Sophomore year consisted of holding up what scraps of work ethic I have and melding into the school's drama department as green as can be. Towards the end of the school year, as the weather warmed up, as did my social life. Around May, we'll offer, I was finally introduced to a boy who had caught my eye on my first day at Madison High School. He was a tall, porcelain skinned, musician whose thin, lanky frame was constructed especially for an acoustic guitar to be slung over-the-shoulder and paraded through hallways as a status symbol of I don't care about your status symbols. His name was Travis. And he was damn good. He was interested in my friend, Tiffany, a tiny little thing with a tomboy streak. As her friend and wing man, when he started inviting Tif to listen to him play in one of the private practice rooms in the music department during lunches, I was pulled along. He was mesmerizing. Retro vibe with a swiftly unique voice. Tif wasn't so drawn to him as she was to her grimy ex-boyfriend who she had kept eternally on the back burner and never thrown out with the day-old bread. Travis and I exchanged phone numbers. And the year was over.
The summer was sticky that year, with breezy cool evenings and 10pm sunsets. The days came and went without hurry and without major events occurring. The ellusive Travis and I stayed in touch via text throughout the summer. We never saw each other, probably because I would offer any excuse at the drop of a hat when propositioned due to over-protective parents. We got to know each other nevertheless, over text. We played a game. "The Question Game." It was simple enough, with straight-forward rules to abide by. The "pass" clause is always debated between the two parties, but otherwise the rules are considerable concrete.
1. The person who brings the idea of the game to the table has the choice of who is first to ask a question.
2. The answer to said question must be 100% honest and as straight-forward as possible.
3. The person to answer a question may then ask that same question (either after offering their answer or at some point during the game) but then must also, in addition, ask a new posed inquiry.
I'm more than sure you've played.
One of the first questions he'd asked me was how far I had gone with a boy. My answer was simple, and shaded with controversy. I've only kissed a boy. Never made out. But, technically, I've been further...? I've stolen second base if you will. What? I'll explain some other time.
See, it was on my last day of ninth grade. Later that same afternoon that I received my first kiss, I was riding bikes with my best friend Katie. We were desperately trying to track down our friend that I'd known and had had a major crush on since sixth grade. His name was Ethan. Ethan was adorable. A scruffy skater kid with a taste for trouble. He went to another Junior high, West Colbridge, for eighth and ninth grades after getting expelled from Kramer-Schultz. He had freckles. He had my heart. We found him at one of the older kid's houses in our golf community neighborhood. He was drunk. I was in love. He had taken a shot of Everclear, a 195 proof liquer. He said he felt like Peter Pan. I felt like his Wendy. We were all invited to come inside to what I then found out was Shari Stall's house. Shari was one year ahead of us in school, but dated Paul, who was in our graduating class. Shari, her pussy-whipped beau Paul, two of Ethan's friends, Ethan himself, Katie and I all piled onto the oversized luxious black leather couch in the "entertainment room." Rich family. We watched "Saw." As the movie progressed I got clearance from Katie that operation Make Ethan Fall in Love with Dolly was a go. Later, my very insecure friend expressed jealousy and bitterness, but that's a moot point. I cuddled up behind Ethan, who welcomed the change in positioning. He was lying on his right side, with me behind him supporting myself with a pillow under my right elbow. He had an identical pillow in front of his tummy, guarding view from his left arm's actions. He reached his left hand between his legs to reach my neighboring thighs. He ran his hands up and down my thighs - which move to this day is one of the fastest ways to rev my engine. His hand suddenly ventured to bolder lands. His unexpectedly strong hand was on my denim clothed pussy. He thusly began massaging the area. I began feeling myself getting off by this awkwardly timed and located assertion. He slowed as he started to drift off while the movie was still playing. And I just sat there, wet and processing. Ethan and I never spoke about his drunken advances toward me til years later when he signed my yearbook senior year. With that said, we were never more than just friends since that afternoon on Shari's couch.
Anyways...
Come August, Travis and I knew each other very well, and it was clear that we both were interested in the other. The first day of our Junior year was soon approaching.
Many of my nights that summer were spent babysitting for my neighbors who lived directly across from me. I was texting Travis, per usual. He told me he had a surprise for me. I was stoked at the thought of him giving me a private concert in the band room of songs that he specifically wrote for and about me. I expressed my excitement for my unhinted-at surprise through several digital smiley faces and exclamation points. All he replied with was an adorable Wednesday<3. I was giddy.
The first day of Junior year, and I am out of my mind excited for what the year had in store for me. I had talked with my friend Chelsea about how much we both felt this year was gonna be big for both of us. On the first day of school upperclassmen aren't required to be in our homeroom until noon. Til then those of us without our own transportation, therefore our independent schedules being at the mercy of the school bus schedule, were simply coralled into the common areas of the school to socialize quietly and look at the extra curriculum displays while the sophomores went to their classes. I finally met up with Travis during this idle time of freedom. He grabbed my hand and we both were practically skipping to the music department.
I walked into the practice room that Travis had motioned to. I took three paces into the room and felt him grab my right wrist commandingly whipping me around, forcing me to face him. Dolly VanTripp was making out with Travis Craine. I was totally the smitten kitten. I was skipping through the halls as the last bells signaled time to get to homeroom. I nearly, and quite literally, ran into Tiffany in the main hallway. I beamed with delight as I whispered in her ear, I just made out with Travis! She gasped with concern and shook her head. This year was gonna be AWESOME.
Though, unfortunately, even without a frame of comparison, I could honestly say he was a bad kisser. Sloppy. Darty. And somehow, surprisingly, he had no sense of rhythm.
We remain friends to this day, but that was the last time we did anything to any sexual degree. Later that school year my younger friend, then-sophomore Josie Davies, had a relationship with Trav. And she has insisted he is a good kisser. God willing.
