I’m just going to state this once. If you have not read the following posts, you will have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about. And, for the uninitiated, WWIT? stands for “What Was I Thinking?” and is sometimes accompanied with brisk slaps to my head (that’s another post – about the Cream Puff Man and why he annoys me). So, in no particular order, here are the posts you might want to read to make sense of the story about to unfold:

A story of my former fiance (what you’re looking for is at the very end and is blue), A poem written about a particular red-headed jackass, The story of my first kiss. Actually, you should probably read it in reverse order – kiss, poem, former fiance. It’ll make more sense. Or just read on.

Okay. So (at the time of this incident, not now) I am 15. I have just received my first kiss the month before. I am going to sleep over at a friend’s house. I have met said friend because my mother, for some odd reason, decided I needed the help of a psychologist and enrolled me in “group.” I do not remember the names of the girls that I was in group with (Hmm, could it be because this was 23 years ago and I have a hard time remember what I did yesterday? Could be) so we will assign them names – Maddie (Raped repeatedly by her father, hated men, trying to date someone but it wasn’t working so well with the whole hating men thing, plus she had trust issues because she went to the dentist and woke up and her shirt was unbuttoned…oh, did I mention she was 13?), Pam (didn’t get along with her parents at all, may have possibly tried to kill either herself or her little sister) and some other girl I didn’t like.

My dad comes to pick me up and drive me over to Maddie’s apartment building. Oh, how lucky for me, it is 3 in the afternoon and Dad’s been drinking. It is a fun ride while I pray very hard to not die. Fortunately, I do not.

Maddie’s brother is in a full body cast due to some disease where he had to have an operation. He is allowed to have a friend spend the night. The friend’s name is Dean. I don’t remember the brother’s name. Maybe it is Tony. And actually, Maddie’s name is Trish (can’t believe I remembered this). Okay. Dean (which I keep typing as Dead (Hmm, I might have issues), Tony, Trish. I do not remember the mother’s name.

Are you lost yet? Sorry. Here’s what I remember about the first night. Fried egg sandwiches. Listening to Chicago. Listening to Dean on the phone with a girlfriend and giggling while we were in the kitchen.

The second night:

Trish wasn’t feeling good and went to bed. I am playing Scrabble with Tony and Dean. Dean keeps making comments I don’t understand (or remember them now). Tony tells him to leave me alone. Dean makes another comment. I, feeling brave by the attention, indicate I would have no idea what he was talking about because I had received my first kiss a month ago. Tony says “Dean, leave her alone. I’m serious. She’s just a kid.”

We finish playing Scrabble and are watching baseball. Dean makes remarks about first base, second base, etc. I still have no real idea what he was talking about. I am very naive. I have never had a boyfriend, never had any guy show any interest in me before. I am flustered and have no idea how to flirt. Tony mentions to Dean to leave me alone again but then falls asleep.

Dean and I are still watching baseball. Dean says something, I look up and he runs his hand over my chest. I don’t say anything. I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m tired of never having anyone interested in me because I’m chubby, maybe because I want to go back to school with a tale of how a boy touched me to be cool for once (yes, because I so wanted to fit in with the snobby rich girls who were complete bitches to me. What was I thinking?).

Dean runs his hand over my chest again. I still don’t react. What am I supposed to do? He takes my hand and leads me out to the living room. Trish’s mom is there. He tells her he misplaced his keys out by the pool and needs to go look for them. He asks me to come with him.

We head out into the hallway. He leads me off to the first floor of the building. I say “Didn’t you lose your keys?” He says “No. I used that as an excuse to spend some time with you.” I am flattered by this. He brings me to the laundry room.

It is here (I think) that he finally kisses me. Twice. My first french kiss. My second. My first time kissing a boy who kisses like a Saint Bernard. This and the two passes across my chest seem to be all the foreplay I’m going to get. Suddenly I am being undressed. I stop and pull back. What’s going on? It is here that changes the entire track of my life. It is here that Dean says “I love you.”

Right now I am a fairly intelligent woman. I am a bit more cynical than I used to be where men are concerned, especially when they express attraction to me (please, I have a mirror), I (sometimes) spend a little bit more time making a decision. But here, back in 1981, I am 15, I am lonely, I am not so bright where men are concerned.

I allow him to continue undressing me. When he puts his hand on my zipper, I step back. He says and I quote “You would if you loved me.” This is the first and last time you will ever see me swear like this. But Dean is a god-damned son of a fucking bitch and I hope he rots in hell (Sorry, God. Please don’t smite me. You know I hate to use your name in vain). Okay, no, I don’t, I have forgiven him but a part of me is always going to hate him for this. A part of me is always going to hate me for this. I looked at him, into his big brown eyes and fell for the oldest line in the book. I did not think “Hmm, Dana, you’ve known him for a little over 24 hours. How could you possibly love him? How could he possibly love you?” No. What I thought was “If I don’t, he won’t like me anymore.”

If I don’t, he won’t like me anymore. Argh! Like I was ever going to see him again. Like I was ever going to see any of them again (the any of them would refer to the men following Dean, where I felt guilty because I let this jackass touch me and therefore, I must allow anyone who shows the slightest interest in me the same favors). As much as I have missed sex, as much as the seven years of celibacy have irritated me at times, I am so glad for it since it helped me break this cycle.

Now that I’ve completely depressed you, here is the time where it is okay to laugh because I laugh. I was a very naive little girl. I’ve grown up a lot since this night in the laundry room. So, seriously, go ahead and laugh during these next paragraphs. It’s okay.

I am standing in the laundry room. I am naked. Dean is fully dressed. He tells me to hold on a second and disappears into the other room. When he comes back, he is completely naked. I am staring at him, puzzled. There is something about him that I just don’t understand.

When I was 12, my mother provided me with a book and said “If you have any questions, come see me.” It was a book about changes, puberty, etc. There were pictures of men and women naked. There were pictures of penises. However, none of the penises were ever erect. So, when Dean walked out of the other room, naked except for the condom he was wearing, I seriously thought that the penis would turn blue when erect. After all, I had heard about blue balls. This made complete sense to me. Erect = Blue.

Now, I am a short woman. I am 5’4″. At 15, I was maybe 5’2″. Does Dean take this into consideration? No. He tries to have sex with me against the wall. It doesn’t work, he’s a foot taller than me. What an idiot. This does not work at all, especially, since, hey, I’m a virgin! I have no idea what you’re doing.

After a few minutes of his attempting to adjust things, he decides to have us lie on the floor. Oh, the romance of cold concrete. Oh, thank you so much, Dean, for making a pillow for my head out of your clothes. My, what a lover you are. Oh, baby, oh, baby, oh.

Dean lies on top of me. I have no idea what he is doing. There is some moving of the blue penis in the general vaginal area. I lie there and think about the really hot guy I work with and how it would be different if he was here. I remember thinking “Is this seriously what they write love songs about?”

Approximately 5 minutes pass. Dean shudders on top of me. I am still thinking of the hot guy and don’t notice. Dean says “I’m done.” I watch him remove the blue and realize that he was wearing a condom. We go back upstairs. The next day, I leave him a note with my phone number. I never hear from him. Two weeks later, after telling Trish about what happened, she calls me. “Yeah, I talked to Dean. He says he never touched you.”

I am furious. I spent two entire weeks waiting for him to call (and also convinced that I am pregnant) and he lies about this? I tell her exactly what I am thinking “Oh, I cannot believe he would lie about this. What an ass. Well, that’s fine. He was horrible and kissed like a Saint Bernard. A total slobberer.”

I hear a sharp intake of breath. “You bitch!” I hear Dean say. The phone disconnects. Oh. I think I hurt his feelings. What a shame. Group disbanded shortly after that. I never saw Trish, Dean or Tony again.

An added note – 3 years later, my boyfriend and I are having sex for the first time in the backseat of his Omega (small, small hatchback car). Mark penetrates. There is pain. Pain I never believed would be possible. I scream “Damn you, Dean!” Mark is less than pleased and I have to explain to him all about how I lost my virginity in a laundry room and here it turns out that Dean’s not just a bad kisser, he’s bad at everything. Oh, and in case you’re wondering, foreplay did consist of the two kisses and the two passes over my breasts. That’s it. What a stud.

So, this is the story of, in the words of The Lioness, the tale of the blue stiffy. It sounds like a Nancy Drew mystery, doesn’t it? Actually, I think I might change the title of this post to that. This was origionally called “The first departure of the WWIT? train.”

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