Carys Weldon Blog

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

FACING the freaks who believed…

As I was saying in yesterday’s post, my girl Angie had the decency to explain oral sex to me, and the term 69: mutual pleasuring in sexual partnership, tongue and suction action. Look at the number. Visualize the heads where the O part of the numbers are. Yeah.

So, there I was, educated a day too late, and forced into going back to that school where the word had spread. That word being, maybe the original virgin girl wasn’t as virginal as we thought.

Wicked cool. Or someone to despise. I got both.

But what I wasn’t expecting was Mary’s reaction. School slut—why is there always something about Mary’s? She was senior. I was a junior. She ran with the coolest guy on the basketball team.

Anyhow, she fell into step beside me and glared at those who dared look down their noses at us. That part was good. I was suddenly in an upper rung of high school society, albeit one I didn’t deserve.

Here was a second kicker. Mary asks me, “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I heard.”

“What?”

“You know what.”

I shrugged. “Guess it’s out now. Nothing to do about it.”

“Angie called me last night.”

“Oh.” We stopped in the middle of people bumping past us, and got a moment of honesty. “So, what did she say?”

“She wanted me to help you.”

“How can you help me?”

Remember, I’m looking at her, thinking…she’s the school slut, cool as cool though—in her own way. And I’m a total poser. I got myself into it and I’d have to ride it out.

She said, “Look. Anybody that looks at you can see you’re a virgin.”

There was a relief. Or was it? Virgin’s had a look? I mean, my mom would be happy to hear that, but really. Did they? (I’ll take a vote on that. Do you, honestly, think you can or cannot tell if a girl or guy is a virgin?)

I didn’t say anything to Mary’s comment. I just stared at her, wondering what this was all about. Where was she going with it?

Ted slipped past us, bumped into me, whispered, “Hey, what’s up?”

I say, “Hey,” of course. Conversation of 1980.

Mary’s gaze followed him, as did mine. I didn’t get the “watching his butt” thing back then, but I did it.

When Larry did virtually the same thing, not as strong a bump, she said, “Hey, watch it.”

She glanced around, giving the heads up to all by doing that. They better watch it. I was, sort of, under her protection. Hands off. The slut and me were buds.

I didn’t get that either. Except, any friend of Angie’s was a friend of mine. I understand that now, and love the philosophy—try to extend that everywhere. So, you’re a fan of mine, you’re a friend of mine. Feel free to come up and chat if you see me out in public. I’m super approachable—really!

Mary leans close and says, “You know, a few years ago I did about the same stupid thing.”

“Really?” She hadn’t been a slut all her life? There was news. Not that I’d ever thought that far. But, everyone has a turning point, or a series of turning points, in their life.

“Yeah. And when somebody offered to educate me, I let them.”

Wow. Confession in the hall at school. What do you say to that? (Nothing, wait for them to finish the thought they were moving toward in the first place. Confession always comes for a reason.)

Mary said, “It was a mistake. It got around that I was a slut because guys are stupid. They think it sounds cool to use the word.”

I held my tongue, but I wanted to ask, “So, you’re not really a slut, ‘cause I definitely heard you were.” And I saw her making out with a guy—her long-term boyfriend—by the lockers once.

“It’s a hard thing to live down, once it gets around.”

Considering little comments were passing within hearing range the whole time…like, “I hear she likes math.” 69’s a number. Therefore, I like math. It was high school, remember? I rolled my eyes on that one.

Mary said, “Look. Angie asked me to fix this for you.”

“You can fix this?”

“Sure.”

There’s the measure of the girl. They could call her what they wanted. To me, if she could take back my own stupidity and make it like it never was…that would make her a demi-god in my book. A saint, at least.

“How can you fix it?” I was thinking ahead, and really wanted to know, what would this cost me?

“I’ll get Tony—” Let me clarify this, in case you heard that my husband’s name is Tony—which it is. Two different guys. “To tell Ted to keep his mouth shut. And Larry, too. End of story.”

How could that shut up the entire set of gossipmongers at a high school? And why was she doing this for me?

She touched me, then. The school slut put her hand on my forearm and said, “Trust me, you don’t want to go down the road of no return.”

“Okay.”

“You want me to stop it, right?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Done, then.” She grinned. “Let’s twist this back on the idiots. The story is…”

I leaned close. Hell, I wanted to know this part.

“You were teasing them. They fell for it. You had a laugh on them, and Angie and I, and all the girls will back you up.”

All the girls referred to the senior posse Mary hung with. So, the day the slut said all that to me was the day I gained some serious respect in that school.

Tomorrow, stay tuned for What Ted said.

Posted by CarysWeldonblog :: 7:49 PM :: 1 Comments:

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1 Comments:

What a total reversal of a sticky situation.

By Blogger snowflake, at 8:28 AM  

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