Behind the School
"Well," she said, "I've never fucked." One of those: Before-the-fall. As I called them to myself.
"We don't have to," I said.
She rolled her eyes at me. "Then why are we even here?"
We were back behind the school. She leaned against the huge dumpster. I was refusing to touch it. I am deathly afraid of rats.
She smoothed her hair and smiled. It was her attempt at seduction.
"Look," I said. "I know that--"
"What? You know what?" she laughed.
"That everyone inside expects us to. But we don't have to, really. It's perfectly fine if we don't. I'll even tell them we did. If you want that, i mean."
She crossed her arms and sighed. "You really just don't get it."
"What? What? What don't I get?"
"I do want to--I'm just..."
"You don't have to be scared. I have done this a lot. Like, a whole bunch, a lot. With lots and lots of girls. I know what I am doing. Seriously, if you're scared, don't be."
"I'm not scared," she shot back. "And really, please cut the crap. I was going to say that--" She coughed and shook her head. "Never mind, it doesn't matter anyway."
"No, come on, please tell me!" I touched her on the shoulder. "Seriously, I care, I really do."
She looked like she might cry. "Let's just get on with it." She lifted up her shirt, joylessly. Her breasts were tiny and round. I touched them with my hands. Then, her hands undid my pants. I kissed her, but she stiffened.
She pulled away from me, blinking. "Listen," she said. "Maybe I can't."
I got mad: "Are you kidding?"
"This is just so, so stupid." She gestured around towards the dumpsters. "We're behind school--so, so dumb. You don't even really like me. Do you know my last name?"
I didn't know her last name.
"Let's go back inside," I said. "We can say we did it. You can reap the benefits, ok? Welcome to the popular table, right? Aren't you excited to be cool?"
I was being mean on purpose. She had tears in her eyes.
"Doesn't eighth grade suck?" I said. "Eighth graders suck, that's the truth. And here I am, in tenth. I'm so willing to help out. So willing to play the games. Come on, they say, come initiate. We have a brand new girl. So I waste my time, and--"
"Shut up!" she screamed, "Shut up!"
I stepped back, looking at her. "So, shall we go back inside?"
She chewed her lip, eyes vacant.
"No," she said, "let's do it."
"For real this time?" I asked.
"Just go ahead and do it."
I went ahead and did it. Against the wall, not the dumpster. She was very light and small. She hadn't worn underwear that day. Her pubic hair was completely shaved. She made no sounds at all. She didn't bleed, which struck me. I dislike being a girl's first. I counted: She was my fifteenth. I was not a bad time. When I finished, she said "thanks."