On the train the night after we saw Minor Threat in the city, my shirt was so filthy. I thought I’d never smell right again. When a woman sitting next to me moved away seats, you giggled. Later, you launched into a horrid rendition of “Young Till I Die,” and I leapt up and down, applauding your efforts.
On our way out of the train, the same woman who had moved away from me earlier called out cruelly, “Fat Martha over there your girlfriend, Romeo?”
You took a step to reenter the car, but I grabbed your arm and pulled you off again.
“Get the fuck out of here, Fat Martha,” someone else yelled.
By then, the train doors were nearly closed and I wasn’t sure you heard the second heckler.
“Fuckers! FUCKERS!” you screamed – the second epithet drowned out as the train roared back to life.
When we got back to my house and shut my bedroom door, you took off my shirt – the first time a girl ever did that.
“You smell like shit,” you told me, frowning.
“Yeah I should shower,” I said, looking around for a clean shirt in the closet.
“Noooo. Stay here. Pretty please?”
“Do you mind if I finish off this forty?” you then asked, too sweetly.
Putting bottle to lips, you announced “I’m gonna be straightedge for life.”
“Why did you go with me to Minor Threat — you’re constantly making fun of straightedgers?”
“Because Ian MacKaye’s hot and I like to slam dance.”
“Ian MacKaye is not hot, unless you’re into big ears.”
At that, you charged toward me, and I could feel my manhood growing in my pants. A few moments later, I was in a headlock, and I had to tickle you to get you off of me. You let go, exploding into a fit of girly laughs.
“Shut the fuck up, my parents are light sleepers,” I appealed.
You shrugged, and went to sit on the bed.
Still shirtless, I walked over and kneeled in front of you, taking hold of your face in my hands. I placed my lips gently on your own. As we kissed, I grabbed your ponytail in my hand.
“That hurts,” you said, breaking free of my lips.
Then you took my head in your own hands, and I felt your tongue, dry and rugged, searching for my own.