April, 1985
His bike had really brought him this far, to her house, out on a country lane. Jennifer was two years older but she didn’t seem to mind. He was fun to look at, she told him once, after they held a gaze as she walked along a log at a youth event.
Today he had a log alright, beneath those thin black shorts everyone wore these days. Once they walked back toward the barn, not a sound to be heard, cars rarely passed, she’s tall blond and buxom, her mom wasn’t home. He didn’t feel right disappearing into the old structure, maybe it wasn’t safe, or he wasn’t ready, so he stood guard by the window, which had never held glass. They were talking about something and suddenly he feels a hand on it.
She keeps talking and he tries to, she reaches beneath and he jumps, she giggles, it’s okay, she knows what to do. So much pent up inside but still too shocked to let it out. She kneels down and takes it into her mouth, it’s indescribable, is this happening, he loses bearings then that feeling settles in, it was over so quickly.
She leads him into the barn and strips down, and he stares into the nebula, hairs and limbs surrounding the galactic core, just like in those magazines you find alongside the road, so intriguing and frightening at once, and he feels her hands pulling his face closer and closer, but he feels smothered, then his mother’s voice rings clear,
“NICK THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING, we are NOT going to be late for church!”
He turns his head sideways in the pillow and resumes breathing, heart racing, head muddy as adrenaline had begun to battle the inevitable drowsiness. He has absolutely no idea how to deal with the mess that glued him to the mattress.