At 16, Part 2

1988


I’m so drunk that I’ll probably wet my bed (small price to pay for all the fun I’m having). So drunk I know I’m going to vomit at least once tonight. Never been this drunk. Drunk enough to be holding Tricia’s hand and not be the least bit nervous. She’s been all over me since I arrived at the party a few hours ago. Hugging me, kissing me, squeezing my ass. Flirting. Touching. Rubbing. Tricia is thirty-five years old. I’m sixteen. Ten minutes ago, she nibbled on my ear and whispered, "Tonight might be your lucky night." I have a feeling that this woman wants to deflower me. She asked me if I was a virgin because I was saving myself for someone special. I said, "Yeah, that special woman who’ll actually let me put my penis in her vagina." Tricia found my words hysterical, laughing as she kissed my cheek and told me I was adorable. If not for the booze and pot, I wouldn’t be half as hysterical as I apparently am. Turns out, the combination of three wine coolers, four Coronas, two rum and cokes, and a few hits off a big fat spliff turn a regular guy like myself into the next Lenny Bruce. I’m making everyone laugh. Maybe it’s because I keep falling over. Nah. I’m sure it’s because I’m just really, really funny. It’s my quick wit I think, as I stumble forward. Tricia, holding me tight, keeps me from landing face-first on the carpet. Then I think No, it’s definitely my lack of balance.

It’s my first Pizza Tent party. Not sponsored by Pizza Tent, of course. They didn’t sponsor my loss of innocence. Didn’t condone my drinking. The corruption of my soul and my eventual de-virginization was not brought up in any official capacity at our most recent employee meeting. It just so happens that almost everyone at the party works for Pizza Tent. Vito’s here, and he doesn’t work for Pizza Tent, and a few girls are scattered about that I don’t recognize, but mostly it’s just us pizza slingers. Just a friendly gathering of Pizza Tent workers at Ben’s apartment. Ben is my boss, but he has a surprising lack of maturity. His small apartment is packed with a nice mix of underage high school students (the part-timers) and older Pizza Tent lifers (the full-timers). None of the adults seem overly concerned about the large quantity of alcohol I’ve consumed. Or that plump, aromatic joint I puffed. No one seems to care that a woman twice my age wants to fuck me silly. Ben seems to think it’s about time that someone made a man out of me. I know this because he just whispered in my ear: "Erv, it’s about time you got that little willy of yours wet. Try not to blow your load before you get it all the way in." I tell him that I’ll do my best.

Vito is playing quarters with a balding forty-five-year-old assistant manager named Eric, a Spanish-speaking, always-smiling dishwasher named Juan, a part-time cook and full-time drug dealer named Cliff, and a pretty fifteen-year-old black girl from Camden named Sharla. Ben and his wife, Diana, stand together by the front door, screaming and poking a finger in each other’s face. I hear Diana say, "Then why don’t you just fuck her already?" Ben, exasperated, throws his hands in the air and says, "Because Erv’s going to fuck her." N.W.A’s "Straight Outta Compton" blasts from the stereo. Pretty girls dance and sweat. Drooling boys watch. Vito sings along to N.W.A, shouting, "Crazy mutha fucka named Ice Cube, from a band called Niggas Wit’ Attitude!" He looks at me and winks. Not knowing the proper response, I smile at my best friend and give the thumbs up. He’s the only person here who knows the real me. The rest of these people are, for the most part, strangers. They don’t know me as that shy kid walking the halls in high school. They don’t see me as Vito’s sidekick. I’m new to them. With these people, in this environment, I am suddenly, shockingly cool. I’m one of them. I’m accepted. I’m a drunk kid at a party having a good time. Getting a back rub from a sexy older woman who might take my virginity tonight.

"You know I’m engaged, right?" Tricia says, as her fingers squeeze my shoulders. "You know I have a fiancé, right?"

"No. Didn’t know that," I say.

"We’ve been engaged so long it’s kind of a joke at this point."

"Ha," I say. I was about to laugh, but then I forgot how. Because I’m drunk and my brain is hiding things from me.

Tricia’s revelation causes me to lose half of my erection, the other, more optimistic half of my boner sticks around to see where all of this is going. I’m sitting between her legs on the small, stained couch. The party rages around us. Ben walks by and winks at me. Why are all the men at this party winking at me? Diana follows closely behind Ben and smacks the back of his head whenever he stares too long at one of the many young, half-naked girls roaming merrily about his apartment. It’s hot inside the apartment, and the girls are losing their clothes as the night rolls on; at least one girl has lost her shirt entirely and is proudly showing off her pink bra.

Tricia gently kisses the back of my neck and says, "Well, we’re engaged but it’s a very tumultuous relationship. We’re on and off. Right now, we’re off, but we’ll make up eventually. I wanna have fun before the wedding, though. It’s his own fault. If he would just marry me already, I would stop having sex with other men. You know what I mean? Am I wrong?" She bites my ear and giggles. "Why am I asking you? You’ll say anything to get in my pants."

I turn and face her, ask, "If your fiancé walked in right now and saw your hands all over me, would he kick my ass?"

"Oh, yes, totally." She laughs. "But he’s out of town. Actually, he’d probably just be glad I’m not trying to jump Ben’s bones. I’ve been after Ben for years. That’s why Diana hates me so much. Too bad I’m twice her size. She should stop doing all that coke and gain some weight. I’d break her like a twig."

Tricia is a large girl, but she has a lovely face. A simple, pretty smile. And my fucking God does she smell nice. Not a perfume-soaked kind of nice. A natural kind of nice. The kind of pure freshness that makes a guy want to tear off a girl’s panties and bury his face between her legs because he knows only flowery sweetness exists down there. Vito told me that a girl who wears copious amounts of perfume is usually hiding something funky. In her underpants. She’s covering up a deep, dark stink. That’s what Vito says, anyway. Not that I would know. I can only guess. And fantasize. Imagine the many wonders that await beneath Tricia’s big pink panties. I know that they’re pink because she’s already shown them to me twice, once in a hall closet and once on the couch. ("Wanna see my panties, Erv? Here, I’ll give you a glimpse. Another glimpse. Heh.") Tricia smells like peaches and flowers on the outside. I want to know if she smells the same on the inside.

I excuse myself and walk to the bathroom. Stumble to the bathroom. I’m starting to feel bad. The things I’m doing. The substances. The beverages. I’ve always been the Good Son. The Innocent One. But here I am, drunk and stoned. Just like I remember Dave always being. In this state. Not himself. I do not want to become my brother. I do not want to be a junkie. An alcoholic. A stoner. An asshole. But I won’t. It’s just one party. One night of debauchery. Tomorrow, I will be good again. Tomorrow.

Vito joins me in the bathroom. I pee first because I always pee first. My bladder must be the size of an actual pea. I can’t go half an hour without taking a piss. I zip up and sit on the side of the bathtub as Vito relieves himself.

"I don’t want to become my brother," I say. "I want to be good."

"Dude, you’re one of the best people I know." His stream weakens, ceases. He shakes, zips. Turns to me. "It’s not the booze and the drugs that made Dave bad. It’s who he is on the inside. The drugs just brought out the nastiness in him. You’re drunk, right? Stoned? But look at you. You’re just happy-go-lucky. That’s you. There’s not enough alcohol in the world to make you a bad person. Maybe you’re not perfect, but compared to most people, you’re doing okay, dude. You’re a fucking saint compared to me. Just fucking relax and have fun, Erv. You’re a good dude. You’re my best friend. And if you ever start acting like your brother, I’ll set you straight real quick."

"Thanks," I say. It’s the nicest thing he’s ever said to me. But I know it’s not true. I’m just as capable of being awful as anyone. I’m not nearly as nice a person as everyone thinks I am. I strive to be the person my mother, my family, and my friends think I am. But there are urges. I sometimes am called to the Dark Side by soft-spoken voices in my head. I’ve been able to resist. Tonight, I’ve let myself go. I’m drunk and high. Fucking wasted. Doesn’t make me bad. No, not yet. But there’s potential. I’ve always prided myself in being different from the rest of my family. From defying history, heredity. No one in my family has ever achieved greatness. Almost every marriage has failed. More members of my family than I can count have been to prison. Wife-beating. Stealing. Drugs. Incest. Rape. Breaking and Entering. Car-jacking. We’re not exactly a family of Harvard graduates. Hell, we’re not even a family of high school graduates. I’ve always told myself that I will rise above the sordid white trash history of my clan. I’m beginning to doubt myself. It feels good to drink. To smoke pot. The body likes it. Euphoria. I drunk and high and I can’t wipe this smile off my face. I’m drunk and high, and I’ve never had as much fun as this. Coincidence?

Vito affectionately punches my shoulder and flashes a smile as he exits the bathroom. He’s a good friend. I close my eyes and bury my head in my hands as I hear the door click shut. I sigh. Someone else sighs. I hear heavy breathing. I’m almost afraid to open my eyes and see who’s sharing the bathroom with me.

"Are you okay, honey?" Tricia asks.

I look up and smile, say, "I’m good."

She pounces. She climbs atop me and jams her tongue deep down into my throat. Just as I’m about to pull away and gasp for air, she pulls away and licks her lips. Tricia stares into my eyes as she grinds on me. Feels my erection quickly take solid shape.

"Are you really a virgin?"

"Swear to God," I say.

"I wanna fuck you so badly right now. Would you wanna fuck me, Ervin? Do you like me? I know I’m not the prettiest girl here. I’m not young and thin and beautiful. I just want you to like me."

"I do like you."

"Enough to wanna be with me that way?"

"More than enough."

"And you don’t care that I’m so old?" she asks, her face nervously scrunched.

"Not if you don’t care than I’m so young."

"Care? Are you kidding? You being sixteen is a huge turn on. I guess that makes me a dirty old woman. I don’t care. It’s hot."

She bites her lip. Grabs my hand forces it between her legs. Even through the thick material of her jeans I feel the heat. The wetness. I squeeze. She moans. My other hand travels underneath her T-shirt and up her stomach. I feel breasts. Over the bra. Tricia pulls away and stands up. Looks down at my crotch. Sees the outline of my erection through my jeans. She drops to her knees in front of me. Runs her fingers lightly over my jeans. Over my erection. Over my eager cock. It’s begging to be released from its prison. Tricia lowers her head and places her lips atop my jeans. Her saliva slowly seeps through. I think This is it...she’s going to put it in her mouth.

She doesn’t. Tricia smiles and rises. A large lip-shaped circle of wetness spots my jeans. She winks and says, "Let’s get out of here. Let’s just drive somewhere. We need some privacy. We can’t do it here. Too many people."

We end up in front of my house, making out in Tricia’s tiny car. We’re messy and aggressive. My hands are all over her large tits, her pillowy ass. She sucks hard on my neck and I’m almost certain that this girl is a vampire; I know she’s leaving marks. Tricia’s car leaves us little room to maneuver (but since my car is not a car at all but a bicycle, her car is the only option we have). Still, I’m not deterred. I unbutton her tight jeans. They’re so tight I’m not sure how she got into them in the first place. I slide them down to her ankles. Her panties fall next. All her defenses gone. My right hand goes in for the kill. Two fingers ease inside. She’s dripping wet and my hand almost feels like it’s being sucked inside her. The inner Tricia is warm, hot, sticky. I’ve never done this before. Never had my fingers inside a girl’s sex. I’m too eager, too rough, too inexperienced. Tricia tells me to slow down. Take it easy. Work those fingers with precision not violence. My fingernails are jagged because I bite them, and I’m sure I’m making her bleed a little. I’m busy fingering her and hardly notice that she has unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down. She lowers my underwear. Finally, my erection has room to breathe. Not for long. Soon, it’s smothered by her hot mouth. Enveloped.

I look down and watch her head bob up and down. I think A girl is blowing me at this very minute. I’m getting blown. Hmm. Nice.

"Let’s go inside," she says, panting, finally coming up for air. Her forehead is beaded with sweat. "Let’s go to your room. Let’s do it on your bed." Saliva drips off of her chin. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Oh, we can’t," I say. "My mom’s home and my little brother shares a bed with me and he’s home right now too, so that’s not really an option. Can’t we stay in the car and do it? Or go back to your place?"

"I’m so stupid," she says, pulling a pubic hair from her teeth. "This is wrong." She sighs loudly, pulls up her pants.

"Wait, no!" I say, watching as my lonely penis shrinks. "Please!"

"We can’t do this for, like, so many reasons. We work together, for one. You’re a minor, for another. And what if Ben finds out?"

"What would Ben care?" I shout. My shiny penis is now hopelessly limp.

"Look, I can’t explain it, but Ben and me have a...thing. I don’t want him to think I don’t like him anymore."

"Fuck Ben," I say. "He’s fucking married!"

She shakes her head. "I have a complicated relationship with Ben. I love him."

"You can still love him while we’re having sex. I don’t mind."

She smiles. Kisses my mouth softly. "You’re cute, Erv. You really are. Maybe some other time. When you mentioned that your mom was home, it just reminded me how young you really are. I started to think, ‘Tricia, what the hell are you doing?’ I’m more than twice your age. You’re sixteen. I would be corrupting a minor."

I release a frustrated grunt. Pull my messy hair with both hands until the pain distracts me from my sexual frustration. My shell-shocked libido. My near-sex. "I’ll be seventeen soon. Come on, just let me put it inside you for a minute. I just want to know what sex feels like. We don’t have to finish. I’ll put it in and take it right out, I swear."

Tricia shakes her head. Smiles. Says, "Sorry. Can’t do it. You’re drunk. I’m a little tipsy, too. If we ever have sex, I want us to both be sober and somewhat conscious of what we’re doing. No sex for you tonight."

"How many chances are you going to get to have sex with a virgin? I’m pure and untainted. Disease free. I need to be tainted! Give me some taint!" I realize even as I’m speaking the words just how utterly pathetic I truly am. Still, Vito says that begging works at least one out of every five times.

"Goodbye, Ervin."

"You’ve already had it in your mouth. Can’t you just put it back in and finish the job. A blow job isn’t real sex."

"Look, I would have sex with you if I felt it was right. I just don’t feel like it’s right tonight. Please, just go home."

I pull myself together, give Tricia a hug and a kiss goodbye, climb out of the car, and walk slowly up the gravel path to my front door. She honks, then drives away. I sit on my front step and stare up at the full moon. I know I’ll have the chance to be with her again. I can taste the bitterness of missed opportunity on my lips. Smell the sweetness of sex on two of my fingers. I smile. I know it’s coming. Someday, somehow, somewhere. Not with Tricia, more than likely. But there’s a girl out there who is going to let me in, and soon. I know this. It’s coming. I’m nearly a man. So close. It’s frustrating to go home smelling like sex without actually having had sex. Wet and sticky. Going home. A woman’s scent on my fingers. No sex. Damn.