Chapter 5

It is difficult to explain what happened to us that night. In fact, I think it started happening before that night, when she asked me to take her to the Valentine’s dance. I had given her Valentine’s cards before. I’d handed them out like candy at church, to every girl I knew. But it was more of a game to me back then. I gave the best cards to Valerie, but I wasn’t trying to woo her or anything. She was just my best friend, and was special. So she got the best card, even if I didn’t really mean what was on the card.It wasn’t until that night that I actually wanted her to be my Valentine.

And we’d been friends for as long as I could remember. We’d hung out together, spending all our leisure time together. Of course I had cared how she felt, not only about me, but about things in general. But suddenly it really mattered if she liked me, or was unhappy with me. I had touched her before, both in play and in jest and, occasionally, in anger. But I had never craved touching her, like I already was, even before the dancing started up.

And that was just the beginning.

It wasn’t love at first sight. It was more like a twelve or thirteen year courtship that we hadn’t been aware we were engaging in.

And when the band finally got going, and the music started, and we began a mating ritual that we’d never engaged in before, I couldn’t wait for a slow song to come up, so I could hold her against me. Not that fast dancing wasn’t fun. Well, after the first couple, during which I was acutely aware that I had no idea what I was doing. But most of the other kids were doing different things, so it was obvious that there wasn’t one kind of dance that I was supposed to know, and didn’t. Eventually I just let the beat take me, and gave up worrying about it. Val was grinning at me as she capered about, and that was all I cared about.

Her fears about the dress falling off of her were baseless. She jumped and twisted and I watched her unfettered breasts bounce and sway under the smooth, satin material of her dress. I know she saw me looking, but I didn’t care anymore. Somehow I assumed I had permission to be a pervert, if only for this one night, at this one dance. I think I sensed something on an unconscious, visceral level, that required no words to communicate.

Finally, the band started a slow dance. We were breathing hard, from our wild gyrations.

“You want to take a break?” she asked. Her shoes were hanging from her left hand. They’d lasted less than thirty seconds after she started dancing.

“No,” I said, firmly.

“I’m sweaty,” she said.

“I don’t care.”

Almost carefully, we approached each other. We were hesitant, but I think it was only because we weren’t sure how to engage successfully. I looked at some of the other kids, who were already dancing. They just hugged each other and moved slowly.

I could do that.

As she came against me, I smelled her perfume again. Without the shoes her forehead came to just below my nose. I was surprised. I hadn’t realized I was that much taller than her. Her hair smelled good too.

“You smell good,” I said to her forehead.

“I don’t see how,” she said, looking up at me.

There were those glossy, full, soft looking lips. Her teeth, behind them seemed to gleam, so white were they. I wanted to kiss her so much I could feel it pulling inside of me. It actually felt like there was a string, or rope or something attached to my balls, and it was being pulled upwards through my body, out of my mouth.

But she turned her face back down and pressed it against the lapel of my suit. Her hands went to my waist and applied just enough pressure that I was assured she wanted to dance close.

I reached around with my hands, and placed both of them on smooth, hot skin.

And got a boner.

I wanted to groan. Everything was going so well. In fact, things were going better than I would have ever fantasized they could go. And I did not want it all ruined by her feeling how much of a pervert I actually was.

She did feel it. I know she did. Because I felt her press her loins to mine. It wasn’t for long, but she pressed, and then slid her hips sideways. She was obvious about it, and I was sure she was about to erupt into a scathing rebuke when she pulled away.

She did speak, but it was only one word, and it was into the lapel of my suit coat.

“Pervert.”

I got no rebuke.

If I asked her to dance, she accepted. Eventually we just assumed that, unless one or the other of us called a break, we’d dance every one.

The erection flagged after a while. I had surreptitiously adjusted it upwards, so it wouldn’t make too much of a bulge, and my suit coat hung down enough that I wasn’t too worried about it. I had to adjust it again, back down, when it got soft. I did that during fast dances, because I’d noticed that people looked up a lot while they did that.

She never said a word about it. Apparently she felt that her one word pronouncement was enough.

But she never shied away from slow dances either. In fact, she pressed herself against me even more firmly as the night went on. At one point, Mr. Mulgren, the Social Studies teacher, appeared right next to us and said, “Break it up, you two, lest ye become an example of North American mating rituals in one of my lectures.”

I had never felt so bold, as I looked at him and said, “I’ve never even kissed her, Mr. Mulgren.”

“I’m not worried about the kissing part,” he said, smiling.

We did move apart, but only until he moved on.

A little while later she looked up.

“So the pervert wants to kiss me?”

I thought of at least five clever things to say. I thought about teasing her. I thought about asking her how she’d feel about that. And while I thought about all those things, that string attached to my balls tugged her mouth towards mine. At least it seemed that way, except that I had to lower my head, until I felt those soft, warm lips press against mine and the world was transformed into a fuzzy, soft cloud, upon which I was riding, flying.

I had been jealous of her dates with other guys. Oddly, I benefited from those dates, because she’d learned a couple of things on them. I was made aware of this as the tip of her tongue gently prodded my lips, prying them lovingly open, so she could coax my own tongue from its safe haven.

She sucked at the tip of my tongue and that rope attached to my balls got as tight as a guitar string.

“I thought I told you two to cool it,” said Mr. Mulgren, again at our side.

Reluctantly - and I could tell she was reluctant about it too - we dragged our lips apart. I suspect her eyes were glazed, but it was hard to tell, because mine were glazed for sure, and everything looked kind of fuzzy.

“You said you weren’t worried about kissing,” I croaked.

“Maybe you should have some punch and take a little break,” suggested the self-appointed representative of the morals police. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe teachers got assigned. I had a quick little fantasy of a piece of paper on the bulletin board in the teacher’s lounge. At the top were the words “Morals Police Assignments for Valentine’s Dance.” Under that were names, and quadrants of the gym, establishing beats, all laid out so that roving teachers could make sure some arbitrary line wasn’t crossed.

I was grumpy. All I’d done was kiss her.

I felt Val’s hand take mine and tug. We went over to the row of chairs by one wall, where she had left her shoes and purse. Others had done the same thing. There were five or six kids sitting down, mostly wallflowers. I’d sat there like that in the past. So had Val. So it wasn’t all that odd to sit down. Two of them were in Chess Club, so I knew them. We nodded, but to them, I was in another class of citizens. I was with a gorgeous girl, whose eyes communicated to the world that she was happy to be with me. So after cursory greetings, they looked away and resumed whatever discussion they’d been engaged in.

“You want some punch?” I asked.

“I want to leave,” she said.

I felt panic stab into me.

“Really? I thought we were having a good time.”

“We are,” she said.

“Then why do you want to leave?”

“I want to be someplace Mr. Mulgren isn’t,” she said.

I felt panic of a different kind. I’d been so bold as to kiss her, but I’d used up pretty much all of my boldness in that act. I’d enjoyed that kiss immensely, and I thought she had too. But if I was called on to do anything else, even more kisses, it was dangerous. What if I messed up? What if I did it wrong?

What if I caused disappointment in the girl who, suddenly, meant more to me than she ever had before?

“You want to go eat now?” I asked.

She looked at me and frowned.

“Are you a complete idiot?”

“No.” I was injured. “Why?”

“I don’t want to eat. I want to kiss you some more!”

“Oh.” That rope was back, pulling tight again.

We edged our way toward the doors, thinking there might be someone from the morals squad there to prevent kids from leaving early to go make out. There wasn’t.

When we got to the car, things were just a tiny bit strained. I forgot to open her door, but she did it automatically. Then, she put the back of her head on the head rest and sort of straightened her body, lifting her hips off the seat and doing something with her hands, down by her knees, in the dark.

“What are you doing?” I asked, worriedly. It looked like she was having a seizure.

“I’m taking off these fricking panty hose,” she said. “They’re hot and they make my legs itch.”

“Oh,” I said, as my imagination went into high gear. Did girls wear regular panties under panty hose? If not, was another part of her body besides her breasts going to be unfettered?

I didn’t ask. There wasn’t enough bold in the world for me to ask something like that.

I was so rattled, I asked, “Do you need any help?”

“No, pervert,” she snorted. “I think I can manage. They come off easier than they go on.”

“Oh,” I said again.

She held up a mass of cloth in the darkness.

“There! Much better.”

I looked over at her. At her lap. I think it was a normal thing to do.

We were in my mom’s car, which was a Chevy Impala. It had a bench seat in the front, and I watched as Valerie slid over towards me, turning half sideways so she was facing me, with one knee and lower leg on the seat and the other foot on the floor. I couldn’t see it, but my mind knew that this had spread her legs, and that whatever was now under her dress, was facing me. The images that flooded my mind left me almost paralyzed. Almost. My penis wasn’t paralyzed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I whispered, automatically. I wasn’t thinking very straight.