We drive.

Every so often, Tony and I will drive all night. We’ll drop someone off at their house and keep going. We’ll be hanging out at a party, we’ll look at each other and get up and leave.

And then we’ll drive.

We go off armed only with the prodigious knowledge every country kid has of the back roads; we all know how to get from one end of the county to the other without our wheels ever touching pavement. This is before GPS, before any of us had ever heard the word “internet,” or could even imagine such a thing. There is a crumpled and tattered state map buried under layers of white fast food bags somewhere in the back seat, stains of ketchup and mud obscuring most of the destinations, but we never use it.

We just drive.

Our first stop is the only 24-hour store in town. A weary, frizzy-headed woman in a blue polyester smock rings us up as we load up on Mountain Dew, shitty bitter gas station coffee, chips, candy bars, cigarettes, anything we think will fuel us until dawn. We pay her in dollar bills and count out lots of change. She sighs in exasperation, but takes the pile of quarters and nickels anyway, noisily dropping each coin in its little plastic drawer as we walk out the door.

Tony always takes the wheel. I kick my shoes off, resting my bare feet against the dashboard or out the window, and we go until we feel like turning. Sometimes we’ll come to an intersection and he’ll look at me. I’ll say “How about left?” or if I say “Go straight,” he’ll always say “Remember, it’s always forward, never straight,” and then he’ll laugh at his own little joke.  Continue reading

I follow a Facebook link, not expecting what follows.

My heart stops, I’m plunged into memories.

There you are, dressed for the prom, your arm around her. I’ve not seen a single photo of you in more than twenty years. Every memento I had of you, every photo, every note we passed in class, was destroyed by a jealous boyfriend back when we were still young.

He was right to be suspicious.

You were my first boyfriend, you sat in front of me in seventh grade Mythology. I’ve made this into my own myth. Tall, taller even then me, brown eyes, brown hair, people asked if we were brother and sister. “He’s trouble,” is what everyone said when I’d mention your name.

Notes passed back and forth until the first snowfall, our first kiss. I mimicked what I saw in movies, wide hungry mouth, hands pressing the back of your head. I shoved my tongue down your throat until you pushed me away.

Practice made perfect. Continue reading

“I miss you,” Damon whispers into the phone.

I’m broken. He left me the day we got our marriage license. For the past three months, I’ve done nearly nothing other than sit in a rocking chair and stare at the phone, waiting. Waiting for this.

He went back to his ex-girlfriend, now they’ve split up. He wants sympathy from me, and I give it to him. Damon tells me all the ways Julie was such a fucking cunt, how he was wrong to leave me. How she left him for someone else, stupid bitch. I tell him I forgive him for everything. For the split lip, for leaving me, all of it. I love him, I tell him over and over, hoping to erase his pain.

“Come home,” he says finally. So I do. Continue reading

It’s too cold in the unheated trailer to play real strip poker, so we play imaginary strip poker instead.

“Love the bra,” Craig winks as I lose another hand, bundling my jacket closer. “Shit,” says Jenny, pointing to the Southern Comfort, “this bottle’s empty.” I stand up to get the second bottle from the kitchen counter, but I crumple into a heap on the floor. “Oopsie,” cackles Craig, “you’ve had plenty already.” Hobie hauls me from the floor and plops me back into the chair.

Craig’s dad owns the little trailer in the middle of the woods, he lets Craig use it whenever he wants. It’s early autumn, not cold enough for snow, but cold enough for a thin coating of frost to obscure the windows in the morning. We come out here nearly every Friday night instead of going to football games or pep rallies. Jenny and I shoplift bottles of booze and packets of sandwich meat after school. She’s a miraculous shoplifter, she never gets caught. I’ve even seen her shoplift raw hamburger. Craig’s dad leaves us a supply of beer as long as we promise to not leave the trailer once we’ve started drinking.  Continue reading

It’s a Saturday morning in early October.

I’m sitting on a brown plaid couch at my boyfriend Gary’s house, but he isn’t here. My best friend, Amanda, is in the bedroom fucking Brett, Gary’s older brother. It’s not even noon and she already fucked a guy named Richie this morning.  It’s my freshman year of high school, she’s an 8th grader.

I flip through TV channels, cranking the volume to drown out the sounds from the bedroom. School photos line the living room walls. In every one, Gary’s big crooked brown glasses cast awkward shadows across his face. Brett is the handsome one. In his photos, he poses with trophies from track, football, tennis, as if coming in first was just his natural place in the world. His blue and white varsity jacket hangs off a chair, laden with medals.

I find something to watch, then doze off.  Amanda wakes me up by gently shaking my shoulder. Her moon face is flush and her ponytail has come undone. “Brett wants to talk to you,” she says, gesturing towards the bedroom. Brett is standing naked in the doorway. I’ve never seen a naked guy in real life before. He gently takes my hand and leads me towards the bed. I realize this is his parents room, unless he’s in the habit of wearing a pink bathrobe and smoking a pipe. I sit down on the corner of the bed, staring at him in disbelief. I ask him what he wanted to talk to me about. Brett laughs, then starts to unbutton my shirt. Continue reading

Ten stories about 20 years

1. I’m twelve years old the first time I meet Alan. His best friend Cliff is my first boyfriend, my first kiss. We’re all in 7th grade. The three of us are inseparable. Cliff is tall and serious. Alan is his sidekick, too loud, too fat, too obnoxious, too-much-of-everything. Cliff and I will drift apart, but Alan will become the single thread that weaves in and out of my life for the next twenty years.

2. We’re sophomores in high school. I’m still in love with Cliff, even though we broke up in 8th grade. I lost my virginity at the beginning of the school year. I have a taste for sex now, and I want Cliff , he should have been the one I lost it with. Alan wants me. Alan is the only one of us with a car, and he refuses to pick me up unless I agree to fuck both of them. I fuck Alan first, just to shut him up, and the bed cracks. He pouts outside in the car while I give Cliff a blowjob, honking the horn and flashing the car lights on and off through the bedroom window. Next year Alan and Cliff will get in a terrible fight and never speak again, and neither one will ever tell me exactly what happened.

3. I’m downtown with my friends. We all look alike, big hair and tight jeans. We sneak sips of Southern Comfort from a can of Coke that we pass back and forth. There’s a party that’s supposed to be cool, so we go.  I immediately spot Alan. He’s lean. He looks shiny and muscular. He says he’s in the Air Force and he’s on leave. I can’t take my eyes off him. I follow him to the house where he’s staying, and we drink beer and play quarters with his buddies. I go outside for air and lay on the hammock, but I’m so drunk that I flip right off. Alan carries me upstairs and we fuck so loud that they crank up the stereo downstairs to drown us out. Continue reading

I navigate the dark kitchen, stretching the spiral phone cord as far as it will go.

It just barely reaches into the bathroom. Hunching down next to the laundry basket, I ask “Is your dick out?” There’s a shuffling noise, then Teddy says he’s rubbing his hard-on against the phone. He thinks he might be able to sneak out tonight. I say my mom is sleeping in the living room, plus it’s a school night. The blue flicker of the TV seeps underneath the bathroom door. A generic sound that could be applause or static hisses in the night. I pull the phone cord tighter to edge away from the sound.

Teddy tells me to rub my boobs on the phone, but instead I rub my hand back and forth across the mouthpiece. He asks if my nipples are hard. Suddenly, I notice the absence of the flickering light and the static. The couch springs creak as they sag heavy. “Hang on,” I whisper to Teddy. Opening the door slowly, I wait a moment, then pull it shut again.

“Say something to make me horny,” he says. I think for a moment, then tell him I’m touching my pussy, even though I’m not. Teddy’s breath crackles in my ear, he wishes I was there. I wonder aloud if a warm wet washcloth would feel like a pussy. He says he’ll try it. The phone crashes down, he fumbles for a minute before he picks back up. Continue reading

I hear the back door open.

I’m home alone from school on a sick day, watching The Price is Right. My boyfriend, Sam, walks in with a gas station rose wrapped in cellophane. This is the first long term relationship for either of us. I’m sixteen, he’s a year older. I tell him not to kiss me, I’m all germy, but he does it anyway. He says he’s skipping class to come check on me. I flip the station over to cartoons, ask him to hand me the ginger ale. Grinning, Sam starts to pull all these little plastic bubbles out of his pockets- almost like the kind with a toy inside from a twenty-five cent prize machine, but a little bigger.

Popping one open, I see that they each contain nylon knee high stockings; forest green, maroon, mustard yellow. I kick off my fuzzy slippers and try on a navy blue pair. I laugh, and tell him these are something old ladies wear to office jobs. Sam strokes my foot, then brings it up to his mouth and kisses my toes.

“Eww!” I make a face and yank my foot away. I don’t know what the hell this is about. Grabbing my foot again, he presses my toes up against his crotch. He unzips his jeans, rubbing his cock across my foot. I suddenly get it. I peel off my pajamas, naked except the blue knee highs. The dark blue against my pale legs looks foreign. I feel awkward. Sam pulls a chair in front of me and sits down.

Guiding both my feet around his dick, he asks me to jerk him off with my feet. I try to keep my feet together, and slide them up and down. The nylon is cheap and slippery, it’s already starting to snag and run. Leaning back in the chair, Sam slowly drives his hips up and down. My legs are getting tired and I’m trying not to sneeze on him.

He gyrates and shuts his eyes. I look past him and watch the television, clicking through the channels until he finally grunts loudly and finishes. I peel the sticky stocking off, wrapping them in a paper towel. I tell him to bury it deep in the trash on his way out.

Six stories about anal sex

1. Shaun is model-pretty, he mostly just fucks older married women, but he says I’m fun.
It’s Homecoming night, my Budweiser soaked blue gown is flipped up over my waist. Heavily scented with pot and Drakkar Noir, he leans in and whispers “I want to be the first to fuck your ass.” Shaun promises to go slow. If I like it, he says, then I’ll want to do it again.

He scoops a translucent fingerful of Vaseline from a little tub, then rubs the outside of my asshole in little circles.  Slowly, he slides one finger, then two, gliding them in and out for a long time. I almost fall asleep from the rhythm. I lie on my stomach, he nestles in close, guides his dick in. It doesn’t hurt a bit.

2. Lee is hiding something, I find out exactly what in his toolbox one day. When he comes home from work, I throw the box of condoms at him. We’re young and violent. I’m seven months pregnant and freshly twenty-one years old. He says he bought them so he could fuck me in the ass. I call him a liar, stab the little blue packets through with a kitchen knife.

Weeks later, I find another box in the crawl space. Bitterly, I ask him if he was still planning on ass fucking me. Shoving me face first onto the water bed, Lee rolls a condom on. He holds me down and forces his dick in my ass. The condom isn’t lubricated. Biting my lip, I refuse to make a noise. He frees one of my hands, and I hold the heaviness in my stomach. I cry the next time I shit.

____ Continue reading

Marcus is a virgin

He has two different colored eyes, one brown and one blue. It’s the summer before he leaves for college. Picking me up in his dad’s car, we drive to the gravel pits. It’s an old car, the navy blue plush seats are soft and wide. We kiss until the windows fog. I lie back and unzip my jeans.

Because he’s nervous, he tries to slide his dick in me without using his hands, like a porn movie. Instead, it slides up across my belly and he instantly comes. The car is stuck in the mud, so we wait for another car of young lovers to pull us out.

When Marcus starts college in the fall,  I send him my dirty panties so his roommates believe I exist.