to this day, I feel like I made into something unclear and painful to remember. Sorta like the 1985 classic "The Peanut Butter Solution."
Sorry Dave, we're just not big fans of your work on the soccer
field. Try rubbing peanut butter in your hair.
Right now I'm looking at pictures of her and feeling sad that I let sex into my life at a time when I wasn't ready for it. I'm munching on space nuts (they taste like green cheese~!1!) and hoping that one day I'll come to terms with the feelings I had and the ramifications that a little coushin pushin' brings on. Want clear skin? Stay away from sex until you're old enough to do it right.
I could've done those Neutrogena commercials. But the first Neutrogena girl got shot for marrying Luke Perry on 90210 and Mandy Moore got bombarded with gamma radiation, causing her to grow to 11 1/2 feet tall, so I guess I'm better off. Thanks, Jessica.
