REWIND
CHAPTER SIX
“I WANNA GO, BUT I HATE TO LEAVE YOU”

SEPTEMBER 3rd, 1978

The good thing about summer is no school. The good thing about a summer that’s going to be the last couple of months you spend with your first girlfriend is the same--no school. That means more time. The only thing I had to do that summer was the paper route three days a week. Kara and I became almost inseparable.

We hung out over her house. We hung out over mine. We went to the movies--the big movie that summer was Grease, which we actually saw twice! And, of course, we spent a lot of time up on Braddox Hill. 

July was great. The first part of August was great. But, as August wore on, the inevitability of our parting started to weigh heavily on both of us.

We both tried to be mature about it. I know we both wanted this to be an easy thing. However, I also knew, deep down, that I was kidding myself. I think she felt the same way. 

September 2nd was a Saturday. We went to Braddox Hill. We made love, slow and long. When we were done, we both cried. 

Her parents invited me over for supper that night, and I was glad of it. Then Kara and I ended up on the couch, watching TV, wrapped up in one another. We ended up falling asleep in one another’s arms. Apparently, Mrs. Pocharsky saw this, called my mother, covered Kara and I up in a blanket, and left us there. So, when I woke up this morning, Sunday the 3rd, it was with her on top of me, holding on for dear life.

I thanked Mrs. Pocharsky. She pooh-pooh’ed it and made us breakfast. Then, it was time to pack the car. I helped, for a while--then Kara and I ended up sitting on the grass in her back yard.

“God, I knew this was going to be hard, but it’s even harder than I thought,” she said. 

“I know. Just remember, though--this isn’t forever. Even if we’re never like this again, we’ll always be friends.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” I told her. 

“And you’d better write! And call!”

“You betcha.” We chatted for a bit more, then it was time to go. We walked out to her car, hand-in-hand. 

“Time to go,” her Dad said.

She turned to me, a sad smile on her face. And then she kissed me. “I love you,” she whispered afterwards.

“I love you, too. Study hard.”

“You too.” We walked over to the car. I opened the door, and she got in. As the car pulled out of her driveway, she waved. Then I watched my first true love roll away down the hill.

SEPTEMBER 6th, 1978

This was the first big manifestation of change. Instead of starting 9th grade at the Prep, I’d be starting it at good ol’ Cabot East JHS. It was rather strange and eerie. I was so happy to get out of this place the first time around--and here I was, voluntarily staying an extra year. I still didn’t know if it was bad or good.

My unease wasn’t helped at lunchtime. I found a table with The Usual Suspects from last year--and couldn’t help but feel the missing person--Kara. Patrick was also missing, he’d gone to the Prep. “It’s the first time we’ve not gone to school together. It’s a little weird,” Kelly had confessed to me. 

But, I was lucky to have the people that were there, and I knew it. Especially since one of the people still there was Beth. 

The rest of them, too. “So, how you holding up, bucko?” Kelly asked me.

“Ah, Kel, you know how it is. I’m OK, though. She called last night, we talked for a while. That was cool.”

“Good. Hey, if you need a shoulder to cry on.....”

“I know, Kel. Thanks. It’s appreciated.”

Beth was just joining us, along with her friend Kerry--and another girl. “Hey, do you guys know Olivia?” she asked. “I asked her to eat with us.”

Everyone said hello to Olivia, who murmured hello back, looking very uncomfortable.

Her name was Olivia Drogins, and, yes, I knew her. We’d been in science class last year, in eighth grade. In fact, we sat next to each other. I liked her, possibly because we were both outsiders. Actually, the first time around, I’d asked her out on a date--a dance, towards the end of the year--in eighth grade. She’d eagerly accepted--and then the next day told me her parents had forbidden her to go. And that was that. This time around, of course, I had had Kara. 

But I still had gotten along with Olivia in science class. I was one of the few people that paid any attention to her at all.  You have to understand, Olivia was the school sad sack.

Her clothes often had holes in the elbows, or were completely threadbare. Her shoes looked like they were being held together by spit and hope. Her hair was often dull and lifeless. This girl was poor. She was also painfully, painfully shy. She’d clearly absorbed a lot of hard knocks, even at 14 years of age. 

The thing is, though--she was smart. When you got her talking, she was sweet and nice and interesting. And she wasn’t bad looking. With a little fixing up, she’d be very good looking indeed. She was tall, willowy without being skinny, just curvy enough. Her eyes, when they sparkled--which was rare--were beautiful. In other words, in many ways, this girl had potential. Potential that, it seemed to me, was being completely unrealized.

That’s when it struck me--and I chuckled to myself. Beth had decided to take on a project. Good for her. 

The rest of the table might have looked askance at Olivia, except that Beth brought her over. And everyone at the table now knew about Beth, and they probably came to the same conclusion I did about what Beth was doing. So, when Beth tried to draw Olivia into the conversation, the rest of us went with it.

There was another sort-of new face at the table--my erstwhile semi-girlfriend Christine Seneca. That only made sense, as she was best friends with Michelle Pepper who’d been eating with us for a while. Knowing that I wasn’t Chris’s favorite person, I just waved and then tried to ignore her. It seemed as though she was looking at me kind of funny, though.

“So, what did everyone do this summer?” Danica was asking.

“Stayed in remission,” Beth said with a wry grin. 

“Ah, yes, the important things,” Stan grinned back at her. She beamed at him. I was so glad I’d opened up to Beth this time around and got her in with this crowd. It was good for her. Stan Murvetsin didn’t stand on ceremony with anyone. Beth needed that. 

“Oh, and I lived vicariously through the exploits of my best friend, the stud,” Beth continued, pointing at me.

“Oh do NOT start!” I told her.

“Sorry,” she grinned, not sorry at all. “Anyone else?”

“My Dad decided I was old enough to start working at the sub shop,” Stan said. “Somebody shoot me.”

Michelle laughed. “Less than fun?”

“If I never see another steak bomb for the rest of my life, it’ll be too soon.”

We all chuckled at that, then Michelle spoke up. “I bought a bass. Guitar, I mean.” We all looked at her. “I’m just learning to play it now.”

“You’re taking up bass?” I said, pleased.

“Yeah. You inspired me, you know,” she told me, “seeing you play guitar in English last year. I was going to do guitar, but I figured bass was a little more unusual. So, I’m taking up bass. My poor parents,” she laughed.

“They’re upset?” Sara asked.

“No, not upset, just stunned. I’m demure, I’m reserved, I’m a good student. Basically, I’m a preppy. And I’m going to be a rock and roll bass player. My parents’ image of me is having trouble dealing with that,” she laughed.

“Well, you’ll need the leopard print miniskirt and the fishnet stockings. Then you’ll be all set,” I joked.

“Oh GOD,” Stan hissed. “Do NOT put that image in my head!”

“Image?” Michelle asked.

“You, in a miniskirt and fishnets playing a bass. I think I’m in love!”  We all cracked up at that, but Michelle blushed bright red!

We laughed and joked throughout the rest of lunch. It almost made me forget Kara wasn’t there. Almost.

OCTOBER 2nd, 1978

It was the day before the first anniversary of my recycling, and I couldn’t believe how much had changed.

A lot of it to the good. Even though Kara was gone, what we had was so valuable I couldn’t even put it into words. And as it turned out, we were telling the truth when we parted--we did stay the best of friends. We wrote letters to each other a few times a week, and talked on the phone once a week. On the phone the previous day, a Sunday, she’d hesitantly confessed that she’d started seeing someone. That bothered me a lot less than I thought it was going to, actually. I really did want her to be happy. 

I, on the other hand, was not seeing anyone. Though I seemed to be getting some interest. I don’t know--even after having lived to adulthood in the previous life, I was still horrible at picking up on signals like that. I was biding my time, anyhow. After Kara, any new girlfriend was going to have a lot to live up to.

School was good, better than I’d anticipated. It wasn’t as challenging as the Prep had been the first time, but who cared? My grades were up and I was teaching myself some study skills. One thing I’d learned--school wasn’t about ‘learning’, it was about pieces of paper. I could learn on my own. I needed the paper, with the high grades on it, to get out of the rut of the first time around. Period. I didn’t care if I was bored, as long as an A came back at the end of the quarter.

I wasn’t getting beat up, I had a good group of friends, I was enjoying life. All great changes. I was beginning to really realize what a gift I had been given.

Not everything, of course. Beth. Though things there were far better than they had been, too. I saw her every day. She was opening up. Her little ‘project’ with Olivia--and that’s just what it had been, Beth had confessed it to me--was going very well. Olivia actually talked and interacted with the rest of us. She seemed less self-conscious about her threadbare and worn clothes. Of course, Beth’s illness was still hanging over everyone’s head, but she was enjoying the life she had. And we were as thick as thieves most of the time. It really was gratifying.

Of course, there were other bad things about being recycled. Not as serious as Beth, of course, but annoying enough. Like this day, for example, October 2nd, 1978.

Otherwise known as Bucky Bleepin’ Dent.

Every Red Sox fan knows what I’m talking about. The Playoff, Sox and Yankees, for the AL East title. The two teams had ended the season tied for first--after the Sox blew a damn 14 game lead--and would have a one-game playoff at Fenway Park on this day. 

Of course I had to watch it. I was a rabid Red Sox fan. Why wouldn’t I watch it?

Well, because I knew what was coming, that’s why.

Of course, I couldn’t tell my mother that. And she would’ve wondered why I wasn’t watching. I mean, Sox and Yankees in a playoff? Of course I’d watch. It started at 2 pm, I got home from school just as the first inning was getting underway, and Mom already had it on for me. 

So, I watched. It was rather like watching replays of a train wreck.

The Sox, of course, teased us all, taking a 2-0 lead after the sixth, including a homer by the legendary Yaz. 

Then came the seventh. The Yankees got two men on base, there were two outs, and Bucky Dent came to the plate. He was their shortstop, their number nine hitter, a guy who played for defense. He wasn’t much of a hitter. He had no power. He hit a harmless fly ball to left. No problem. Yaz had it.

Except the wind kept pushing it, and pushing it, and it drifted over the Green Monster for a three run homer.

Bucky Bleepin’ Dent. And I had to sit there and watch it all over again.

The Yankees got it up to 5-2. The Sox came back and made it close, but Yaz popped out with the tying run on third base in the ninth. 5-4, Yankees.

There are some people that enjoy horror movies, and can watch them over and over again. Good for them--I’m not one of them. Jeez. I could’ve stood to have only watched this particular horror movie once. 

The next day, in school, everyone was gloomy. I couldn’t help thinking to myself, oh you guys don’t know the half of it. Just you wait. Wait until 1986 and the ball going through Buckner’s legs. Wait until 2003 and Grady Little leaving Pedro in too long. Just wait. This is only the beginning.

I should’ve come back as a non-baseball fan.

OCTOBER 11th, 1978

For the past couple of weeks, things had been, well, strange.

Oh, school was fine, and my friends were fine. Mostly. One of them, however, was acting strange--Christine Seneca.

As I’ve said, after our brief pseudo-romance last year, she’d distanced herself from me. We barely talked the rest of last year. Then, this year, she started eating with us; because of Michelle, I’d guessed. She started the year by resolutely ignoring me. Then, all of a sudden, she wasn’t.

She started talking to me. Then she started sitting next to me. And we were chatting easily after a very short time. I’ll admit, I was a wee bit confused. Was this the same girl that had been pretty much ignoring me for a year? Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t mind. I liked Chris--I never would’ve asked her out last year in the first place if I didn’t like her. It just was strange. I wondered, frankly, what was up.

This was the day I found out. As I got out of the lunch line, she grabbed me and pulled me down towards the end of the gang’s table, where we could be relatively undisturbed.

“Ed, I wanted to talk to you,” she started. “I’ve been thinking. And, well, the thing is, I was wondering if we should give it another shot. Us, I mean.”

That surprised the hell out of me. Yeah, she’d been nicer, but I never expected that. “You mean you want us to try going out again?” I said.

“Yeah. Look, last year, I wasn’t ready. It was too scary. But I’ve been thinking a lot about it. I really do like you. I’d like to try it again.”

“Wow,” I said. “I didn’t expect this.” I took a breath. “OK, what are you doing Saturday?”

“Nothing,” she said, grinning. We made plans.

OCTOBER 26th, 1978

It was a strange relationship from the start. We had a good time, but Chris still seemed weird, I don’t know how else to describe it. And she was very, very insecure. That was hammered home to me on this day, the 26th.

The previous day, I’d missed the bus. As usual when that happened, I walked home with Beth. 

The next day, Chris confronted me. “Was that you I saw walking ahead of me yesterday?”

“Were you behind me? You should’ve yelled. I missed the bus.”

“So, you were walking with Beth?”

“If I miss the bus, I have a standing invite to go over there and wait for my Mom to get out of work,” I shrugged.

“You could’ve found me, you know. You know I walk. You could’ve hung over my place.”

“I just always go with Beth.”

“But I’m your girlfriend!” she pouted.

“And she’s my best friend. Chris, please do not get all jealous over Beth. You know she’s sick. You know we’ve been close since birth. Please don’t do that to me.”

She pouted for a second, then took a deep breath. “OK. You’re right,” she hissed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t do that. I’m still not very good at this girlfriend thing.”

“You’re fine,” I smiled.

NOVEMBER 2ND, 1978

But she wasn’t. It got better with Beth, but worse with everyone else. The next day, at lunch, Michelle pulled me aside and asked me to explain the bass line of “Day Tripper” to her. She was really enthusiastic about learning the bass, and I was glad to help--especially if she was learning Beatles tunes! We spent most of the lunch enthusiastically discussing bass lines to Beatles’ songs, along with Stan who had taken up the guitar himself--and I got glared at by Chris the whole time. Jesus, Michelle Pepper was Chris’s best friend! I mean, come on. 

The day after, it was Kelly. We ended up telling silly jokes all through lunch. Chris was livid. 

Kelly even said something on the way home on the bus. “What is up with Chris?”

“Jealousy,” I replied. “I’m trying to deal with it.”

“Jesus. What, you’re not supposed to have any female friends?”

“That’s the size of it. I pushed the point about Beth, and she backed off there, but I guess I’m supposed to avoid all other girls.”

“Jesus. She was jealous over Beth?” 

“Yep.”

“What the hell is she gonna do when Kara comes home for Christmas and you two wanna hang out?”

“Oh, I don’t even want to think about that.”

On this day, November 2nd, I was eating lunch, when Beth said, “Hey. After school, Olivia and I are going to walk down to the square, hang out, maybe do some shopping. You wanna come with?”

“Sure,” I said. I always wanted to spend time with Beth, and I knew she was trying to draw Olivia out, so I was glad to go.

Chris was not glad. She cornered me after lunch and, basically, flipped out on me. “Whoa,” I interrupted. “What is the deal? You know all about Beth. And we didn’t have anything planned today.”

“But it’s not just Beth, it’s Olivia too!”

“Olivia is Beth’s friend. Beth wants my help in drawing her out. I’m not going to discuss this anymore,” I said, and walked away. I wasn’t at all happy.

That afternoon, prowling Cabot Square, we talked about it. “I went to grammar school with her, so I’ve known her for years,” Beth told me. “And, Eddie, just be careful, OK? You know how smart Chris is, but it’s isolated her.”

“As it has me,” I reminded her.

“Right. But you’re way ahead of her right now. Last year was a big deal for you. She’s not there yet. I think she’s clinging to you as her way out of her isolation.”

“Good point. I just don’t know how long I can deal with it. Honestly, I like having a girlfriend. But I want friends, too.”

“Well, that’s something else you have to think about,” Beth said. “Do you like Chris, or do you just like having a girlfriend? I know you like sex,” she teased. “But are you just going out with Chris to substitute for Kara?”

“First of all, Chris and I haven’t done anything more than kiss, so that isn’t it,” I teased back. Then I got serious. “Honestly, Beffy? I’ve thought about that. I do like Chris, quite a bit. I wouldn’t be going out with her if I didn’t. I don’t need or want a girlfriend that badly. Though, I will admit, that the desire to have a girlfriend probably does make me more willing to put up with some of her crap. Does that make any sense?”

“Sort of,” Beth laughed. 

“And I do realize the isolation, and how damaging that can be. Been there, done that.” 

“Don’t be too hard on her,” Olivia suddenly said, very quietly.

“Hmm?” I turned to Olivia.

“Don’t be too hard on her,” she said a little more loudly. “It can be crippling. It’s for different reasons, but I’m isolated, too. I have one friend,” she said, pointing to Beth, “and, before this year, I had zero.”

“You have two friends,” I smiled, which pleased her. “I thought we got along great in science class last year. I like you, Olivia, OK? But I see your point. Like I said, I’ve been there, too.”

“I know. So, bear with Chris, that’s all I’m saying.”

“But the other side of the coin is, take care of Eddie, too,” Beth interjected. “I’d hate to see you get in a relationship that’s damaging.”

“I know,” I sighed. “I think Miss Seneca and I need to have a long talk.”

NOVEMBER 4th, 1978

I went over Christine’s house on this day, a Saturday. I knew her parents were never around on Saturdays. Chris was an only child, so I figured we’d be able to have that long talk.

It was pre-empted. Because I’m an idiot.

I got into her house and we sat next to each other on the couch. Before I could say a word, Chris floored me. She looked at me and blurted out, “I want to have sex.”

After my head stopped spinning, I hissed, “Excuse me?”

“I know you had sex with Kara. Michelle told me. She also told me Kara said it was great. I want that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said. “Look, nobody’s here. We have the house all to ourselves. I really want this.”

This was a time when I should’ve let my adult brain do the thinking for me--because that part of my brain knew this was a bad fucking idea. However, the thirteen-year-old was in control. And he was thinking with the other head. 

This was the problem they don’t tell you about when it comes to losing your virginity young. It’s addictive. I knew what it was like and wanted it again. It’d been a couple months, and in that couple months I had practically given myself tennis elbow whacking off. Now here was Chris, my girlfriend, telling me she wanted it.

Of course, I should’ve asked why. I should’ve questioned her motives. I also should’ve remembered that I’d been questioning whether or not she should be my girlfriend in the first place. But I didn’t. The part of my brain that was doing that was drowned out by the other part of my brain screaming, “Hell, yeah!” 

So, we went upstairs to Chris’s room, so I could take her virginity.

It was a disaster.

I tried going slow. We got each other undressed, and she was plainly nervous, which wasn’t any surprise. I was kissing her and rubbing her boobs. I tried to kiss my way down to her boobs, while putting my hand between her legs, when she asked, “What are you doing?”

“Working you up.”

“Uh, well, I think I’m worked up already.”

Uh, no, dear, my hand is on your pussy and you’re bone-dry, I thought. But I didn’t say that. “It’s just better if I go slow,” is what I said.

She acquiesced for a bit, but then started rushing me again. I should’ve had an alarm go off in my head when she said, at one point, “Can we just get it over with?” But I didn’t. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Thinking with my dick again. So, after not-nearly-enough foreplay, I went to enter her.

The only thing that went right is that I was still, from Kara, in the habit of toting a couple of condoms around in my wallet, so I didn’t have to worry about that. I slipped the condom on. She looked ready and eager.

She wasn’t.

Chris was a genuine virgin--meaning, medically. She also wasn’t nearly lubricated enough. But she kept egging me on. And I kept letting her. 

God, it hurt, badly. Hurt her, I mean. She was crying throughout the whole thing. And everytime I tried to stop, she told me not to. And I didn’t, God help me. I should’ve. I didn’t understand why she didn’t want me to stop. I didn’t understand why she was so determined to get it over with, even when it was causing her so much pain. And I should’ve understood, I should’ve seen it.

This was about control. This was about ‘giving the boyfriend what he wants’ so he’d stick around. That’s what she was doing. She’d said that she wanted this because she’d heard Kara had enjoyed it, but that was completely secondary. She saw me slipping away, so she figured if she was ‘putting out,’ I wouldn’t leave. And by going through with it, I gave her even more ammunition.

Especially when I came, shortly after getting all the way in, right when she finally lubricated enough to possibly start enjoying it. It was afterwards that what had happened finally hit me. Because, after the pain receded, in the aftermath of a situation that could only be termed a monumental fuck-up--she looked happy. Pleased with herself. I wanted to die.

And, afterwards, we went back downstairs and had a very pleasant rest-of-the-afternoon. We had a wonderful talk. We always could talk. And later, as I rode my bike home, what had happened completely haunted me.

I wasn’t like that. I wasn’t just a guy looking for a ‘piece’. I wasn’t. But, on this day, I was.

Fuck me. 

NOVEMBER 11th, 1978

It was perverse.

The week after The Disaster was the best week of our relationship, by far. She was far more secure, less jealous, more tolerant of my female friendships. She’d put her ‘mark’ on me by having sex, so I was hers, and that was that. She was even more openly affectionate--in school, I mean. Holding hands, linking her arm around mine, stuff like that--which I liked. I just didn’t like the reason for it.

I felt like a complete, utter slug.

The Disaster wasn’t discussed. I didn’t know how to bring it up, and she seemed completely disinclined to do so. As I said, she’d made her mark.

And, in a way, she wasn’t wrong. Even if I’d been inclined to break up with her, after that? No way. That would be the most callous and cruel thing I could ever do. I took the blame for this. I knew better. Even if you don’t count my first-time-around experiences, even if you just counted Kara, I was no virgin. I knew better. And I’d fucked up. 

Damn, but I wanted a do-over. I guess I had exhausted my supply of do-overs.

I wanted to discuss it. I wanted to tell her that this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I wanted to apologize. But I didn’t know how to bring it up. I let this stew for a week. I hadn’t told anyone--not Beth, not Kara. (And Kara had told me she’d started sleeping with her new boyfriend. Good for her. Really.) I just lived with it--and didn’t know what to do about it. 

The following week, Saturday the 11th, I got the opening.

She invited me over again. We started the afternoon doing stuff we usually did. Hey, we were both intellectuals--when I first got there, she was doing the Boston Globe crossword puzzle, so I helped her finish it. Then we played some chess.

And then she said, “You want to go upstairs?” with a devastatingly eager look in her eye.

I took a breath, and then said it. “Not if it’s going to be like it was last week.”

“Huh?” she said, wide-eyed. “You didn’t enjoy it?”

“No, I did not. Chris, do you think I like hurting you?”

“I thought it was supposed to hurt the first time,” she said, confused.

“Not like that. Not at all like that.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

That’s when I really realized--she was too young for this. Despite the fact that she was 14--and had been so since March--and I was only 13. I wasn’t too young for this, because of my past experience, though the events of last week made me think twice about just how young I really was. Kara wasn’t too young for it because she was, well, Kara. But Chris was too young for this. Or too sheltered, or too confused, or something.

Which means I should have probably put a stop to it right then. But, jeez, how could I do that? And leave her with the lingering memory of sex as the disaster that happened the previous week? I couldn’t do that. And, yeah, I know--that sounds disgustingly altruistic, considering we were talking about an activity that would surely result in me getting my rocks off. But I’d gotten my rocks off even after The Disaster. That’s really not what I was thinking about.

“We can go upstairs. But it’s going to be different,” I told her.

“Different?”

“You’ll see.” 

She just looked at me--but we went upstairs. I got her onto her bed, and started undressing her. I undressed myself, then took her in my arms and kissed her. For a while. She went with it, but still seemed impatient. Then I started kissing my way down to her boob, while I let my hands roam lightly all over her body. She was still, I don’t know, apprehensive. Agitated.

“Relax, Chris, OK?” I told her before I lowered my lips to her nipple.

“OK,” she said. I think she did, some. I leaned my head down and took her nipple in between my lips. She sighed, just a little. I let my hand rest slightly between her legs, which she spread for me. I did this for a little bit and she seemed better than last time.

Then I started kissing my way down her stomach. When I passed her belly button, she figured it out. “Ed? What are you doing?” 

“I thought I told you to relax,” I said with a grin. I kept going. As I got my head between her legs, I looked up at her. Her expression was one of absolute shock. She couldn’t believe I was about to do what I was about to do. 

Don’t stop me, don’t stop me, I thought to myself, trying to transmit it to her. Then, before she could--stop me, I mean--I dipped my tongue into the folds of her labia.

She shuddered and gasped at the first contact. My hands were up around her hips, and I had felt her tense up at the contact, but then she seemed to relax. I kept going, licking up and down her labia gently. The shuddering in her breathing got more pronounced. 

I did that for a bit, then went after her clit--again, gently. The payoff was immediate. “Oh? OH!” she blurted. I came off of her clit, down the length of her pussy again, and then back to her clit. “OOOOOOHH!!” 

I kept that up for a while, up and down, and then I concentrated on her clit, making little circles around it with my tongue, nudging it as I went around. I heard her breathing get ragged and wheezing, and her hands clenched at the sheets. Then I wrapped my lips around her clit, and slipped a finger inside her pussy. She gave out a yelp at that, then hissed, “Oh, God, Eddie!” And then she went over, climaxing around my finger.

I backed off, pulling my finger out and disengaging from her clit--but I didn’t back off completely. I went back to running my tongue up and down her pussy, avoiding the clit, trying to work her back up. “Oh, wow!” she blurted. I kept going, listening for the ragged breathing and panting again. When it started to increase again, I pulled away. She opened her eyes and looked at me, disappointed, but I just smiled at her. I quickly slipped a condom on and entered her.

Damn, she howled! I felt her pussy clamping down on my dick. Wow, she was closer than I realized. I had no trouble getting into her this time. I was gentle, but the passage was open to me. 

After she’d calmed down a little, I started moving inside her. And she still stayed close, panting and calling my name the whole time. 

She was still awfully tight--I wasn’t going to last long--but at least we had copious lubrication this time. I wasn’t hurting her. Just the opposite, in fact--she was rapidly climbing the Orgasm Ladder again. I was hoping to get her there before I went. As good as I was feeling, I knew this was going to be a close thing. I just barely made it. I felt her pussy clench again, as she yelped, just as I started filling the condom.

I tossed the rubber, and cuddled up to her. After a few minutes, she finally stopped wheezing and opened her eyes. “Oh, God, I get it now,” she gasped.

“Good. That’s what it should’ve been like last week. I’m sorry that it wasn’t.”

“That’s OK,” she said, turning towards me and smiling. “It was my fault. I mean, I just didn’t know. I didn’t have any idea.”

“I know. But I did so I blame myself.”

“Don’t,” she said. “It’s fixed. Boy is it ever!”

“Good. I’m glad.”

NOVEMBER 28th, 1978

So, things should’ve been great, right?

Not quite. She was still more possessive than I liked. She was still sort of using me to validate her own self-esteem. Me with another girl, even as friends, still made her tense up. She was better at not beating me up about it, but it still made her visibly tense up, which bothered me.

Knowing all that, I was about to do something that was the absolute worst thing I could ever do. But I didn’t feel like I could not do what I was about to do. Sometimes you have to make a choice. One of the problems was, I couldn’t completely explain the reasons for the choice to Christine.

Back in the old life, as I’ve said, my freshman year I was at the Prep. The Prep had a Christmas semi-formal. I took Beth.

It was the only thing anything like a formal dance she got to go to. There’d be no proms for Beth. This was it. It was also my first formal dance, and it was important to me that it was with Beth. I also kissed her goodnight--just a little one, but on the lips. That was her first and last for that, too. 

So, I’d been thinking about that ever since it was announced that Cabot JHS was going to have a Christmas dance for the 9th graders. Another semi-formal...almost like a ninth grade ‘prom’. So, unexpectedly, I would get to recreate that memory, one that I cherished. Beth deserved it.

Of course, now I had to tell my girlfriend--who was, remember, jealous--that I planned to take another girl to the big dance.

It did not at all go well.

I tried to explain. She knew Beth was sick. Well, I got down to the truth about it. “Chris, Beth is dying,” I told her. “You and I will have plenty of opportunities for dances and such. We have tons of time. Beth doesn’t. She deserves a night like this, once in her life.”

“I agree, but why can’t you get someone else to ask her? Stan, or Steve, or someone.”

Well, that was the part I couldn’t really get into, wasn’t it? I wanted to take her myself because this was a memory that I would cherish. I didn’t want to pass that up. Plus, Stan was--we all hoped--going to get his gumption up and ask Michelle. Steve himself had a girlfriend. I mentioned Steve’s girlfriend, and said that I thought Stan had other plans. “But, besides that, Beth’s my best friend.”

“But I’m your girlfriend!”

“I know. Believe me. I didn’t come to this decision without thinking about it long and hard, Chris. But I have to do this for Beth.”

That’s when she threw the ultimatum, which wasn’t unexpected. “If you take Beth to that dance, you and I are through.”

“That’s your choice, then. I don’t want to break up with you, but I am taking Beth to the dance. I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything else.” Then, I got up and walked away.

When I tried to call Chris that night, she hung up on me. And she didn’t sit with us the next day at lunch. That was that.

Did I do the right thing? I think so, but I’ll never know for sure. Understand, I did not do this so I could give Chris a reason to break up with me, thus weaseling out of doing it myself. Things weren’t perfect with her, but I didn’t have any intention of breaking up with her. Maybe, deep down, I realized she wasn’t the love of my life. Maybe I realized that Beth was more important. I asked myself if I would’ve done the same thing if the girlfriend in question were Kara, not Chris.

And then I realized it was a stupid question--because Kara would’ve told me to take Beth. Which pretty much answered my question, didn’t it? 

In fact, Kara confirmed that when I whined to her that night on the phone. “Of course you should take Beth. I would’ve told you to,” she said. 

“Good.”

“So, you and Chris are kaput?”

“Yep, so I’m all alone again,” I mock-sobbed.

“Oh, get over yourself,” she teased. “Anyhow, I don’t know if you’re going to stay alone for very long.”

“What are you talking about?” I said.

“Oh, you’ll find out. Just this--be alert for when opportunity knocks.”

“Yeah, yeah, Kara, whatever you say. So how’s your love life?”

She sighed. “We’ll see. I have some of the same problems you do. Jim’s jealous.”

“Ah. Am I going to get to meet this guy over Christmas break?”

She cracked up. “Sure, that’ll be fun. Introduce my jealous boyfriend to my ex-boyfriend that I still love. Hell, might as well!”

“When I told Kelly about Chris’s jealousy problems, she was amused at you coming back for Christmas and us wanting to hang around together. She anticipated Chris having a hissy fit. Ah, well, don’t have to worry about that.”

“No, now I do!” She sighed. “It’s OK. I really do like the guy, a lot. If he’d just ease up on the jealousy it’d be fine. That’s really the only thing wrong.” I could almost here the grin through the phone. “Well, that and the fact that I had to teach him his way around a girl’s fun bits. He had no clue. At least he’s trainable!”

“Oh, Jesus,” I said. “Do I really want to hear about your sex life?”

“Hey, you told me about you and Chris. Well, the second time. You just made vague pain noises about the first.”

“And let’s just keep it at that, shall we? Ah, well. Now, all I’ll have to tell you about is my right hand.”

She cracked up. “Mark my words. Opportunity’s coming.”

“Whatever you say.”

NOVEMBER 30th, 1978

At lunch, Michelle pulled me aside. “Can you eat with me?” I said sure, and we found a little table off to the side.

“Can I have your side of the story, please?”

Hey, Michelle was Chris’s best friend--and here she was, calmly asking me for my side of the story. That was pretty classy. So, she got it.

“That’s a toughie,” she said when I was done. “I see why Chris was upset. But I also completely understand why you want to take Beth. I can’t blame you.”

“I had to, Michelle. I just wish Chris hadn’t broken up with me. I’m hoping to try to talk to her after things settle down some.”

Michelle shook her head. “Don’t count on it. She asked Adam Weller to the dance today, and he said yes. I think she’s got her sights set out for him.”

I had to grin. “Adam’s more of a nerd than I am.”

“Yep, which means he’s overjoyed that Chris asked him, which means he’ll dote on her completely. Which is what she wants.”

“It’s funny--she broke up with me last year because I was more into it than she was. And now she’s breaking up with me because I’m less.”

“You’ve both changed. You’re more secure, she’s less secure.” She sighed. “Look, she told me what happened. I know that she thought that after you guys had sex, she owned you.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that.”

“Especially after the second time.”

“The whole sex thing with her was probably a mistake,” I said with a grimace. 

“Well, you might be interested to know that she doesn’t think so. She told me that was the one good thing--that you opened her up to that possibility.”

“Well, that makes me feel a wee bit better.”

“I know the first time was a disaster, but she says the second time was a revelation.”

“Which was the idea. Though I didn’t think we’d be breaking up three weeks later.”

“Upset you primed her pump for someone else?” Michelle grinned.

“Not at all. I’m upset because it looks like I was just using her for sex. Which wasn’t true at all.”

“Eddie--Chris knows that. In fact, she thought that there might be a possibility that she was using you. But the sex part isn’t the problem and never was. She told me yesterday that she needs someone completely devoted to her. Which you’re not.”

“The thing is, I was, by my lights. But her idea of devotion is insane. If we’re not together, she basically wants me sitting around waiting for her phone call, or something. And when we are together, I’m supposed to pretend every one else in the world doesn’t exist.” I sighed. “I spent too many years with no friends. Now that I’ve got some, I’m not giving them up.”

“Nor should you. I told her she was being too overbearing, you know--not that she listened to me. Eddie, I think it’s possible that the two of you just weren’t meant to be.”

“You might be right. I still feel bad about it, though. So, anyway, how’s your love life?”

She threw up her hands and snorted. “What love life?” I laughed. “Oh, you laugh. You don’t understand. I mean, what’s my choice? I’ve got the guys who think the way to my heart is by talking to my chest. Or the ones that think the way to my heart is by stuttering and stammering any time they’re within ten feet of me. Or the ones that think the way to my heart is by denigrating my brains.”

“I don’t do anything like that.” I said.

“Oh, OK, or the ones that up until two days ago went out with my best friend!”

“I know, I’m just kidding,” I grinned.

“I know you are,” she laughed back. “But, anyhow, that’s my choices. Well, except for one. The guy who likes me, treats me like a human being, looks in my eyes when he talks to me, doesn’t stutter, and likes that I’m smart. The guy I really enjoy spending time with. But the guy who still won’t ask me out for some stupid reason.”

“Ah. Are we talking, perhaps, about my good buddy Mr. Murvetsin?”

“That we are,” she sighed. “What is his problem?”

“This is his problem, and I quote: ‘Michelle Pepper? You mean, gorgeous, smart, sexy, fun to be with, great-personality Michelle Pepper? Why on earth would she ever want to go out with a schmuck like me?’”

“Oh, Jesus,” Michelle groaned, head in her hands. “Ed? Would you please smack him around for me?”

“I’ll do my best,” I laughed. “I do think he intends to ask you to the dance, though.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but I think he’s thinking of it as more like just friends.”

“That’s fine. At least I won’t be sitting home. Friends that do things together is a start.”

“I’ll give him a nudge.”

“Thanks,” she grinned.

And I would, as soon as I could. But, that afternoon, I had more important business--securing my date to the dance. I waited for Beth after school.

“Miss the bus?” she teased.

“Actually, no. I wanted to talk to you.”

“OK,” she said, and we headed out. 

I waited until we got to the railroad tracks. “What I wanted to talk to you about was this,” I started. “I was wondering if you would go to the Christmas dance with me.”

She stopped, and looked at me. “What about Christine?”

“Chris broke up with me.”

Beth grinned at me. “So, I’m second choice, eh?”

“No. Chris broke up with me because I told her that I planned to ask you to the dance.”

“Oh, Eddie,” she sighed. “Why?”

“You have to ask that question?” I said pointedly. “Look, if she doesn’t understand, that’s her problem.”

“I feel bad.”

“Don’t feel bad. This was my decision, and I’m completely happy with it, OK? So, are you gonna go with me, or what?”

“Of course I’m gonna go with you!” she beamed. She stopped, and hugged me. “Thank you. You’re the best friend anyone could have,” she said softly. Then she pulled away, still beaming. “Oh, man, I need to go buy a dress!”

“Yes you do. Knock yourself out,” I grinned.

DECEMBER 15th, 1978

A Friday, the night of the dance.

My mom drove us. Mom was good friends with Beth’s mom, so she came in to help with the picture-taking. 

The dress was as I remembered it from the first time around. It was almost a peasant dress. The skirt and up to the bodice were in a floral print, with sliver/gray being the predominant color, with blacks and deep purples swirled throughout. The bodice was black, with that floral pattern trimming it. The sleeves were white. It looked fabulous on her. The predominant gray and white of it contrasted nicely with her dark skin. She had her hair up, and wore just the right amount of makeup. She was gorgeous. 

We actually had a better time than we did at the dance at the Prep the first time around. We had a good time then, but we didn’t really know anyone--that dance was for the whole school. I was a freshman, and few of my friends went--we ended up at a table full of seniors. They were very cool, but Beth was shy and I wasn’t much better.

This time, we were with friends. Stan actually did manage to ask Michelle and they were there. Steve brought his girlfriend. Kelly came with Stan’s pal Rob Silverman (just as friends). Danica was there with a guy I didn’t know. Beth’s best girlfriend, Kerry, came with Joe Vizcano. We all sat together.

They had it at school, in the cafeteria. All the dances at Cabot East were in the cafeteria, but they had really done the place up nice. They had it catered, so the food wasn’t the usual cafeteria slop. We ate together and had a great time.

Then we danced, a lot. We were both decent, and we both liked to dance. Beth had a great time, which was the objective. We even traded off a bit--Stan asked Beth for a dance, which she happily agreed with--so I danced with Michelle for a song. Joe Vizcano did the same, as did Steve, and Rob. I could’ve kissed them. Beth was happy, having a good time, feeling attractive. It was worth it--even with the loss of Christine, it was all worth it. 

I danced with Kelly while Rob was dancing with Beth, and Kelly leaned in and whispered, “You are a good guy. You did a really, really good thing tonight. Don’t you ever forget that.” I danced with Steve’s date, whose name was Maria, and she told me she knew all about Beth and had encouraged Steve to dance with her. I danced with Kerry while Beth was dancing with Joe, and Kerry was thrilled that Beth was having such a good time.

It was a magical evening, even better than the one the first time.

Afterwards, Beth was positively bubbly, something she usually wasn’t. I was just thrilled. My mom drove us to her house, and I walked her to the door.

Then I kissed her goodnight.

She just beamed at me, and then wrapped me in a bear hug. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this meant to me.”

“Yeah, I think I do,” I said, and kissed her on the cheek. She opened the door and went inside, smiling at me. Then I got back in the car.

Mom--who, of course, knew the whole thing with Beth--said, “She had a good time?”

“She had a very good time.”

“That’s good,” Mom said. 

“Yes. Yes it is.”