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January 1993, 30814, RMF

I was a sophomore at the time, two months shy of sixteen, and the guy was a senior.  He was six-one or six-two with close cropped hair and hazel eyes, tattoos and never without a pack of smokes.  

It wasn‘t until we arrived at the party that I realized he had just turned twenty-one.  I felt all eyes on me and heard the hoots and hollers of ‘jailbait!’ and ‘cradle-robber!’ and felt my face turn red. After removing my shoes at the door, I was offered one of everything in less than a quarter hour, ranging from cigarettes to beer to liquor to illicit drugs. I declined all, and was declared a ‘straight-edge’, but the guy’s sister sat down beside me and said not to worry about it, for the most part she was, too.

We socialized for about another half hour, and then the guy stood up from where we sat and beckoned me down the hall with one finger. I followed, amid catcalls from his friends. He drew me into a bedroom just off the living room and then shut the door.  It was dark except for a strip of light filtering in from the porch, and when he removed my glasses, I was unable to see anything more than six inches away.  

He knew I had never been kissed, and was very scholarly about the whole thing, carrying on for a full five minutes about what girls had done and not done that he did or did not like, sort of as a loose set of rules to follow.  Then, taking one last sip of his mixed drink, he leaned in and kissed with lips so soft and a jaw so strong, tasting like strawberries and some unknown liquor. His hands roamed wherever he wished and I was in no frame of mind to stop him, though I had no toxins in my system other than infatuation and teenage hormones. When we emerged an hour later, I still retained my virginity, but I assure you we had broken at least five laws in the state of Georgia.

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