In the 9th grade I had a girlfriend, to the extent you can have one when you don't drive. Mostly we'd just sneaak off and roll around in the autumn leaves. There was lots of chest-heaving ministrations but no finale. Overall a rather frustrating experience for all.
At that age fumbling guys don't know how to close the deal. Though the girl would likely go along with it, he just can't get over the hump so to speak. Part of the problem is the tight pants teenage girls favor. They can be as difficult to take off as a bra can be to unsnap. When you're nervous.
Brenda was what is now known as a butterface. Pronounced curves, mousy face. Lots of fun, great personality. Prone to wearing flannel shirts with corduroys.
Our little romance fizzled out. By the next year I'd figured out a few things. Armed with my newfound prowess I'd approach her; but there was always a hangup. Busy with studies, new boyfriend with car, whatever.
Then came the news that swept the school. She'd been riding along with said boyfriend. She was leaning out of the passenger door for no particular reason, as high schoolers tend to do. He got too close to the curb and her head struck a telephone pole and was removed. D-capped like Nick Berg. Something straight out of the Jim Carrroll Band's People Who Died. A snuff filmmaker couldn't have crafted a more horrific script.
Everyone was greatly saddened by this news, as she was a genuinely nice person. Had she lived, plastic surgery might have solved the unfortunate butterface issue. Then she could have become a model or an actress or something. But I was struck by the utter finality of.... death. She was the first in a long string of my acquaintences to meet with an untimely demise.
Death is forever. Alas.
This just in: The Elton Jon lyric is "don't let the sun go down on me." It is not, as I'd always thought, "don't let the son go down on me." Elton John...is a gay. But he had a beard for a while, maybe Claudia Schiffer, so he might have a son too. And he doesn't want the lad to go down on him. Argh!
by anna at March 11, 2006 5:56 PM
See, now, you have beeps to remind you the door to your car is open, a different tone of beep to remind you your seatbelt needs putting on, yet another beeping to let you know you're in 'park', or whatever. Maybe Chevy should get to work on that, 'Your head is outside of the car beep.' The, 'keep all body parts inside of the vehicle beep.' American cars do beep an awful lot. :)
That's pretty horrific, butterface's head. Not much difference than my first experience with a bonny gal though, not the head loss thing, the fumbling around thing. A bonny gal who wasn't at all bonny but who was willing to let me fumble around. It's like driving a banged up Fiesta Pop before buying your 'real' first car. Sure she's ugly but she's willing, she a little rough around the edges, but she gets you started, from A to B. Learn to drive like a maniac in one, how to reverse park wthout your wheels scratching against curbs... and then get the car with the nice shiny alloys. The attractive features and streamlined body.
What's 9th Grade? How old is that. I think possibly younger than my first experience of poking around in places I shouldn't, at an early age, I think ten or eleven. But it was during a roleplay version of a ER or something, so it didn't count. Though the memory is still pretty clear... which is quite disturbing.
by Ex Crimson Guard NCO at March 11, 2006 10:40 PM
9th grade is 13-14 years old. My first encounter was with a tube-topped ruffian from the forbidden apartment complex across the highway, I'm maybe 11-12. There were several of us. The one who paired off with me made it clear from the get-go that there would be "no fucking." I wasn't sure what she meant.
by anna at March 13, 2006 7:47 AM
Pah, death is forever. If only it were.....
Anyways, damnation is forever, and from what Ive read, we'll all be sittin in the hot springs of hell.
by Clonereject1138 at March 13, 2006 1:27 PM
Horrific and Sad, Anna... a full decapitation...
I shudder... the boy driving the car.... how did he ever cope with that moment?
....a headless torso in your car...
please tell me this was an 'Urban Myth'. There's no way her head came clean off. Probably serious hemotoma and instant death, but clean off? It just doesn't happen that way with 'Blunt' impacts. Especially if there's a Telephone Pole in the area, there's no way he could've been driving fast enough, that would have to be NASCAR speed to decapitate.
Sick, Anna, don't EMBELLISH these stories... THEy make me CRY...
by LOCKHEED at March 13, 2006 3:52 PM
You'd have to laugh, wouldn't you? If your passenger's head suddenly came off. Then after maybe a five second laughing stint it'd hit you. Shit! Do you pull over to the curb calmly, or keep driving for a while, until it sinks in? No point screeching to a halt and screaming is there? S'one of those moments were calm'd take over, as your brain considers the outstanding facts.
"Best find a phone and call... an ambulance... or, or something, I guess."
by Ex Crimson Guard NCO at March 13, 2006 6:29 PM
No it didn't come clean off but damn close. As for the boy he didn't really have many options. I'd see him sometimes and marvel at how easily he moved on.
by anna at March 13, 2006 6:45 PM