Tuesday, August 30, 2005

My One and Only Date with a Southern Boy

It was the summer after I graduated from high school, I think (I'm pretty sure it was, because I was dating Gary, who was cute as hell, but compelled to sleep with everything that stood still long enough - I didn't know that, of course, or I wouldn't have been dating him - duh... but that's another story for another time... or not, because it's really not that interesting... but I digress...) and I was spending a couple of weeks at my dad's house in Florida - as usual, I was bored as hell (because I wanted to be back in Southern California with my friends and the aforementioned cute boyfriend - and the internet wasn't all popular and blogtacular back then... wow, that makes me sound old, doesn't it?) and I was sitting on the dock behind my dad's house, sipping a soda and trying to get a tan when a boy motored up in a little boat and asked if I wanted to go fishing with him. He was youngish and cute in that unassuming way that only Southern boys can muster and I was willing to do anything to get the hell out of the house (because my darling little sister was watching "Willy Wonka" for the nineteenth time of the day), so I let me dad know I was leaving and hopped in his little boat and we zoomed away down the little inlets until we got to the spot that Benji (I know. Benji.) decided was best for fishing.

We didn't talk much (absolutely NOTHING in common) except for him instructing me on the whole fishing thing (hello, city girl from Southern California? I could barely identify a fish if it didn't come breaded and shaped in a fish stick shape) and, while I didn't catch anything (almost caught a crab, still not sure how that happened), Benji caught several catfish (who are remarkably ugly, in case you were wondering) and, heading back to my dad's house, he asked me if I wanted to come to his friend's house for dinner.

I decided, what the hell, might as well try real Southern cooking, and I went to my his friend's house (who lived next door to my dad) for a meal of fried catfish and Velveeta grits (I know. My arteries hurt just writing that.) After "supper", Benji asked if I wanted to catch a movie - again, bored as hell and wanting to have a little fun, I agreed and, although I should have been suspicious when he suggested that Meg Ryan movie, "Prelude to a Kiss", I wasn't (I was 18, cut me some slack)

We went to the movie and then he offered to take me to check out the beach, which I hadn't been to yet. (I know, red flags popping up all the hell over - again, I was 18, gimme a break) I agreed and we went to this lovely white sand beach, which was mostly deserted and walked on the sand for a while before he suggested that we sit down and talk (Again it should be noted that we'd already talked and had NOTHING IN COMMON) and (surprise, surprise) he steered the talk towards sex (not sure if this was before or after we noticed a couple having sex in the lifeguard shack) and he was talking about oral sex and asking if I'd ever done it, then "subtlely" mentioning that he hadn't. After I made several attempts to steer the conversation elsewhere (ANYWHERE ELSE, please) he says "Since you've got experience in that and I want experience in it, maybe you could help me practice..."

My 18-year-old self's initial reaction (as my today-self's reaction would be) was to burst out laughing. And to laugh for a couple of minutes, until tears were almost rolling down my eyes and poor Benji had a wounded expression on his adorable face. Ever the sassy kid, I replied (after I stopped laughing) "I don't know if that line works on girls from around here, but I'm not from here and I think you'd better take me home now. Nice try, though."