by A J Walkley
“And what? Smoking your brain out?” I was getting a little frustrated with this guy.
“Oh, that reminds me! Guess what I got last night?” Cam expertly changed the conversation.
I lifted my eyebrows in response.
“Some Purp, babe!”
My expression remained.
“Purple haze, man! The best bud you’ll ever smoke,” he explained, practically bouncing in his seat. “Well, unless you’re in Amsterdam. We can hit up a gas station for a blunt after this and kick it at my house, if you want?”
“Whatever.” Sometimes it just wasn’t worth it with him; I was too worn out to care about his life for him.
All I wanted to do was scream, “I don’t want to be with you anymore!” When I opened my mouth to do it, I couldn’t bring myself to emit a single sound.
Coward, I thought, looking out the window and avoiding eye contact with him for the rest of the trip.
***
Cam’s home life didn’t seem too different from mine, though his parents spent ample time with him and his brother on the weekends. His father, a prosecutor, was always working late into the night; his mother, a PTA member who was also on at least three other town commissions, never came home before midnight either. His brother was at soccer practice, so we had the house to ourselves.
Down in the basement we sat down on the giant leather couch I could have died happily lounging upon.
“Can I play Kart while you roll?” I asked.
“Def!” he said, turning the Game Cube on and handing me a wireless controller. He proceeded to gut the blunt into a trashcan and started the rolling process, taking two grams of bud out of his wallet.
“So, how often do you do this? You know, smoke pot?” I inquired, eyes fixed on Princess Peach and Luigi flying around Yoshi Island.
“Depends. Usually once a day, if this town’s not dry.”
“ONCE A DAY?” No way. I mean, I knew Cam smoked on the weekends, because I was with him a lot of the time. This was the first I heard of his chronic habit. Of course, he wasn’t learning how to play guitar any better than he could; nobody could learn an instrument when they smoked weed that much. “With who?”
“Brian. Shaun. The usual. Most of the time alone, though, before bed, you know?”
I paused the game and turned to him.
“You smoke by yourself?”
He nodded, licking the tobacco wrap.
“What’s the point?” I continued.
“Uh,” he paused. “I mean, it’s relaxing and, well, you should just try it sometime. It’s nice.”
All of these terms came to me then: Stoner. Pothead. Airhead. Burner. Blazer. Burnout. Toker. None seemed too complimentary.
“Okay, voila!” he brandished his finished product. “Time to spark it!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter.
Lighting the blunt, he puffed it several times to make sure it was smoking.
“Did I teach you the PUFF, PUFF, PASS rule yet?” he questioned me.
I stared at him like I’d look at Em when she asked me if I had eaten dinner when I was in the middle of a bite of mac and cheese. “Nah, but I picked up on it the last several times we’ve smoked together,” I answered, taking the blunt when he passed it to me. I coughed like I was choking on a bone after the first intake of smoke. This was stronger weed than I had tried at that point.
“Whoa there, man! I told you this was good shit. Coughing’s actually good for newbies, you know. It makes you actually inhale instead of just holding it in your mouth and blowing it out,” Cam informed.
I nodded. After my second puff I held my cough in and began to feel the effects. I started giggling.
“Ha, yeah baby! That’s what I’m talking about.” Cameron leaned over and kissed me. “Hey, I’m gonna kiss you again, but this time I want you to breathe in as I breathe out, okay? It’s called a shotgun.”
Cam took a hit and pressed his lips to mine once more. I took in the smoke he blew into my mouth. It felt cooler this time coming from him and I didn’t feel the urge to cough at all.
“Cooooool,” I told him slowly. “My turn.”
We kept this exchange going until my mouth became too dry to continue – what Cameron called “cotton mouth.” We put out the last quarter of the roll job and sat back, his arm around me.
“Hey, want some water?” he offered.
I nodded vigorously and Cam went to fulfill my wish. I drank the whole glass in one long gulp upon his return. Cam just laughed before leaning in for yet another kiss.
He pulled me over to straddle his hips and I could feel his erection between my legs. Even though we had been seeing each other for a couple months, neither of us had taken the next physical step beyond kissing. This was Cam making that move.
He unlocked our lips for a moment to moan –
“Feel what you do to me?”
His words and his penis, straining beneath me, charged my blood, all of it flowing instantly to the V between my legs. His hand was there then, sliding his zipper down, unbuttoning his jeans.
A minute later, Cam guided my own hand between us. Before I could hesitate, I was touching it, skin to skin, for the first time in my life. It was warm. I could even feel the blood pumping through it. As Cam pressed my fingers around it, he moaned again, into my mouth.
“Baby, that feels so good,” he said before putting his hands on my shoulders. “You know what would be even better?” He moved away and looked at my bruised lips, and then at his pulsing groin; lips to groin; lips to groin.
“Oh!” I exclaimed. If this was my first time seeing this infamous male organ, I had certainly never performed a blowjob. My heart immediately sped up, my face growing a darker shade of pink.
“Have you ever?” he asked. I shook my head. “Do you want to?”
I made no movement, paralyzed in the moment.
What would he think if I said no? What would he tell Brian? I wondered.
Despite my inner questioning, Cam pushed me gently to my knees in front of him, pulling my shoulders forward and down until I was face-to-face with it, not much protest involved on my part. I opened my mouth, thinking If not now, when? and he pushed the crown of my head, forcing me to take him in.
“I’ll show you how,” he murmured from above, guiding me up and down.
At first, I felt like gagging, tears glazing and slipping out of my eyes. He tasted salty, like licking my lips after swimming in the ocean. The whole motion of this activity felt like that, actually, and I put myself there, being pulled and pushed by the waves. I held my teeth back, not wanting to hurt him. I thought about how people said, “bigger is better” – if Cam was any bigger, though, I’d either choke or be impaled.
I can’t say I enjoyed it. In fact, one of the thoughts that flitted through my mind several times was how anyone could ever enjoy this. But, I will admit that the sounds Cam was making were making me increasingly horny. I couldn’t believe something I was doing was making him feel so good.
“Greer. Oh, God, Greer, just like that, yesssss. There we go. Yes, like, that, yes. I’m going to – Ohhhh!”
That was all the warning I had before he came in my mouth. I wasn’t exactly prepared for the bitter liquid, unlike anything I’d ever tasted before. I didn’t think about spitting or swallowing – but when he was done and I looked up, I realized it was gone. I was a swallower, it turned out.
My jaw was killing me. I wiped my eyes when he went to the bathroom to clean himself up. As soon as he returned, I smiled shyly at him before going into the room myself. I took the toothpaste out of the drawer and squirted some directly into my mouth. There was no way I was going to face Cameron if I had semen breath.
Before heading back to him, I looked at myself in the mirror. I smoothed my hair down where he had mussed it up with his guiding hand.
“Yes, you really just did that,” I said out loud, confirming it for myself.
I didn’t feel proud. I didn’t feel happy or upset. If
anything, I felt like I had lost something. It would be corny to say my innocence, but this was not something a child did. I had crossed some kind of line for myself and in my relationship with Cameron and, for some reason, all I could think of was Becca and how this was something she wouldn’t understand.
***
Have you ever looked in the mirror and not recognized the person staring back at you?
When I got home, I stood in front of my mirror for a long time, staring into my bloodshot eyes, wondering who I was.
I looked over at my bookcase and had a sudden urge to look though an old journal I hadn’t written in for awhile. My dad had given it to me for my birthday in 5th grade. He was just about to leave on one of his first experimental trips to Mexico and he wanted me to be able to write down everything that happened while he was gone. I wrote one entry and forgot about it for a few years, apparently:
Dear Diary,
Daddys gone. He went away and left me here. He said to rite when I missed him. I miss him all the time. Mommy said hes coming home soon but I think she lied. She wants to make me and Em feel happy but I know the trooth. Daddy said it wood be a long trip. I can not wait for him to come home. I hope he brings back presents.
That was it. Maybe I had a short attention span as a kid. The next entry was from 6th grade:
Dear Diary,
This stupid girl in my class made fun of my shirt today. It’s from Mexico and looks cool. It’s red, orange, and yellow in a cool pattern. She said it looked like someone threw up on me. I cried and my teacher sent us both to the principal. I didn’t even do anything! I had to sit there for almost an hour talking about our fight instead of being in science and Spanish class. I hate those classes anyway so I didn’t care. Nick said I should of punched her. I’m such a baby sometimes.
Important events, no? It looked like middle school was of more interest than elementary though, because I had several entries from that first year. The next read:
Dear Diary,
Maggie, my cousin, came over today and she took me to Starbucks. She’s so cool. She’s visiting from college in Florida. I was really happy that she trusted me with a secret but then I was surprised when she told me what it was.
She told me that she dated a girl in high school for two months! Can you believe that? Weird, right?
But, I kind of also thought it was kind of cool. When she told me, I thought that I wanted to do that, too. Is that, I don’t know, normal?
Wow, I thought. I totally forgot about that.
For some reason, a wave of relief washed over me. I wasn’t going crazy. This wasn’t an anomaly, or a fluke, or a mistake. I had a history of these feelings.
Now, for an update:
Dear Diary,
I did something for the first time in my life and I don’t know if I should have. It was with Cameron, my first boyfriend. Sloppy thirds is what people call it, if you get what I’m saying. It was weird. Kind of like getting one of those throat cultures for Strep at the doctor’s office, except longer and wider with a surprise at the end. Ha, I can’t believe I just wrote that. Anyway, I hope Cam doesn’t think this is going to be happening all the time now. And I really hope he doesn’t think this means I’m ready for more. Like, going all the way. That just ain’t happening.
In other less life-altering news, I haven’t been doing so well in the water. Lately, swimming hasn’t been the same as it was back in SC. I should have realized it would be more competitive, but not that I’d have to compete against my own teammates for a spot in a meet. I’ve been so distracted at practice that I know Coach won’t put me in.
The thing is, I don’t really care. No one’s going to show up, so what’s the difference? I’ll just cheer Becca on and probably enjoy myself more, no pressure or anything on me.
Anyway, it’s nice to get all that out, even if it’s just on paper. Maybe I won’t wait another four years to use this thing again.
Till next time, Greer
***
Fifth swim meet of junior year and I was not feeling great. I was PMSing like whoa; cramps, bitchiness, the whole nine yards. It figured that this would have to be the meet my dad could make it to.
Walking out with my team, I glanced at the bleachers and quickly located him, wearing his worn out Yankees hat that, ironically enough, one of his Mexican clients gave him as a gift of gratitude. I smiled and he waved.
No pressure, Greer. He’s not here. Just concentrate on the water. Internal monologue pep talks are always helpful in situations like that.
Unfortunately, even a full-blown speech couldn’t have helped me because Coach decided to bench me for the entire thing.
“Please, Coach?” I pleaded before the final event in freestyle. “My dad’s watching!”
“You need to learn to work more at practice, MacManus, instead of watching your teammates,” Coach said, momentarily glancing in Becca’s direction. “Hopefully you’ll compete next time.”
I looked back at my dad. He waved again and I gave him a thumbs down sign.
***
“You’re kidding me! That’s it for the season? I didn’t even swim! You have to come back!” We were standing outside of the gym, my meet finished. We had won, but it didn’t feel that way to me.
“I’m sorry, kiddo. It’s just that I have to go back sooner than I thought. A favor for a friend who is trying to get his wife and sons over here as soon as possible. I think they’re in some sort of situation down there, I didn’t ask too many questions.”
I just stared at him, barely listening to the excuse he was giving.
“God, Dad! I never get mad at you, but this sucks.”
“Greer, please.”
“No!” I kicked the curb in front of me. “You know, at least Mom’s in the same zip code as us all the time. Can’t you stand being here for more than two weeks?”
“Honey. I thought you understood -”
I stared at him, wide-eyed. “Don’t you understand?”
***
“Everyone in the water!” Coach ordered.
It was 6:00 a.m. and I was exhausted.
“Okay, girls. Next meet’s in a week against the Grizzlies and there’s no reason we shouldn’t come out on top! But judging from last time,” he said, looking at me, “we need lots of practice before we can do that. Ten laps of your stroke, now! GO!”
Becca, swimming butterfly, was in the lane next to me as I free-styled to the end of the pool. I knew I was supposed to pace myself, but I couldn’t help my competitiveness. I tried racing Becca every kick, every breath, every flip-kick. She was such a natural. I couldn’t do more than keep up at first, but by lap four I was starting to drag.
“MacManus! You trying to kill yourself?” Coach yelled at me.
Shit, I thought. I had already shown up late for practice a healthy handful of times, on top of my performance anxiety or whatever. Things weren’t boding well for me in the water.
I ended up finishing with two of the three other first years behind me. Becca was first.
***
“What’d you do that for?” Becs asked in the locker room afterward. “You wanna be benched all season?”
I pulled my warm-ups on and started drying my hair with a towel. “I was challenging myself. What’s so wrong with that?”
Becca rolled up her own towel and flicked it at me.
“Ouch! Hey!” I grabbed my ass where it stung.
“That’s for trying to beat me!” she flirted, revealing her pearly whites as she spoke.
“Well, maybe I’ll just win next time,” I said, smacking her where she’d gotten me.
“Be careful, Greer. You’re cute and all, but Coach won’t think so, trust me,” she warned with a wink, walking out of the room.
No regrets, I thought, smiling inside. Hearing that makes it all worth it.
***
My hand practically moved of its own accord across the page, drawing what I had only imagined. The straight line of Becca’s nose, the sharp c
heekbones as well. But the sparse line of hair from navel to... I had merely glimpsed, and only in the locker room. The fleshy breasts I had only stolen glances at when they were safely concealed beneath T-shirts, or cardigans. Now they were revealed, sort of, by my artistic rendering with a journal and a black ballpoint. The hips, the pelvic bone, and the V in-between, left bare. Even though I didn’t, I assumed Becca shaved. She had hinted at it the night before when we were sitting side-by-side in my living room, covertly watching a DVD of “The L Word” after my parents had gone to sleep.
“Bare or hair?”
“What?” I had been confused, the question springing from nowhere.
“Come on! Bare or hair? What’s your preference?”
“As in?”
“Do you shave your pubes or what?” Becca had boldly asked.
“Oh, uh, why? Do you?”
“I asked first!” Becca got up to get the popcorn that lay in the microwave.
“No. I guess I never thought about it.”
“Really? You should try it. It’s a whole different feeling.” She plopped down beside me and put the bowl in her lap, sinking a hand in to extract a palm-full of the popped kernels. My heartbeat had sped up and I hadn’t had the courage to keep the conversation going.
Now, in my room, I scribbled away. Once I had finished drawing Becca’s likeness, I started on my own, facing the first prone figure. I had my hand stretched out, on the cusp of touching Becca’s left breast. I drew my own breasts, making them slightly larger than reality dictated. I also added an eyebrow ring in for good measure. Artistic license, right?
I flipped the page over and continued my frenzy, trying to get my fantasies out. Becca’s hand on my breast. My lips on hers. Becca’s hand down my pants.
After taking up almost five whole pages with these pornographic images, I stopped and shoved my journal under my bed.
Later that night I would pull it out again, rip them all up and throw them away in the trash can outside the house. I just couldn’t risk anyone finding them. My little sister could be such a snoop; the last thing I needed was for her to show those to Mom.
***
